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PostPosted: Jun 3rd, '10, 11:06 
Level 7 Player Character
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Joined: Mar 8th, '10, 08:14
Posts: 127
Location: Wheaton, Maryland, US of Assholes
(Vicho's story is comprised of gothic horror, torture themes, and a morbid depiction of life/death. If anyone is squimish (No shame) to such topics, or has Thanophobia (Phobia of death, I have it, but despite that I love the character concept) I'd advise not to read further. Otherwise, enjoy :D )
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Chapter 1*

Rigormortis Sets In

I woke to find my dear one gone
I'm sure he went to play
Such curiousity could not be wrong
Despite how he did stray

Left alone to do my work
I tended to the graves
As corpses fell, my mind, my hell
Replayed memories in waves

The beautiful knife in hand
It took her life, the tip did land
Repeatedly into her chest
Her beating heart was put to rest

I was not sad, but rather glad
The way she came at me
Turning -her- knife upon my wife
And after her eyes did see

Then the truth, it dawned on me
As tingly realization set in
Despite the fight within such life
Death will always win

I removed her teeth and placed them there
To the spot she always endeared me
And within my flesh the knife laid bare
On my neck she remains so near me

And as I smiled and realized
And looked upon her glossy eyes
As Rigormortis began to thrive
I thought without a doubt...

Of that beautiful rhyme I learned the time I was a tiny Lout.
I burried her body, the beautiful thing
And joyously I began to sing
"The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out...the worms play pinnucle on your snout!"

And then the interruption...

Image
Image
Image

Two souls, one journey forth
We will proceed, and stay the course
And with no care, and no remorse

Would I save my darling slave?

Sarcastically, I'd say "Of Course..."

Image

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PostPosted: Jun 6th, '10, 23:20 
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Location: Wheaton, Maryland, US of Assholes
A brief excerpt. A Tribute to Pain, by Vicho Cain

Thanks be to PaiN, and SuFfeRinG
My heart and my mind will always sing
With the enlightenment that torment brings
And as I glance down at her wedding ring
My wife's finger still in the bloodied THiNg

I say thanks be to PaiN, and SuFfeRinG...
Thank you so much for your gift of black WiNGs.

-Vicho Cain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*;.;*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Gravekeeper long, long ago thought of magic only as a mere hobby to pass the melancholy of his profession. Now, the Necromancer pauses to study his own writing, having not even bothered to look at the page at all, his brilliant mind distracted with other things while he writes. And the knife twisting and dancing in his right hand for the first time slips...and blue blood now pools red as it exposes to air and drips down his arm. His eyes glance over his work, and find his usually flawless quillmanship now smudged and scratched in certain areas. Reading over the poem again, the images the words create excite the man even more as his "Gateways to the soul" pour over the words, more fervently than ever before.

"What is this strange new feeling...?" He thinks to himself...

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PostPosted: Jun 7th, '10, 21:32 
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Location: TOOOOLSET!!
Screaming, shouting, deep below.
Let the light's void, black, bleak - flow.
Fleeting flight of chains abound
Damned souls writhing all around
Chains they rattle, ever-sing
Let us hear what news She'll bring.

Screaming, shouting, deep below.
Black-hearted Lord, hear me, know:
The Cain was made, made anew
He will serve you through and through.
Trapped in ice he turns a gaze,
Three of six eyes all ablaze.

Screaming, shouting, deep below.
You serve me well, faith to show,
You bring warmth within my heart,
Let those who oppose be torn apart
Let their blood now fall as rain
As they fall to Vicho Cain.

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THIS. IS. SPOON!!"


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PostPosted: Jun 20th, '10, 11:17 
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Location: Wheaton, Maryland, US of Assholes
Vicho, so curious, stood in front of his "victim". In his mind, what was about to be performed would be his greatest achievement. To truely know what it felt like.

Something nestled deep within him shuddered momentarily...

