<![CDATA[Blood & Bone - The Crossroads]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/ Tue, 20 Oct 2026 09:33:38 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[The Devil You Know]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=895 Tue, 23 Jan 2024 06:24:47 +0000 Ryatt]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=895
There's a dull ache that ebbs and flows like the certainty of the ocean tides. It rises and falls, from one side of his temple to somewhere at the back of his head. Pain, it was pain. The word and explanation for what he feels is lost somewhere in the dark expanse of his mind, but it's there, on the tip of his tongue; as if he could remember it if given just a moment, just a second to consider. But there is no time, or if there was, it is not his. He is an imposter. He watches the world through eyes that are not his own. He tastes the soot in the air, the salt of sweat, the blood that seeps from the split down the middle of his lower lip. It is metallic, bitter, but sweet.

He wants more. He craves it with an utmost obsession. It transcends the throbbing in his head and without reluctance, he tucks his lower lip between a pair of fangs and bites. He is rewarded. The split gushes sweet nectar and he laps at it without abandon. The infected closes his eyes and in that darkness he's unaware he's in a chain-link cage, a small stall located just behind the wall of the fighting arena. He can hear the spectators. They scream and they yell. They smell of a foul stench of alcohol and body odor, it's the smell of disappointment. Of money lost and reputations sullied.

He is the cause, but he's unaware of his failure.

A red streak of blood trails down his forehead and splits between his eyes, down the bridge of his nose, then veers off the side of his left cheek. He feels it's cold lick and it makes him open his eyes. His fingers lift and wipe over it to catch it before he presses the tips of those fingers to his tongue.

Waste not.

He hears those words like they were spoken aloud, even though they are nothing more than a memory. It scares him and his eyes lighten to a bright shade of yellow while pupils dilate, then contract. He doesn't understand. But he wants to. He wants nothing more.

Somewhere, outside the concrete room, a door slams and he knows, or he thinks he knows, he has only moments before they throw him back out there. Before he's corralled back into the arena and left to defend himself from another, just like him, that craves the sweet red nectar. He knows this because he is still conscious, if he were not, his fight would be over.
]]>
There's a dull ache that ebbs and flows like the certainty of the ocean tides. It rises and falls, from one side of his temple to somewhere at the back of his head. Pain, it was pain. The word and explanation for what he feels is lost somewhere in the dark expanse of his mind, but it's there, on the tip of his tongue; as if he could remember it if given just a moment, just a second to consider. But there is no time, or if there was, it is not his. He is an imposter. He watches the world through eyes that are not his own. He tastes the soot in the air, the salt of sweat, the blood that seeps from the split down the middle of his lower lip. It is metallic, bitter, but sweet.

He wants more. He craves it with an utmost obsession. It transcends the throbbing in his head and without reluctance, he tucks his lower lip between a pair of fangs and bites. He is rewarded. The split gushes sweet nectar and he laps at it without abandon. The infected closes his eyes and in that darkness he's unaware he's in a chain-link cage, a small stall located just behind the wall of the fighting arena. He can hear the spectators. They scream and they yell. They smell of a foul stench of alcohol and body odor, it's the smell of disappointment. Of money lost and reputations sullied.

He is the cause, but he's unaware of his failure.

A red streak of blood trails down his forehead and splits between his eyes, down the bridge of his nose, then veers off the side of his left cheek. He feels it's cold lick and it makes him open his eyes. His fingers lift and wipe over it to catch it before he presses the tips of those fingers to his tongue.

Waste not.

He hears those words like they were spoken aloud, even though they are nothing more than a memory. It scares him and his eyes lighten to a bright shade of yellow while pupils dilate, then contract. He doesn't understand. But he wants to. He wants nothing more.

Somewhere, outside the concrete room, a door slams and he knows, or he thinks he knows, he has only moments before they throw him back out there. Before he's corralled back into the arena and left to defend himself from another, just like him, that craves the sweet red nectar. He knows this because he is still conscious, if he were not, his fight would be over.
]]> <![CDATA[You're Not Going To Like This]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=827 Sat, 12 Nov 2022 21:35:37 +0000 Damascus Devries]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=827
Damascus needed more hands to do the work that he did. Sure he liked to brag that he was the master of the infected that the Spades used and knew them as well as any dog master knew their charges. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t more work than two hands could complete in any given night. There was a lot that went into the handling and care of the infected, care being a relative term here. There was no real care given to them, not the kind that anyone else might consider since it lacked any of the emotion of caring behind it. All he did was make sure that they had the meat necessary to be the entertainment they were meant to be and that things were cleared up well and good. So it was mostly tossing sometimes rotting meat at the infected under his care and making sure he cleaned enough to keep the place from stinking to high heaven. In fact one might be surprised by how clean he kept things but he was somewhat of a neat freak at work.

