bigby | The Abomination (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
enblightened) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2021-11-06 08:47 pm
enblightened) wrote in deercountry2021-11-06 08:47 pm
☣️ hellbent | OPEN
Who: Bigby the Abomination, OPEN
What: Catch-all for November, which includes the Sleeper Farm. Will be specifically marked.
When: November
Where: Various locations to coincide with the event
Notes: Will be continuing TDM threads in this log as well! In addition, if you desire a more specific prompt let me know. Alternatively, please feel encouraged to make your own as well.
Content Warnings: Body horror, violence, mentions of trauma, previous torture and mutilation
☣️ I. OUTSIDER'S RESPITE
[There is much to explore in this new place.
The hamlet of his world had been much smaller, of course. The districts easy to navigate, a bit more life coming to it bit by bit. Here, the Trench feels much more like a true city, and that quite honestly makes him feel uneasy. A place with such a thick population is a high potential for danger to others. He dislikes it, feels his guts wrench; a flash of fear, a flash of excitement, and he grinds his teeth to find his focus.
Calm. Easy. People have been nothing but accepting, and it would be terrible to ruin such kindness thus far. There is no danger, not right this minute, not now.
After a bit of breathing to ease his mind, Bigby lets out a soft huff of air and lets himself go exploring. Despite the warm greeting he'd been given, he still clings to his old clothing; his shroud, tattered and patched a dozen times over, ragged and sad to see, and his trousers no different. The man still has not bothered with shoes, his bare feet against the ground. The rattle of his chains can be heard easily as they still bind around his body to this very moment.
In Lumenwood, he is crouched by one of the many patches of flowers. Despite both of smell of the flowers and the stench of blood, they are beautiful. It has been too long since he's last seen blooms of this kind. There's almost a smile on Bigby's face. Almost.
Most other places are a bit too populated to really help his stress levels, but eventually Bigby makes his way back toward the shores, finding an odd comfort in Sanguine Station. It reminds him of the tavern of the hamlet, and it is much smaller, more quaint here. Not the most adequate place for meditation, but he does take a drink and keep to his own corner.
Truly, though, he can be found walking through most places, taking stock of what feels safe -- and what certainly will not be.]
☣️ II. SLEEPER FARM
[Waking in bondage is not unusual.
Waking in more chains than he remembers ever donning onto himself is another matter.
Should you have the misfortune of sharing a stall with Bigby, he jerks awake, his eyes wide and green. For a moment, he feels blinded with fear, struggling in what he's been shackled with. His heartrate increases, and he breathes uneasily.]
No-- no, I escaped, you wretches! I escaped you all!
[The memories pierce him horribly. A burning brand to his head, searing his skin. The delight his torturers took to him, to make him repent, as if he ever had any say in whether or not he would be cursed, as if he ever wanted to be. Calling him sinner, cackling in his pain, the years he counted!]
It'll have your meat, grind your bones! You know this!
☣️ III. A GIBBOUS MOON
[He feels it. Boiling in his blood, his heart, its instincts howling inside of him.
So he leaves the city as evening starts to roll in. The moon will be strong tonight, and so will it. Something that Bigby needs to prepare for.
Ah, that time of the month? the jester would cackle, as if the joke had never been told before. Somehow, having the matter made light made the burden that easier to carry.
In any case, Bigby leaves, clutching his cloak to himself. When he spots anyone else, he'll mutter:]
Do not be out late. It is a difficult night, and one never knows what lurks out there.
What: Catch-all for November, which includes the Sleeper Farm. Will be specifically marked.
When: November
Where: Various locations to coincide with the event
Notes: Will be continuing TDM threads in this log as well! In addition, if you desire a more specific prompt let me know. Alternatively, please feel encouraged to make your own as well.
Content Warnings: Body horror, violence, mentions of trauma, previous torture and mutilation
☣️ I. OUTSIDER'S RESPITE
[There is much to explore in this new place.
The hamlet of his world had been much smaller, of course. The districts easy to navigate, a bit more life coming to it bit by bit. Here, the Trench feels much more like a true city, and that quite honestly makes him feel uneasy. A place with such a thick population is a high potential for danger to others. He dislikes it, feels his guts wrench; a flash of fear, a flash of excitement, and he grinds his teeth to find his focus.
