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.
no subject
...You need not describe it if it discomforts you, despite my own curiosities.
no subject
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.
no subject
[Still, he can't help but lean forward, horribly fascinated.]
What did you all end up doing after that?
no subject
[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.
no subject
no subject
[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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
[He's not even remotely offended. It's just the nature of the story.]
At any rate... things only became worse from there. I can spare you, if you'd prefer.
no subject
Share, if you wish. I would listen. Terrible experiences and woes are, alas, things I am mastered in.
no subject
[He'll listen too, in other words. But pauses, gathering his thoughts. The whole affair had been so chaotic.]
We... had to slay the High King of Teer Fradee. Nothing else would have worked. He wasn't going to let Constantin, the Governor, go, and De Sarde would not abandon him. After that... we assumed things would have improved.
Instead, we had rescued a very - very different man. Anyone could see Constatin had changed. Paranoid, delusional. He'd begun to resemble the locals in the worst way. [He gestures toward the top of his head.] Horns, he'd grown. A crown of bramble horns.
no subject
Ah. What of him, then? After those changes?