But all of that took a lot of time and effort. Time and effort that he was tired of putting in all himself. Or at least mostly himself. He could and did bully some of the others into doing some of it but he wanted a more permanent set of hands to do some of the work for him. So he had been sniffing about trying to find out if they had anyone he could effectively conscript into his service as manual labor. Preferably someone who was easily pushed around and bullied so they’d do whatever he told them to without really questioning it. Or at least without putting up too much of a fight about doing it. Then again it might be fun to get to push around someone with a little fight in them! There was just something about breaking someone who fought back that was rather enjoyable to Damascus.

No one had claimed he was a saint after all and most who knew him would far quicker liken him to the devil than anything heavenly. He was well known for being a ruthless bastard of a man as inclined to break a person’s face as he was to shake their hand. He was nothing if not predictable in that at least! His personality is nothing more than that of a bruttish thug who delighted in picking on those weaker than himself. Or at least as far as anyone could tell or had bothered to get to know him. But since all he seemed to do with his life was his job? Well no one had really bothered to get to know him. But that wasn’t the point at the moment, the point was that having all that work to do had driven him to seek someone he could force to do the worst parts of the job that he hated doing.

He’d been informed that there was someone here named Colt that he could likely get to do just what he wanted of them. And he was more than eager to get them right where he wanted them and doing the job before too long. Preferably in fact by the end of the day! And the travel wasn’t all that far from work! Even better honestly. He’d been given a basic description of the guy he was looking for and a location to find him here at the crossroads and that was his direction for the afternoon.

His eyes caught on a likely figure that matched the description he’d been given and he wandered in that direction. No need to scare his prey away too quickly! Better to sneak up on them and get them where you wanted them before they could run. So he wandered over like a casual bystander and put himself between the man and a quick escape. ”Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be Colt would yah?” He wanted to confirm he was grabbing the right guy before he did anything… though he supposed in the end it didn’t entirely matter.

Tag Colton Holcombe
]]>
Damascus needed more hands to do the work that he did. Sure he liked to brag that he was the master of the infected that the Spades used and knew them as well as any dog master knew their charges. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t more work than two hands could complete in any given night. There was a lot that went into the handling and care of the infected, care being a relative term here. There was no real care given to them, not the kind that anyone else might consider since it lacked any of the emotion of caring behind it. All he did was make sure that they had the meat necessary to be the entertainment they were meant to be and that things were cleared up well and good. So it was mostly tossing sometimes rotting meat at the infected under his care and making sure he cleaned enough to keep the place from stinking to high heaven. In fact one might be surprised by how clean he kept things but he was somewhat of a neat freak at work.

But all of that took a lot of time and effort. Time and effort that he was tired of putting in all himself. Or at least mostly himself. He could and did bully some of the others into doing some of it but he wanted a more permanent set of hands to do some of the work for him. So he had been sniffing about trying to find out if they had anyone he could effectively conscript into his service as manual labor. Preferably someone who was easily pushed around and bullied so they’d do whatever he told them to without really questioning it. Or at least without putting up too much of a fight about doing it. Then again it might be fun to get to push around someone with a little fight in them! There was just something about breaking someone who fought back that was rather enjoyable to Damascus.

No one had claimed he was a saint after all and most who knew him would far quicker liken him to the devil than anything heavenly. He was well known for being a ruthless bastard of a man as inclined to break a person’s face as he was to shake their hand. He was nothing if not predictable in that at least! His personality is nothing more than that of a bruttish thug who delighted in picking on those weaker than himself. Or at least as far as anyone could tell or had bothered to get to know him. But since all he seemed to do with his life was his job? Well no one had really bothered to get to know him. But that wasn’t the point at the moment, the point was that having all that work to do had driven him to seek someone he could force to do the worst parts of the job that he hated doing.

He’d been informed that there was someone here named Colt that he could likely get to do just what he wanted of them. And he was more than eager to get them right where he wanted them and doing the job before too long. Preferably in fact by the end of the day! And the travel wasn’t all that far from work! Even better honestly. He’d been given a basic description of the guy he was looking for and a location to find him here at the crossroads and that was his direction for the afternoon.