The statue of a man was suspended by it's ankles upside down by a tight rope, attached to a pully on the ceiling, and tied off on the far wall. Used expertly, for the artist, Vicho was not a strong man at all. Servants had their many uses. Seperate ropes were bound around the knees, and the chest of the work of art, the sculpture's hands secured behind it's back. Three rope lengths encircled the chest in perfect spacing to provide complete restriction of movement. Yet the sculpture didn't move.

That is, until the wizard spoke the words, gesturing with his left hand casually, without a care as the right hand constantly toyed with his precious knife. The sculpture came to life with a brief flash of light. The man immediately opened his eyes, gasping for breathe as his situation became all too real, all too quickly. The struggle ensued as he swayed from the rope, fighting within his bonds as he screamed. At least the rotten half-tunic clung to his hips, giving the man one small dignity.

"You bastard. What the hell is this? Some sick joke!?"

Vicho stood in a dark robe that would have concealed him completely in the twilight room, yet his ghastly white pale skin could be seen. He did not smile, nor grin, nor show pity as he gazed upon his current masterpiece. His eyes were emotionless, lifeless, even a bit cloudy. The skin around them was shrunk slightly to the bones it encased, clinging desperately to them showing the lack of sleep. His nose was upturned slightly, and his lips dry and cracked. It was apparent this man didn't much care for healthy upkeep. His body, without the relics he was so found of, allowing him to perform more physically, was just as he, a shriveled shell. The teeth that lined a vicious scar along the left side of his neck stood out, and reflected brightly in the moonlight...perfectly white. Perfect.

As the man struggled upside down, gritting his teeth and seething out his insults, Vicho merely canted his head to the side. His gaze lifeless...

"We will both go on a journey, you and I...but only one of us is fit to defy. The other wasted his life away, on fitting in and wasting away. Just one of the sheep, a part of the flock...No, more like attempting to work his way up among the livestock..."

Vicho's voice was dark, playful, charismatic in its little play on words. He walked towards the man, the shroud he wore clinging to his form.

"When I get out of this, I swear to go-...!"

Boney fingers his right hand, perhaps the only shred of athleticism the Necromancer had now gripped the man's jaw, shutting his mouth and digging into the flesh of his face with long, yellowed finernails.

"You will what, you little fuck? It seems you're the one who's life is suspended and stuck. Your life was a paradox, and soon you will see...that together we won't be just one, but three..."

"Inshaane...yur insha-ane" The man sobbed as Vicho released his grip, sliding his index finger against the man's skin leaving a red welt. "YOU'RE INSANE!!"

"Mh hm hm...silly sow, you're just a cow. There's little you can do here and now. You were a lawyer, were you not? Sending the convicted, perhaps innocent, to rot. Complete in confidence, it was your test...to do your job, and do it best. As little ducks, all in a row, you prosecuted them, and watched them go. But what is that saying they so aptly place? You reap what you soe...Oh, how is your face...?"

The red welt that was created on the man's face suddenly quivered, expanding slightly before disappearing beneath the skin. The man screamed in agony as he began to sweat, hyperventilate, his body once again shaking within it's bonds.

Vicho gestured, muttering dark and forbodding semantics as his throat issued the necessary words. The man's body froze in complete fear as his very life passed before his eyes.

"HoW PoEtiC...NoThiNg MoRe NeeDs To Be SaiD..."

His usual rhyming gone, as the man heard the sickening sound of a high-pitched shreek that mingled with Vicho's usual darkly playful voice...now sounding of death. Rot purged the man's nostrils as joyful memories filled his mind, and along the corners of his mind's eye...all he could see were worms. As images of his childhood flashed past him, friends, loved ones and himself slowly growing older as he witnessed his accomplishments...the worms slowly crept further in, covering ground. The man began going into shock, his eyes wide, and his mouth just as much as if in silent scream. The pain he felt during the event was extraordinary.

