Call of C'Handler

Tyce glances up from his intense thinking.
"Whuh? Dude that my st...ah, fuck it. Like, what the hell."
Tyce pulls a small baggie of weed out of his Shrek fanny pack, takes a blunt out of it, and tosses the bag to Toadvine.
"Yeah, token up sounds good right about now."
Tyce lights up and continues to attempt to think of an idea.
 
"Toadvine smirked as he received the bag. He looked up towards the junkie to thank him but the boy had already turned away.

The drug did not appear to be of particularly good make or quality. Toadvine had had better in his day but he wasn't one to judge given the circumstances. He preferred tobacco but it had been conspicuously hard to come by in the city as of late. He rolled the shredded green substance up in the paper. He licked the paper's edge as to make it adhesive. The outlaw reached into another of his coat pockets and drew a worn, metallic lighter. Its silver coat gave off a dull luster in the moonlight.

The crude blunt was soon ignited. The desperado took a long and meaningful drag from it before coughing hoarsely for a few fleeting seconds. He leaned against the junkie's van, not yet feeling the effects of the cannabis on his being. He could have sworn that something was off about the plant's flavor. Some sinister and unnatural sensation that he had been unable to place."
 
Toadvine, you feel a little better. Steady, at least. Ready to deal with whatever comes next.

November: *BANG*. Your bullet punches straight through the head of one of the assembled cultists, who falls down dead. The whispers on the breeze abruptly stop. The others look up at you. Overseer Wesley's voice is heard, shouting above the wind.

"Further into the city! Go! We can start again, they cannot be allowed to interrupt! Leave him!"

Wesley forcibly drags a second cultist away from the body of the first, as the rest disappear into one of the passages in the strange, dark cavern.

Tyce: Even when the cultists have left, your crew still throws more things into the pit. They pile up around the burning wreck of the vehicle you drove in earlier.
 
"Toadvine found his energy restored after a few seconds. He felt quite vigorous and his injuries were no longer as painful. It was as if the marijuana had magically mended his damaged limbs.

The colors of his surroundings suddenly became vivid, their natural hues emphasized to an unnatural degree. It appeared that the landscape was now folding in on itself. He stumbled through the bright colors that radiated grotesquely from his surroundings. He tried to reassure himself that the drug had been tainted and thus caused these visions. He looked up to the sky and saw the clouds undulating and swirling. They were amorphous grey creatures, abominable beasts that that had come from beyond the stars to consume the earth. Their maws gaped idly.

He ran madly to find his companions. At the edge of a vast crater he found a monstrous corgi. It stood upright and erect like a man. Its orange fur glowed eerily. It gazed icily at him with its single eye, its fangs bared in a snarl. He fell on his back, letting out a startled cry. He gazed once more into the pit. Through the sulfurous smoke, he saw flames emerging from the earth. He tore himself away from the pits edge, fearing the hell that awaited him there.

Toadvine thrashed his arms blindly, the smoke obscuring his vision. He found himself on his knees, clutching the ragged sweatshirt that the junkie had worn. The desperado looked up, his face awash in sweat and soot. This can't be real. You slipped me something, didn't ya? There was no response. Toadvine's arms began to quiver. Is this for what I've done? To this, the haze around the junkies face began to clear. Toadvine's eyes met with a skull, for it was a skeleton that was leering down at him. A hideous, blinding white light emerged from its sockets. Its jaw lowered as if to cackle but no sound emerged. Toadvine began to scream."
 
Last edited:
  • Winner
Reactions: Quote Me Now and Randall Fragg
As you all glare at Toadvine, the poor man having seemingly lost his mind, you hear the chanting again, somewhere deep within the twisting passages at the bottom of the chasm. It seems much, much quieter than before, the noise softened by the layers of rock between you and the remaining cultists.

The storm clouds begin gathering again, and the whispers can't be far behind...
 