His eyes caught on a likely figure that matched the description he’d been given and he wandered in that direction. No need to scare his prey away too quickly! Better to sneak up on them and get them where you wanted them before they could run. So he wandered over like a casual bystander and put himself between the man and a quick escape. ”Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be Colt would yah?” He wanted to confirm he was grabbing the right guy before he did anything… though he supposed in the end it didn’t entirely matter.

Tag Colton Holcombe
]]> <![CDATA[The Messenger [ Blood Moon ]]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=759 Mon, 11 Oct 2021 03:30:58 +0000 Plot/NPC]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=759
NORTH x COLTON [ BLOOD MOON ]

Tonight was supposed to be just an ordinary lunar eclipse.

But something’s different this time around. The full moon is already high in the sky.
Clouds shroud it from sight one minute, and the next they’re gone, revealing the moon to
no longer be its usual white light, but rather something much more sinister. As though
bathed in blood, its reddish hue gives off a frightening appearance.

It’s a blood moon.

It’s a late night in Stronghold.

After an unusual request by Charles Holcombe, the ex-Military Security Captain, North Sigurd makes his way down to one of the Spadess Fighting Arenas. His task was to pass along a message to Charles' son, Colton Holcombe, that the arena was to be raided by the Military within a week and he was to make sure he wasn't there when it happened. Unfortunately being underground make the two unaware of the blood moon as it appears overhead, and in only a split second, the world descends into chaos around them as all levels of Infected are affected at once.

Fighting Infected grow agitated, turning on handlers and fight participants alike in a frenzy never seen before. Their thirst and bloodlust become heightened to a point where gnashing teeth are strong enough to rip through metal. But perhaps the ones most affected by the change are the Level V's, their fangs no longer concealed and eyes turning an unnatural colour, glowing in the dark.

Trapped underground with a hungry horde, will anyone make it out alive?


Event Mechanics


IMPORTANT    The Staff Team has done their best to tailor this event to the characters participating. However, if you feel that it doesn't fall in line with your character's motives, and/or you have any other issue with the above prompt, then feel free to reach out to anyone on the Staff Team. Corrections to the prompt can be made as long as both characters haven't made their first post yet.

  Players are free to start the thread either how the prompt ends, or just before it starts in order to provide background information. Please consult one another first on where you'd prefer to start.

  This event thread is not staff run; it is up to the players to progress the thread. However, the Staff Team may occasionally post with the Plot/NPC account for surprises. Participating players are also free to contact the Staff Team and request a post if they so wish.

  Please refer back to the Original Event Post for more information on mechanics.

]]>
NORTH x COLTON [ BLOOD MOON ]

Tonight was supposed to be just an ordinary lunar eclipse.

But something’s different this time around. The full moon is already high in the sky.
Clouds shroud it from sight one minute, and the next they’re gone, revealing the moon to
no longer be its usual white light, but rather something much more sinister. As though
bathed in blood, its reddish hue gives off a frightening appearance.

It’s a blood moon.

It’s a late night in Stronghold.

After an unusual request by Charles Holcombe, the ex-Military Security Captain, North Sigurd makes his way down to one of the Spadess Fighting Arenas. His task was to pass along a message to Charles' son, Colton Holcombe, that the arena was to be raided by the Military within a week and he was to make sure he wasn't there when it happened. Unfortunately being underground make the two unaware of the blood moon as it appears overhead, and in only a split second, the world descends into chaos around them as all levels of Infected are affected at once.

Fighting Infected grow agitated, turning on handlers and fight participants alike in a frenzy never seen before. Their thirst and bloodlust become heightened to a point where gnashing teeth are strong enough to rip through metal. But perhaps the ones most affected by the change are the Level V's, their fangs no longer concealed and eyes turning an unnatural colour, glowing in the dark.

Trapped underground with a hungry horde, will anyone make it out alive?


Event Mechanics


IMPORTANT    The Staff Team has done their best to tailor this event to the characters participating. However, if you feel that it doesn't fall in line with your character's motives, and/or you have any other issue with the above prompt, then feel free to reach out to anyone on the Staff Team. Corrections to the prompt can be made as long as both characters haven't made their first post yet.