At this point, Vicho had taken a step back, his gaze as lifeless as before, tilting his head as he watched his masterpiece unfold.

"I'm ReMiNdeD of a RhyMe, AnD I UsuALLy DoN't SiNg WheN I'M ThiS...ExCiTeD..."

The words showed no sense of excitement whatsoever, perhaps even a hint of sarcasm. Meanwhile the man suspended as a piece of meat began sucking in desperate breaths. His hands clenched behind his back, white knuckled so much that his fingernails dug into the skin. His toes were curled so tightly they might snap at any moment. And in his mind now, there were only worms, covering what -might- have been...

DoN'T EvEr LauGh aS ThE HeaRSe GoeS By
FoR YoU MaY Be The NeXt To DiE.
TheY WraP YoU Up iN a BiG WhiTe SheeT
ANd BuRy YoU AbOuT SiX FeeT DeeP.

Or TheY Put YoU iN a BiG BLaCK BoX
TheN CoVer YoU Up WITh DIRt aNd RoCkS.

ALL GoeS WeLl FoR AbOuT a WeeK
AnD TheN YouR CoFFiN BegiNs to LeaK.
ThE WoRmS CrAwL iN, ThE WoRmS CraWL OuT
ThE WORmS PLaY PInoChLe oN YouR SnOuT.

TheY EaT YoUr EyeS, TheY EaT YouR NoSe
ThEY EaT ThE JeLLy BeTweeN YoUR ToeS.
A BiG GreeN WoRm WiTh RoLLiNG EyeS
CraWLs iN YouR StoMaCh aNd OuT YouR EyeS.

YouR StOmaCH TuRNs a SLiMy GreeN
AnD PuSS PouRs OuT LiKe WhiPPiNg CreaM!
SPreaD iT on a SLiCe of BreaD
ThaT's What YoU EaT WheN YoU aRe DeaD...

The man, cattatonic now was awoken briefly to the feeling of Vicho's knife sliding from his right ear, under his chin to his left. His body jerked in deathrows as the blood poured rather quickly from the man's body as gravity and the frantically pumping heart worked in unison to drain him like a slaughtered animal. The man choked on his own blood as Vicho had stepped back once more, revelling in the feeling of the spell he had previously cast, the gift that the mother inside gave him. He closed his eyes as he felt himself falling, into the deepest blackest pit imaginable, not able to speak, to breathe, the only feeling that of a constantly ebatting *thump*. The feeling would have been endless if he were the one dying, but as the cow's body went slack, and the light within his eyes dimmed Vicho snapped out of the trance, breathing heavily as if waking from a nightmare. But he laughed, and the feeling was amazing.

It was enough to make one feel alive...

Without the dominant nature of the dark necrotic spell, and the man dead, Vicho's voice was percieved as normal. Dark and playful.

"Thank you so much, my sweet little cow...I will proceed to bury you now."

Vicho eventually stepped from the door within the keep he sometimes came to for contemplation. Rigormortis was in toe behind him as he carried a large package over his shoulder, bloodied and soaked with the rain, wrapped in a big white sheet.

~Fin...?

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PostPosted: Jun 27th, '10, 02:11 
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Location: Wheaton, Maryland, US of Assholes
A week after the encounter with the bovine peasant, Vicho sat nestled inside his palce of zen. His fortress of solitude. He glanced at the blank parchment that lay flat on the table before him. For hours it had been this way, and for hours his body had shuddered with the thought, with the wishing to know...just why nothing inspiring came to him. The deep expanse that was his mind like clockwork, but the gears grinded so loud he could not think, as the vastness of his thoughts left him without focus.