Tyce stairs at Toadvine.
"Taahhh, look, Brokeback's trippin out. Come on dude, keep it together, we have to.....what the fuck? Yo, who the fuck is makin that fuckin noise?"
Tyce's bloodshot eyes darted around the construction site.
"Duude, the fuckin cultists are back. Damn, we musta, like, dropped a billion pounds of crap on em and they still won't shut up. Fuck, yo, anyone gots an idea other than go down and shoot those fag niggurz up?"
 
I think I utilize simile to frequently while writing these. I ought to get better about that.

"Toadvine fell to the ground in a nervous fit. He rolled in the dirt and gravel erratically. Dark, formless horrors encroached on him in his eyes. This endured for some time until the outlaw began to heave violently. He aired his paunch and soon the vivid colors and terrible shadow beasts began to subside. His injuries felt alleviated somehow.

He tried to get to his feet, expelled stomach acid and spit mixed with grit on his chin. As he stood partially bent over, drawing in air in great gasps, he heard once more the damnable chanting. He stood up, revolver in hand. In a swift hand motion, he wiped the drool from his face. We ought to go tan those workers hides, he growled.
 
November appeared shocked for a moment, surprised with herself for actually open fire. She was never one to resort to violence. When it came down to it, she was more-so one to scamper off to save her hide rather than risking her life and getting wounded. The firearm in her grasp trembled faintly as she gazed off with her single eye in the direction of the ominous chanting. The voices of her comrades were mute to her as she stared off, lost in thought. She was at a lost for words, until the whispers reached her.

"Huh?" the dog woman muttered, lifting her gaze upwards as she flopped the firearm hesitantly to her side. The gathering storm over head brought a shock to her system as her skin crawled with discomfort. "W-we should do something, anything, to shut those things up." Her voice held a hint of shakiness to it as she passed a glance to the group.
 
Alrighty then - there are two ways down that are immediately apparent.

Firstly, the crane that took the cultists down is still functional, but it will take a second to winch itself up and then down again.

Of course, you could try and scramble down the side and hope for the best. But it looks...steep.

Of course, you're in a construction yard. There's lots of stuff lying around.
 
Quote Me Now said:
Alrighty then - there are two ways down that are immediately apparent.

Firstly, the crane that took the cultists down is still functional, but it will take a second to winch itself up and then down again.

Of course, you could try and scramble down the side and hope for the best. But it looks...steep.

Of course, you're in a construction yard. There's lots of stuff lying around.
Click to expand...
How big is the crane? Will it be able to bring down a vehicle of some sort?
 
Randall Fragg said:
How big is the crane? Will it be able to bring down a vehicle of some sort?
Click to expand...

Sorry for the slow reply on this one - I just moved into my first house (woo)!

The crane could potentially bring a vehicle down, but it might be a bit of a risk. It's meant for moving bricks and mortar, not heavy lifting of that sort! Of course you could still try.
 
Tyce slowly comprehends what he and the others must do.
"Yo, guys, over here! Stop throwing shit in the hole! The faggots ran deeper, we can't hit 'em!"
While Tyce's goons cease throwing vehicles into the pit, Tyce runs over to the race war van and opens the back. He grabs the milk crate with the tools for auto repairs in it, keeps the greasy rags, funnel, and motor oil, and dumps the rest. He grabs the can of gas used for huffing and four beer bottles half full with jenkim.
Nick, Derrick, and Big Jim wander up to him.
"Tyce, what we gonna do? Theys ain't there no more!"
"I'm aware of that Nick. We gotta go in! That's why I'm making us some, like, fire bombs and shit!"
Tyce points to the Molotov cocktails he's busy whipping up.
"In there? Uh, Tyce, dat seems, uh, like, kinda scary."
"Scary! What iz this, fag time? This here's the start of the skeleton/race war, and yous all pussing out on me?"
"Wait now, we done never said-"
"You guyz are the best damn race warriorz I've ever met, not some pussy nigger fagz! Are we gonna do this?"
"Uhhhh"
"Are we gonna kill these niggerz?"
"...uhhh, yeah?"
"I said, are we gonna kill these faggotz?"
"Yeah!"
"Are we gonna say fuck the cops!"
"YEAH!"
"Are we gonna free the skelluytonz?"
"HHEELLL YEAH!"
"RACE WAR RACE WAR 2-0-1-4!" Tyce yells, as he hoists up the crate of Molotov.
"YYYYYYEEEEEEHAAAAAWWW!" The Goons yell, as they hoist up their weapons and run with Tyce to the lift, eager to get on with the race war.
 