  Players are free to start the thread either how the prompt ends, or just before it starts in order to provide background information. Please consult one another first on where you'd prefer to start.

  This event thread is not staff run; it is up to the players to progress the thread. However, the Staff Team may occasionally post with the Plot/NPC account for surprises. Participating players are also free to contact the Staff Team and request a post if they so wish.

  Please refer back to the Original Event Post for more information on mechanics.

]]> <![CDATA[little red wagon]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=687 Tue, 21 Sep 2021 22:35:34 +0000 Eros Quiller]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=687

Eros lugged the thing behind him, making slow progress up the sloping road from which the market stands and shops laid. That "thing" was a hefty box shape, and what looked to be a mechanical arm attached to it, all seemingly made of a tangle of junk and detritus. Upon closer inspection, one could see wires running through it like tendons in a human arm, placed precisely and intentionally so that it served some sort of function. If one knew Eros, they would recognize it to be one of his lunatic contraptions, and some of the merchants on the strip new it well. A few even deigned to give a half-hearted wave to Eros, which he responded with a brilliant smile and a little leap of enthusiasm. Compared to the down-trodden faces stained with dirt as a result of a life that did not allow for daily, casual baths, Eros was very much an Inner Citadel kid, hair immaculately curled and skin smooth and shining like a baby's.

Sweat-drenched and panting, Eros finally reached Puck's saloon, yet did not release the wagon until he tugged it through the narrow doorway and into the shop, for fear it would go rolling back down the street and he'd have to lug it up again. His exertion did not dampen his spirits, and he could not even wait for Puck to appear in the entryway at the ring of the bell for him to exclaim,

"Puck! Hey Puck! I gotta surprise for you." Clear blue eyes then slid down to the contraption, seated on a red wagon, one that was once the angry color of a blister, now faded to a pale rose. Oh how proud he was of it, slaving day in and out until it was working to perfection. At least, Eros' definition of perfection.

Tag : Puck Frisk
]]>

Eros lugged the thing behind him, making slow progress up the sloping road from which the market stands and shops laid. That "thing" was a hefty box shape, and what looked to be a mechanical arm attached to it, all seemingly made of a tangle of junk and detritus. Upon closer inspection, one could see wires running through it like tendons in a human arm, placed precisely and intentionally so that it served some sort of function. If one knew Eros, they would recognize it to be one of his lunatic contraptions, and some of the merchants on the strip new it well. A few even deigned to give a half-hearted wave to Eros, which he responded with a brilliant smile and a little leap of enthusiasm. Compared to the down-trodden faces stained with dirt as a result of a life that did not allow for daily, casual baths, Eros was very much an Inner Citadel kid, hair immaculately curled and skin smooth and shining like a baby's.

Sweat-drenched and panting, Eros finally reached Puck's saloon, yet did not release the wagon until he tugged it through the narrow doorway and into the shop, for fear it would go rolling back down the street and he'd have to lug it up again. His exertion did not dampen his spirits, and he could not even wait for Puck to appear in the entryway at the ring of the bell for him to exclaim,

"Puck! Hey Puck! I gotta surprise for you." Clear blue eyes then slid down to the contraption, seated on a red wagon, one that was once the angry color of a blister, now faded to a pale rose. Oh how proud he was of it, slaving day in and out until it was working to perfection. At least, Eros' definition of perfection.

Tag : Puck Frisk
]]> <![CDATA[playing with the big boys]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=615 Tue, 31 Aug 2021 03:36:48 +0000 Lilith Delavigne]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=615
As she strode into Spades territory, hunting for him, she was unsure whether to be impressed or disgusted. The mess that the Spade rats hid in was no Devil's Avenue, which made the constant back and forth between their gangs to be all the more infuriating. She never expected that the Spades Gang would be easy to push over, though no one could deny how intense her rage was when she got a report of her own gang losing scuffles with them. Territory was a precious thing in the Stronghold. They all knew it. Just as she expected they all knew she was not willing to give even an inch of what was hers away to anyone else.

That was exactly why she had come.

No to wage war or create chaos (though doing so would be an obscenely easy task), but to create a sort...peace. She was not foolish enough to think it would last, but her own machinations would progress all the better if she did not have to concern herself with the Spades gang for a time.