Calm. Easy. People have been nothing but accepting, and it would be terrible to ruin such kindness thus far. There is no danger, not right this minute, not now.
After a bit of breathing to ease his mind, Bigby lets out a soft huff of air and lets himself go exploring. Despite the warm greeting he'd been given, he still clings to his old clothing; his shroud, tattered and patched a dozen times over, ragged and sad to see, and his trousers no different. The man still has not bothered with shoes, his bare feet against the ground. The rattle of his chains can be heard easily as they still bind around his body to this very moment.
In Lumenwood, he is crouched by one of the many patches of flowers. Despite both of smell of the flowers and the stench of blood, they are beautiful. It has been too long since he's last seen blooms of this kind. There's almost a smile on Bigby's face. Almost.
Most other places are a bit too populated to really help his stress levels, but eventually Bigby makes his way back toward the shores, finding an odd comfort in Sanguine Station. It reminds him of the tavern of the hamlet, and it is much smaller, more quaint here. Not the most adequate place for meditation, but he does take a drink and keep to his own corner.
Truly, though, he can be found walking through most places, taking stock of what feels safe -- and what certainly will not be.]
☣️ II. SLEEPER FARM
[Waking in bondage is not unusual.
Waking in more chains than he remembers ever donning onto himself is another matter.
Should you have the misfortune of sharing a stall with Bigby, he jerks awake, his eyes wide and green. For a moment, he feels blinded with fear, struggling in what he's been shackled with. His heartrate increases, and he breathes uneasily.]
No-- no, I escaped, you wretches! I escaped you all!
[The memories pierce him horribly. A burning brand to his head, searing his skin. The delight his torturers took to him, to make him repent, as if he ever had any say in whether or not he would be cursed, as if he ever wanted to be. Calling him sinner, cackling in his pain, the years he counted!]
It'll have your meat, grind your bones! You know this!
☣️ III. A GIBBOUS MOON
[He feels it. Boiling in his blood, his heart, its instincts howling inside of him.
So he leaves the city as evening starts to roll in. The moon will be strong tonight, and so will it. Something that Bigby needs to prepare for.
Ah, that time of the month? the jester would cackle, as if the joke had never been told before. Somehow, having the matter made light made the burden that easier to carry.
In any case, Bigby leaves, clutching his cloak to himself. When he spots anyone else, he'll mutter:]
Do not be out late. It is a difficult night, and one never knows what lurks out there.
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Is it a pleasure?
[He doesn't say it cruelly or with sarcasm.]
I am not the most enjoyable company there could be.
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I could think of far worse men to share a drink with. First thing you did, you offer me your rightfully claimed seat.
[Listen, you spend enough time in San-Matheus, you run into a lot of people who thought they were miles above you.]
Or maybe I've run in lousy circles, of late.
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I wish you caution regardless.
[Hesitantly, Bigby reaches up to his own head, tracing out the A that had been branded into him ages ago.]
I was marked for what I am. Someone who battles his own beastliness. Inside is a monster that I become.
[A pause, then he clarifies:] ...Not a werewolf.
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[As flippant as it could sound, somehow, it doesn't. He even inclines his head, politely. Willing to humor the stranger, who's seemed a bit off, but hardly dangerous.]
[He does arch an eyebrow, scanning the top of the man's head. Over the A marking. Well, it's not a crown of branching horns. Not a naidag or other kind of bonded creature. So, he pushes his hat back off his eyes a bit more, and sits forward.]
Afraid you'll have to explain. I've seen men become monsters, but none who bear a marking such as that.
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[Mostly, he just sounds tired. He understands needing to explain; that is something he cannot fault another for, for simply not knowing what he is.
The memories with it, the burden -- those aspects are exhausting.]
My chains help to hold it back. But never is it a promise. A crutch for me to forever attempt to tame its instincts.
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Grew horns like tree branches. [A gesture to his head.] Then turned into fearsome monsters... Naidag, they'd call themselves.
Don't believe they ever turned back, though. You've got that on them.
[He's helping!]
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[Still, he does see what this man is trying to tell him. It's very considerate, all things considered. So he pauses, then speaks a bit more softly:]
Thank you, regardless.
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You seem to be keeping it together well at the moment. My congratulations.