"Toadvine looked over at the assembly of drug addicts in the same way that an overworked school teacher looks at a group of persistently troublesome problem students. What are yall waiting for? he barked. Lets get down there. We've got to hang them bastards high. Toadvine shuddered, recalling the psychotropic beings he had glimpsed mere moments ago."
 
The lift slowly ascends back up to you, the winch shrieking in protest as it does so. As it ascends, you hear an almost human roar from the direction of the portakabin you last saw the ex-Mr Comic dragging a poor, unfortunate soul into. One of its windows shatters, and an arm flops wetly into the floor near you.

Out of the broken window climbs the deformed creature, significantly worse for wear from Tyce's blast, but no slower.

It begins running towards you, teeth bared. The lift is slowly rising - it will be here in 30 seconds.

The creature will be in you in 10.

Ideas?
 
"Revolver already in hand, Toadvine aimed for the creature's tattered torso and let off a string of shots. His hand was steady and his aim was true, or so he hoped. He slammed down on the hammer repeatedly, letting off the slugs in quick succession."
 
"Aww, dud, sik! Lookit that niger over ther! Let's git it!"
Tyce racks his shotgun and fires at the "Niger". Nick fires his pistols with a cry of "Whoohoo, whyt powa!". Derrick blasts at it with his shotgun while puffing away at a blunt. "Duude, it's like Doom an shit!" Big Jim unloads his BAR at the malformed monstrosity. "Die yew Jewpig mother fucker!"
The smell of cordite, weed, Jenkim, and :briefs: fills the air, along with a spray of hot casings and shell hulls.
 
Lead fills the air between you and the rapidly advancing creature, but it struggles onwards against the fullisade. It has, however, been slowed down by the force of bullets tearing into its body.

The lift will be here in 10 seconds.

The creature will be here in 8 at this rate. You're so close...but you need to find that bit of extra time from somewhere!
 
"The desperado leaped through the swirling sulfur haze and scrambled towards the approaching lift. His back to the guard rails, he ejected the spent rounds from his pistol and loaded new ones. The beast had been slowed but continued to lurch forward uneasily. He took aim and got ready to fire again."
 
"Dude, what the fuck? Why won't it fucking die? Fucking niggo, you should, lik, die an shit! Fuck u!"
With that eloquent assessment of the situation, Tyce lights one of the Molotovs and hurls it at the beast.
"Fire fire! Huhuhuh!"
 
The Molotov slams against the approaching creature with a satisfying "fwoosh!"

As it thrashes around to put itself out, the lift arrives, and you scramble to get aboard. The pressure of your weight is too much for the old crane, however, and you make an uncontrolled descent into the chasm below. Above, you can still see whatever Mr Comics body has become thrashing around, on fire.

When you eventually reach the bottom, the chanting reasserts itself as the most prominent noise. Shadows are thrown on the walls by flickering candlelight down one of the tunnels. After proceeding for some way, you see what remains of the cult gathered around a lopsided mirror, chanting their awful chants.

It looks like there's someone in the mirror...a face? A body? The surface is cracked and misty, and it's hard to tell, but it seems to move and stir ever so slowly with the rise and fall of the chanting.

The ground shakes underneath you, and a terrible smell permeates the caverns. It smells like rotten watermelons...
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back