The robe she wore flowed behind her with each confident step as she headed directly to where she knew she would find him. He was, like all men, predictable in her eyes, though that meant achieving her goals for this evening would be all the easier. Atlas was incredibly irritating. Smart like her and unyielding when it came to allowing his own gang to be pushed aside in favor of her. She supposed she liked him just as much as she would have liked to have his head on a spike in her office. But the fact that she knew him made locating him all the easier if his stink did not (truly, he did not stink, though she always liked to imagine he did).

Of course, she did not know Spades territory nearly as well as they did. Those rats were always so clever with their tunnels, but intimidation was something she excelled in. She snatched some foolish man by the shirt and around some hidden corner, and...encouraged him to tell her exactly where her rat liked to hide away. He was unwilling, of course. Fool. After a handful of broken bones and a bit of blood that she smeared on her lips like lipstick later, she knew exactly where to go.

And so did, finally strutting into his room like it belonged to her.

“Atlas, mon petit caneton,” she greeted him with sweet words that hardly veiled her distaste. “We have much to discuss.” And with those words, she shrugged off her robe, allowing it to pool by her feet and reveal the red sheer lace lingerie she had chosen to wear specifically for him. “I do hope you have time for me.”
]]>
As she strode into Spades territory, hunting for him, she was unsure whether to be impressed or disgusted. The mess that the Spade rats hid in was no Devil's Avenue, which made the constant back and forth between their gangs to be all the more infuriating. She never expected that the Spades Gang would be easy to push over, though no one could deny how intense her rage was when she got a report of her own gang losing scuffles with them. Territory was a precious thing in the Stronghold. They all knew it. Just as she expected they all knew she was not willing to give even an inch of what was hers away to anyone else.

That was exactly why she had come.

No to wage war or create chaos (though doing so would be an obscenely easy task), but to create a sort...peace. She was not foolish enough to think it would last, but her own machinations would progress all the better if she did not have to concern herself with the Spades gang for a time.

The robe she wore flowed behind her with each confident step as she headed directly to where she knew she would find him. He was, like all men, predictable in her eyes, though that meant achieving her goals for this evening would be all the easier. Atlas was incredibly irritating. Smart like her and unyielding when it came to allowing his own gang to be pushed aside in favor of her. She supposed she liked him just as much as she would have liked to have his head on a spike in her office. But the fact that she knew him made locating him all the easier if his stink did not (truly, he did not stink, though she always liked to imagine he did).

Of course, she did not know Spades territory nearly as well as they did. Those rats were always so clever with their tunnels, but intimidation was something she excelled in. She snatched some foolish man by the shirt and around some hidden corner, and...encouraged him to tell her exactly where her rat liked to hide away. He was unwilling, of course. Fool. After a handful of broken bones and a bit of blood that she smeared on her lips like lipstick later, she knew exactly where to go.

And so did, finally strutting into his room like it belonged to her.

“Atlas, mon petit caneton,” she greeted him with sweet words that hardly veiled her distaste. “We have much to discuss.” And with those words, she shrugged off her robe, allowing it to pool by her feet and reveal the red sheer lace lingerie she had chosen to wear specifically for him. “I do hope you have time for me.”
]]> <![CDATA[I Wrote the Book on Petty Revenge]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=596 Sat, 21 Aug 2021 23:04:13 +0000 Étienne Blanchard]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=596
TAG Atlas
NOTES N/A

Étienne was petty — there was no denying it. Hell, if asked, he was probably proud of it. A man with an ego as big as his wasn't someone to trifle with, as he took his petty revenge quietly and swiftly without so much as hesitation.

Which is exactly what had happened to the Spades Gang, when Étienne had nearly been killed by their escaped Infected a couple months back when delivering goods for them. Worse yet, he'd been caught up in their silly feud with the Military, and had almost been arrested for conspiracy with their illegal fights. The gall of them to have released those beasts while he had still been there! Regardless of whether or not they knew who he was in relations to Eclipse — if it had been someone else in the organization rather than him, he still would have felt a deserved fury towards the gang. That fury translated into immediately refusal of service for the Jabberwockies from that day forward, all out of spite.

The gang was a good client for Eclipse, even if they were untoward with their business, but the Eclipse Boss didn't care. They'd learn quickly that he wasn't one to mess around with, and Étienne's fury lasted long enough that, eventually, the Ace of the gang himself reached out to contact Eclipse and inquire about their relations.