Then suddenly, it came to him. Sweet, beautiful, deep and forbodding. A message brought on by brilliant melody. Immediately he shifted forward, grabbing the quill from his inkwell and began writing. As the thoughts came to him he dragged the quill along the paper until halfway through the delicate pen SNAPPED due to the imbued stress. Vicho reached across the table quickly to retrieve the spare he had left for himself, writing once more until the work was finished. A full night's work in the course of an hour as he looked upon the finished piece, black bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dead from the Neck Down by Vicho Cain

A chosen one, a prodigal son
And his parents without scorn
Him in her arms, as tears did run
Their hearts were not forlorn

For he was beautiful and sweet
The babe so well behaved
He did not cry or kick his feet
Looking up, having been saved
The doctors ran some tests and found
Dead from the neck down

The parents cried but they did have a loving for their child
And when they held him close between them the baby only smiled
The father was a Digger's son, his heartstrings gave a tug
So the father named his son, his father. Thus, his name was Dug.

Now despite the unoriginality, and the reasoning for a name
The boy grew strong within his mind, despite his body lame
And years flew by as his parents cried so proud of their only son
At the age of five, so full of pride, his journey had just begun
Despite how he couldn't walk around
Dead from the neck down

At the age of seven, it was time for him to go to school
Accompanied by a chaperone, it was the parent's rule
He held the boy for hours on end, in a position to write with his quill pen
And the boy did so, pen held in teeth, the boy's resolve beyond belief

Dug felt no sorrow for his plight, but chose only to aspire
His mind grew strong with poem and song, though his body would expire
He wrote his first symphony at the tender age of fifteen
He even performed it himself, his mind and voice were so keen
Yet despite success the crowd would frown...
Dug Dead from the neck down

The doctors thought he'd not last past his twenty-fourth birthday
His heart nearly gave out on him on his fifth visit to the clergy
Yet his soul was fortified with his own metaphoric Metallergy
Dug opened his eyes, the parents cried knowing where he wanted to stay

He surpassed their expectations, and surmounted limitations
But his mind so strong before, faced with death brought hesitations
At twenty five he did so strive to write another symphony
But much to everyone's dismay it was merely morbid Cacophany
And once again, after dreadful sound
Dead from the neck down

He started to give, such a soul didn't know how to live just like all the rest
Performing the only thing he could in front of the crowd was his true test
He saw how they looked at him, focused on their indifference
Dug lay in bed, covers below his head, questioning his significance

Despite his parents constant support, Dug fell into depression
And his handicap was the key, it did not need a mention
Once again the parents cried, as Dug gave up, and his soul died
Over the next year, Dug bedridden with fear, they knew he would survive
Friends and family surround, but in his mind the only sound
"Dead from the neck down"

The funeral was full of tears, and memories that spanned the years
Of this brave life that broke the strife and chains that it rode in on
Indeed his father said it best, though desperately choking on his tears
Despite the death of his only son, the impact he had would always live on

His parents stood over the hole in the earth as their world was lowered down
His body shriveled beyond compare, in the box he'd hear no sound
The Eulogy was symbolic enough, it was his first sweet symphony
Not the second but the first, and in all their minds his soul was free
Mother, wisdom profound, screamed his final words as he lay in the ground
"DEAD FROM THE NECK DOWN!"

Now you would think there was a point, and yes there surely is
But do you wish to truely know the purpose that is this?
If you're still listening then you might guess, or perhaps you do not know
But as I carry on in rhyme, your curiousity doth grow

The mind is a powerful device that holds all our perceptions
Even after death it can survive despite scientific comprehensions
The heart ceases to beat the blood in the meat, but yet it still will live
Depending on how strong the resolve, it might never even give?
So as they lower you down, remember Dug and frown
For now you truely see, eventually we all will be
Dead from the neck down!

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PostPosted: Jul 2nd, '10, 01:55 
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Location: Wheaton, Maryland, US of Assholes
My Gift of Life by Vicho Cain

Idle hands have such demands
And leave one in repose.
To each their own are words to live
Such wisdom they compose.
So as you twirl a rose
So delicately beneath your nose
I shall twist my knife
And give my gift of life

//(Thanks to P. Overwhelming for the inspiration)

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