Revelations of the Madman


Percival
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Dorian blinked. His vision of the soul seemed blurred, and he couldn't tell what the newcomer was thinking. It would be nice to have a companion, but on the other hand... "How do I know I can trust you, and this "Shana"? What if you're one of those things that tries to kill me?"

 

(Souls are silhouettes of the person, and they come in the same color as their eyes. The only features are the eyes, which generally glow white.)

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(Hmmm... I think I can work with that. Do you mind if I describe Shana's soul when you meet her?)

 

Shana carefully sat the traps over each hole, knowing that she didn't need bait by doing so. She walked a little ways away, sat, and waited. She didn't need to go too far. The rabbits didn't seem to notice her untill they got close.

 

(Discribing hunting with rabbit traps, how... thrillling.)

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"Good sir," Adam said. "If i would have an intent to kill you, i'd have done it already. It's been a year since i've met another human beeing here. Im not going to kill them the first thing do. So please, you can have my trust.

 

I was out here hunting for rabbits, but hey. Finding more people is OK too. So anyways, You in?"

 

 

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"Well, you obviouslt don't need to trust me. You can just walk away now and get killed by this harsh enviroment or try to attack me and i'll slice your limbs apart faster than you can say "ow". I'd recomend the first option. Please, go ahead and make a choice."

 

He took a step back , felt for his knife in his pocket, and awaited an answer.

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(Whatever, I just go, and then we'll skip his turn.)

 

*thud*

Down went the final trap. With a few swift movements, Shana gathered the rabbit and sliced it's throat. By now she was used to killing for her food, but she still tried to give her prey a quick death. Setting the trap back down over the hole, Shana carried the haul back towards camp.

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Dorian sighed thoughtfully. The stranger had a point: it things got any more difficult, he would start having problems.... And he was just thinking about his loneliness. "What do I have to do if I want in on this... 'Group'?" Dorian asked, still not fully trusting the man.

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(Well, i believe Percival is going to skip a few turn, so i assumed i could just go ahead.) 

 

"Well, you gotta be there, that's all i can say. I just met this "Shana" anyways. i was just about to help her with the hunting. and then i heard you bashing away at rocks. so i hurried to see who it was. That's all i know."

 

They came back to the camp when adam realized something.

 

"Darn it! I forgot to actually hunt things. oh well, I'll go back in there. See you in a second!"

 

He ran back into the forest.

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"Um... Alright...?" Dorian wasn't quite sure that Adam could hear him, as he had run off quite quickly. He then proceeded to look around the camp, searching for the one named 'Shana'. "Hello?" He asked, hoping that the other person would be there. And also hoping that he hadn't just been lead into a trap.

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Shana had seen Adam come towards camp. She also saw the other boy that was with him. Suddenly becoming very nervous, she hid behind the nearest object, which happened to be the science machine.

When the boy said hello, she curiously peeked around the machine but quickly ducked back.

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Dorian caught a glimpse of what he presumed to be Shana before he hid behind a machine, much like one he was planning on building himself. That was quite odd. "I won't arm you, I promise. My name is Dorian." The soul-seer spoke re-assuringly, as his calming aura spread out around him.

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(Ha, no weapons for you.)

 

"That's true. Well, you don't have to show yourself. Doesn't make too much of a difference to me. I was sent here by some guy who called himself Adam. He said to come find you... I assume you're Shana?" Dorian asked the new stranger, his flint never leaving his hand.

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(Oops.)

Silas sat in the darkness, his countdown reduced to the seconds in a minute, and even then he was halfway finished.

"34...33...32..."

It was becoming harder and more difficult for him to continue, however; now that he is within a minute, something peculiar and painful was influencing his mind.

"31...30...29..."

For every interval of ten, not so much words as concepts were appearing into his mind, each representing an aspect of the future and his past.

"28...27...26..."

The concepts were intangible and yet drove pain to his mind, and the words that represent these concepts formed into picture-esque poems in the vast empty plain of his damaged mind.

Despair. Shamed. Destroyed. Rebuild and construct the base of the world,

but

The pure things, the holy light,

Where are they in this husk.

.

.

.

And we prayed.

And only when every prayer failed did we thrive.

"25...24...23..."

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