Someone else could have gone — hell, anyone else should have gone. Diplomacy wasn't the man's strong suit, but as the deterioration between their organizations was due to a slight against him, he felt it only natural that he be the one to attend the meeting with the gang and deal with this little... Issue. He didn't go alone, of course. Much as he had wanted to, his advisors insisted that he take a couple of their high ranking members along, just to make sure the gang wasn't stupid enough to assassinate Eclipse's head.

Which is how the man currently found himself inside yet another of their illegal fighting dens, positioned at the back where the booths offered a good view of the fight, as well as privacy from the rest of the onlookers. The Boss sat in the middle of the booth, arms slung over the back with a glass of whiskey in one hand — a lit cigarette pinched between his index and middle fingers. Étienne didn't care for the fights, which was evident by the expression on his face, but they'd been told the Ace would meet them here. The two men he'd taken with him sat on either side, enjoying their own drinks and chatting up the waitresses while they waited.

]]>
TAG Atlas
NOTES N/A

Étienne was petty — there was no denying it. Hell, if asked, he was probably proud of it. A man with an ego as big as his wasn't someone to trifle with, as he took his petty revenge quietly and swiftly without so much as hesitation.

Which is exactly what had happened to the Spades Gang, when Étienne had nearly been killed by their escaped Infected a couple months back when delivering goods for them. Worse yet, he'd been caught up in their silly feud with the Military, and had almost been arrested for conspiracy with their illegal fights. The gall of them to have released those beasts while he had still been there! Regardless of whether or not they knew who he was in relations to Eclipse — if it had been someone else in the organization rather than him, he still would have felt a deserved fury towards the gang. That fury translated into immediately refusal of service for the Jabberwockies from that day forward, all out of spite.

The gang was a good client for Eclipse, even if they were untoward with their business, but the Eclipse Boss didn't care. They'd learn quickly that he wasn't one to mess around with, and Étienne's fury lasted long enough that, eventually, the Ace of the gang himself reached out to contact Eclipse and inquire about their relations.

Someone else could have gone — hell, anyone else should have gone. Diplomacy wasn't the man's strong suit, but as the deterioration between their organizations was due to a slight against him, he felt it only natural that he be the one to attend the meeting with the gang and deal with this little... Issue. He didn't go alone, of course. Much as he had wanted to, his advisors insisted that he take a couple of their high ranking members along, just to make sure the gang wasn't stupid enough to assassinate Eclipse's head.

Which is how the man currently found himself inside yet another of their illegal fighting dens, positioned at the back where the booths offered a good view of the fight, as well as privacy from the rest of the onlookers. The Boss sat in the middle of the booth, arms slung over the back with a glass of whiskey in one hand — a lit cigarette pinched between his index and middle fingers. Étienne didn't care for the fights, which was evident by the expression on his face, but they'd been told the Ace would meet them here. The two men he'd taken with him sat on either side, enjoying their own drinks and chatting up the waitresses while they waited.

]]> <![CDATA[haunted to meet you]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=590 Wed, 18 Aug 2021 13:31:25 +0000 Atlas]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=590

Like wind, Infected shows were unrestrained and moved where they were least likely to encounter resistance. As he felt the Military breathing down his neck, Atlas had more of a presence in deciding when and where such shows would occur.

Not that it was important in this particular instance. The spectacles may have moved, but the Infected were kept in permanent pens, locked and chained down for fear of escape. They were entrusted to a single Spade, who had their fair share of underlings to help with the operations. Atlas' more frequent visits here had brought an air of unrest, adding to the anxiety brought about by corralling undead.

He was a cloaked figure, long black cap waving and swaying with his movements. There was a slowness to his step, an unrushed pace that expected the world to bend to his whims and not the other way around. The tunnels leading up to the pens were misleadingly quiet, but as one drew nearer to where the infected were kept, the air exploded into echoes of bone-chilling snarls, the ones that stroked a person's prey instincts to turn heel and run. Yet Atlas was no longer a person and the chorus of growls was almost welcoming, as if the beasts were heralding his arrival.

He stepped into the twisted, dark chamber and pulled off his hood. Immediately he was hit with a wave of rot, a mixture of all the undead, their decaying sustenance and the sorry corpses of those that crossed the Spades. To Atlas, it was a decadent smell, not entirely pleasant, but rich, like an exotic meal presented before him. His steps were drowned by the sound of infected, beasts untiring, caged and whining for release. He ignored their requests, as he ignored the hunched and grimy figures occupying some of the punishingly small cages, the ones who's bodies curled inward from exhaustion and hopelessness. It was an environment of suffering, of all the evils of humanity gathered and showcased, but to Atlas, it was a proud display of his power.