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[He has a drink from his pint, because it's a little flustering to be basically complimented so much.]
You hardly seem fazed at such a thing. Though I suppose your own experiences leave little surprise left. I hear that men on the sea witness many a strange adventure.
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[Which turns out to be a great idea, because then he can take a drink of his own. It's been some time since he'd thought of the Island. Of what was left behind. The crazed assault on a sacred mountain - actual real gods. And Constantin...]
You've heard rightly. Though, I must say, nothing at sea held a candle to the last few months ashore. [He pauses.] Even before this land.
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If... you wish to share, I would listen, Captain.
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It's a long tale, of daring deeds and wicked politics, if you've got the time. If not, I s'pose we'll have to tell it in parts.
[And you know, come back here to talk again.]
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Listening to tales puts me at ease, usually. It would only help.
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[Time for a tale. One hell of a tale. Hopefully, it will put the other man at ease... though Vasco has his doubts.]
The people of my world have begun colonizing an island, far out to sea from the continent. An illness ravages them - those noble houses on the continent. They believed... [There's an awful lot of dryness to the voice of a man of the sea, right here.] Some sort of magical cure could be found on the island.
Teer Fradee. Nothing there but angry natives and politics, if you ask me.
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Self-important nobility, seeking forbidden knowledge or an impossible thing? A matter I know too well.
A bit too realistic a story this one, but go on.
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[But, boy, they both need a drink.]
My ship was contracted by the d'Orsay family. Taking over a new Governor for Congregation territory. His Excellency is... [was, his mind adds, unwelcome.] a proper delinquent. His cousin keeps him in check, thank everything for that. Not bad though, for a pair of nobles.
[Especially d'Sarde.]
Ended up tagging along with the cousin - d'Sarde - traipsing all over the blasted island. They're a diplomat, had all manner of problems to solve. Keep the natives from murdering caravans, keep the Alliance from murdering natives... and Thélème from burning everyone at the bloody stake.
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[But with that out of the way, he listens, tilting his head slightly. The entire thing sounds like a wretched mess, and not something he envies.]
I fear my tasks were much simpler endeavors by comparison. Horrible as they were, there were little politics involved.
What happened?
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[Yeah, this deserves another drink. Shaking his head. It's a terrible tale in its own right.]
S'pose in the end, the politics mattered little. His Excellency contracted the sickness - the one everyone'd been running around Teer Fradee attempting to cure. To no avail. Then all our efforts turned to saving him. Apparently he's the only bit of family De Sarde has left - so you understand the concern.
They have it in your world? The Malichor?
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...You need not describe it if it discomforts you, despite my own curiosities.
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None of my folk are afflicted. Governor d'Orsay's the closest I have ever seen the sickness.
Turns the blood black in the veins. Rots a man from the inside out. Fatal, they say. Always. [The revelation had hit de Sarde far worse than the Naut. He hurt for his friend, of course, but none of the party could fully understand the grief locked in the audience room that day.] Needless to say... our course irrevocably altered.
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[Still, he can't help but lean forward, horribly fascinated.]
What did you all end up doing after that?
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[Despite all the uproar on the continent. Despite Thélème and the Bridge Alliance stubbornly stating otherwise.]
Our companion, Siora, was among them. Her thought was that while her people had no knowledge of this plague, they were highly capable healers. Many an ailment seemed fatal, before they used their magic.
We set out to locate the most talented among them - man by the name of Catashach, one of their leaders. Never knew why he'd help a bunch of foreigners, let alone one of their governors. But - [A slight, fond shake of his head.] - De Sardet could always work diplomatic miracles.
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[He inhales slowly, steadying, as he leans forward, elbows perched on his knees. Staring at nothing in particular.]
Catashach performed the natives' bonding ritual - to tie him to the land, help ease the pain. But... in the middle of his rites, the man was attacked. Killed. Governor d'Orsay kidnapped.
[Here, he pauses, while another drink is set down. Good. He'll need it for this story.]
By the high king of Teer Fradee. Murdering his own, kidnapping our own... horrible.
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[How foolish he was to hope for a better end to this tale. There's a terrible part of him that hisses he should know better. You cannot steal hope from the hopeless. He licks his lips anxiously.]
Forgive my naive question.
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