The Ace stopped behind who he assumed to be one of the handlers. They looked rather flustered, a feeling that Atlas sensed more than saw. He tilted his pale head curiously at him, not inclined to announce his arrival yet as he was content at watching and observing. When it appeared nothing interesting would happen without Atlas' intervention, he stepped forward and spoke, a string of coherent language in the muddle of bays and snarls, "You know, they can sense fear. And right now, you reek of it."

Tag : Colton Holcombe
]]>

Like wind, Infected shows were unrestrained and moved where they were least likely to encounter resistance. As he felt the Military breathing down his neck, Atlas had more of a presence in deciding when and where such shows would occur.

Not that it was important in this particular instance. The spectacles may have moved, but the Infected were kept in permanent pens, locked and chained down for fear of escape. They were entrusted to a single Spade, who had their fair share of underlings to help with the operations. Atlas' more frequent visits here had brought an air of unrest, adding to the anxiety brought about by corralling undead.

He was a cloaked figure, long black cap waving and swaying with his movements. There was a slowness to his step, an unrushed pace that expected the world to bend to his whims and not the other way around. The tunnels leading up to the pens were misleadingly quiet, but as one drew nearer to where the infected were kept, the air exploded into echoes of bone-chilling snarls, the ones that stroked a person's prey instincts to turn heel and run. Yet Atlas was no longer a person and the chorus of growls was almost welcoming, as if the beasts were heralding his arrival.

He stepped into the twisted, dark chamber and pulled off his hood. Immediately he was hit with a wave of rot, a mixture of all the undead, their decaying sustenance and the sorry corpses of those that crossed the Spades. To Atlas, it was a decadent smell, not entirely pleasant, but rich, like an exotic meal presented before him. His steps were drowned by the sound of infected, beasts untiring, caged and whining for release. He ignored their requests, as he ignored the hunched and grimy figures occupying some of the punishingly small cages, the ones who's bodies curled inward from exhaustion and hopelessness. It was an environment of suffering, of all the evils of humanity gathered and showcased, but to Atlas, it was a proud display of his power.

The Ace stopped behind who he assumed to be one of the handlers. They looked rather flustered, a feeling that Atlas sensed more than saw. He tilted his pale head curiously at him, not inclined to announce his arrival yet as he was content at watching and observing. When it appeared nothing interesting would happen without Atlas' intervention, he stepped forward and spoke, a string of coherent language in the muddle of bays and snarls, "You know, they can sense fear. And right now, you reek of it."

Tag : Colton Holcombe
]]> <![CDATA[anger management]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=549 Thu, 05 Aug 2021 16:09:50 +0000 Atlas]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=549

Very rarely did Atlas call others to him. He preferred to watch, wait, disrupt the everyday routines of his underlings. Summons were reserved for the trusted, the useful, the ones that proved they could keep tight-lipped on the Ace's solitary quarters that lay among the deep and twisted underground.

He sat at the edge of a shipping crate in the first layer of protection that separated his living space from the rest of society. A large, empty warehouse, filled with rotted wooden pallets and storage containers that had remained shut since the world had died. Cradled in his hand was a little glass vial, the contents the color of honey and the consistency of oil. He watched with quiet black eyes as bubbles formed and floated at the small movements of his pale hand.

He heard her before he saw her. What sounded like heels clicking the floor, echoing throughout the building. Even without his keen hearing, sound travelled unrestraint through the warehouse, and only with great effort and perhaps wings could one move about the concrete floor unnoticed.

When she was beneath, Atlas leapt down from where he sat. A 20 foot drop that would've shattered knees, Atlas landed soundlessly on his booted feet. He stood and regarded her with cool eyes, naked milky torso almost glowing in the constrained light.

He never looked pleased. But something fell from the tight displeasure that softened his features. He held a hand out to his Jack. "Come here, Eve," he said, gently, as if he were speaking to a frightened child or puppy. A voice that would have been kind if it hadn't been vapid from emotion.

Tag : Eve Lovell
]]>

Very rarely did Atlas call others to him. He preferred to watch, wait, disrupt the everyday routines of his underlings. Summons were reserved for the trusted, the useful, the ones that proved they could keep tight-lipped on the Ace's solitary quarters that lay among the deep and twisted underground.

He sat at the edge of a shipping crate in the first layer of protection that separated his living space from the rest of society. A large, empty warehouse, filled with rotted wooden pallets and storage containers that had remained shut since the world had died. Cradled in his hand was a little glass vial, the contents the color of honey and the consistency of oil. He watched with quiet black eyes as bubbles formed and floated at the small movements of his pale hand.

He heard her before he saw her. What sounded like heels clicking the floor, echoing throughout the building. Even without his keen hearing, sound travelled unrestraint through the warehouse, and only with great effort and perhaps wings could one move about the concrete floor unnoticed.

When she was beneath, Atlas leapt down from where he sat. A 20 foot drop that would've shattered knees, Atlas landed soundlessly on his booted feet. He stood and regarded her with cool eyes, naked milky torso almost glowing in the constrained light.

He never looked pleased. But something fell from the tight displeasure that softened his features. He held a hand out to his Jack. "Come here, Eve," he said, gently, as if he were speaking to a frightened child or puppy. A voice that would have been kind if it hadn't been vapid from emotion.

Tag : Eve Lovell
]]> <![CDATA[Secrets That Set Them Apart]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=540 Tue, 03 Aug 2021 02:08:11 +0000 North Sigurd]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=540
TAG Eve Lovell
NOTES N/A

He loathes this part of Stronghold.

In truth, it isn't as bad as the city slums he often has to scour looking for a bite to eat, but that didn't make it any better just because it was fancier on the outside. But he knew all too well the darker secrets of the commercial business, namely the patchwork building known as the Crossroads. He knew of the darker things that lurked beneath the surface: the smell of fear, desperation, and death. It wasn't something that particularly unnerved the Infected in any way, but it was certainly not something he chose to spend his idle time in if he could help it. He was simply there on a mission today.

His lip curls in disgust at the sight of the Infected kept in cages at the back of the Spades' gang headquarters, howling their heads off as they demand fresh blood to feast on. They're nothing more than mindless creatures that deserve no sympathy — even if they were closer in kin to him than the human gang member currently leading him to the back — but North does not think of such things. His job as a Military officer is to kill such things, and even if he has no desire to do it, there's still a subconscious itch to take care of them and put them out of their misery.

"She will meet you in here, Mr. Sigurd," the human informs him suddenly, and North stops as he gazes into the room he was taken to. It's rather well-decorated compared to the rest of the place he had just walked through, with several couches available for guest seating. He murmurs a thank you before entering the room, the door closing behind him. While he normally would have flirted with the human and used his charms to get himself a little extra something, he was there for business and nothing more.

North takes a moment to admire the decoration in the room before he finally sits himself down on one of the couches, arms splayed along the back in a casual position. His blue eyes trained themselves to the door, waiting for the woman he had come to the Crossroads to visit.

]]>
TAG Eve Lovell
NOTES N/A

He loathes this part of Stronghold.

In truth, it isn't as bad as the city slums he often has to scour looking for a bite to eat, but that didn't make it any better just because it was fancier on the outside. But he knew all too well the darker secrets of the commercial business, namely the patchwork building known as the Crossroads. He knew of the darker things that lurked beneath the surface: the smell of fear, desperation, and death. It wasn't something that particularly unnerved the Infected in any way, but it was certainly not something he chose to spend his idle time in if he could help it. He was simply there on a mission today.

His lip curls in disgust at the sight of the Infected kept in cages at the back of the Spades' gang headquarters, howling their heads off as they demand fresh blood to feast on. They're nothing more than mindless creatures that deserve no sympathy — even if they were closer in kin to him than the human gang member currently leading him to the back — but North does not think of such things. His job as a Military officer is to kill such things, and even if he has no desire to do it, there's still a subconscious itch to take care of them and put them out of their misery.

"She will meet you in here, Mr. Sigurd," the human informs him suddenly, and North stops as he gazes into the room he was taken to. It's rather well-decorated compared to the rest of the place he had just walked through, with several couches available for guest seating. He murmurs a thank you before entering the room, the door closing behind him. While he normally would have flirted with the human and used his charms to get himself a little extra something, he was there for business and nothing more.

North takes a moment to admire the decoration in the room before he finally sits himself down on one of the couches, arms splayed along the back in a casual position. His blue eyes trained themselves to the door, waiting for the woman he had come to the Crossroads to visit.

]]>