The Weird Wastes of the World that Was

  • I've said I'd never do this again. But it's difficult to say 'no' to @Aphelion . So here we are, a freeform forum RP.

    If you post in this thread, it is expected that you've read this post in full, and whatever the most recent 3 posts are before contributing to the thread for the first time.

    Off topic posts and spam will be strictly moderated in this thread.

    Don't play other people's characters. Even small things, like saying they are surprised, are not okay. If you want to have an extended, complex interaction with someone, perhaps do it in private, then one of you can post the resulting back-and-forth here.

    The Setting:
    It wasn't that long ago that the world was better than this. There were fields and rolling hills of green, red, and purple glass. Trees of crystal, rivers of wine, sprawling cities of towers and domes. Robots tended our every need, and magicians transformed every inch of our world into a paradise. Paradise is a fleeting thing.

    The world is dead now. The magics and machines that made our grandparent's lives so luxurious were poison to it. The human race will end soon. We may linger on for a few generations yet, but our numbers are ever dwindling. Already, new creatures are rising to replace us. Creatures suited to live in the world we made for them.

    The Weird Wastes of the World that Was.

  • Hibbert was old. He'd been a boy of 6 years when the world died. Barely old enough to remember. Like any good parents, Hibbert's had tried to protect him. They hid their fear. The way the dead earth had crinkled and crunched beneath his stomping feet had seemed like just another fun game at the time.

    But now he was old. Old enough that most young folk couldn't tell he'd been a child when the world died. Old enough that they didn't care. He'd seen men and women younger than him beaten to death and torn apart for looking old enough to be responsible for the world's current sorry state. So when he saw a group of folk coming up the road with a pack-lizard, Hibbert quickly covered himself in roadside muck, and tried to hide from view.

  • Irsharde strode along the road with the motley crew she had joined in the last desiccated mess of a village, her hand on her pack lizard Feersha for comfort. She had only joined this group of people, and agreed for Feersha to burden their belongings, so that she could try to make it to Veronif without having to battle brigands, or worse. However, as she listened to two men in the group going back and forth with each other about killing some poor woman, a witch they called her, for ruining the world, she began to regret her decision. She wanted to believe in the hope that possibly, somewhere, there was a cure for the miasma magic had caused to entrench in the world that didn't involve blaming innocent people. The crunch of the flaked and dry earth below her boots was a sharp reminder of the grievous state they were in that soured her mood.

    Up ahead, she thought she caught sight of movement, and reached for the long poleaxe strapped across her back. Brushing her hair from her eyes, she squinted across the horizon in front of them to ascertain if there was truly a threat. From her vantage point, there was the same scenery she had seen yesterday, and the day before. Withered trees, dry earth, and Sol baking them alive from up above. She gave Feersha a pat on the lizard's scaly hide and continued the determined, albeit slow, pace that the group had set.

    “So lady,” One of the men who had been speaking loudly about killing the “witch” called to Irsharde. “Why ya headin' to Veronif, huh? How didya even get a pack lizard like this? Ya coulda just left without us and gotten there quicker ya know. Seems awfully suspicious to me.” The man next to him nodded his agreement.

    Irsharde felt her eyes wanting to roll from the stupidity the man and his friend were now displaying. They had been traveling together for three straight days, and he didn't think to ask the question before then. Unless... “Oh, I see how it is. This is how you do things.” She actually wanted to smack herself for her own stupidity. She had been too dimwitted and naive. “You're going to make this group turn on me, aren't you? Was that the deal all along? How many times have you two done this to people?”

    The man glowered at her, but continued his spiel with vigor. “See? The lady refuses to tell us why and tries to accuse us of things instead. Why is that huh? Ya got somethin' to hide?” A murmur of disease rippled through the rest of the gathered folk.

    She bit her lip in frustration and straightened herself to her formidable height, her piercing emerald eyes staring the shorter man down. “I was hoping to make this trip the easiest possible. I have nothing to hide. Traveling in numbers is easiest to dissuade brigands. You all know this.” She made a wide sweep with her arm, encompassing the whole group with the gesture. She could sense that Feersha was becoming increasingly agitated, and laid a hand on the lizard once more to settle the beast down.

    “Unless ya're a brigand lurin' all of us into a trap! Ya have all our stuff on yer devil of a lizard. Ya could just run with it when we aint lookin! When we is asleep, even!” He pointed his finger at her and then at Feersha. A couple of people in the group started murmuring discontentedly.

    She felt her hand curl into a fist. “Take your things from my pack lizard if you don't trust my intentions, but do not accuse me of petty thievery and dishonesty. I wish for nothing than to arrive at Veronif safely.” She resisted the urge to fold her arms, instead keeping herself ready to retrieve her weapon.

    “I think ya should leave yer lizard with us instead. Why should we suffer cus' yer a despicable vulture?” The man demanded. Irsharde felt a low rumble coming from Feersha's belly in response to his words.

    “Feersha will not be leaving me. I refuse to be robbed of my companion. Trust me or take your things. Period.” Irshade stated, raising her chin defiantly. Before she could react, the other man came from nowhere and slammed his fist directly into her abdomen and gave her a swift shove to the ground, where she sprawled into the muck near the road side.

    From her spot on the ground, she could hear shouts begin to swell from the group and the clash of weapons.


  • Sergei flinched. After all these years, he was still a wreck. It didn't sound like a straight brawl. It had the distinctive tone of the many preying on the few. Therefore, there would be no spoils - at least not enough to risk investigating. A protective hand felt for the scar beneath his heart. A silly habit, really. The scar had stopped hurting decades ago, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to it. You could never be sure that nobody was watching.

    He continued on quietly, confident that the ridge between him and the road would shield him from notice. He had a very, very long way to go, and it was no time for stopping.

  • The small, spiky creature was poised at an awkward angle, immobile as a rock. Its eyes, large and round, had slit pupils so thin as to give the impression that the creature was perpetually scared witless. If you looked at it, you would soon start to wonder whether it was actually alive, and if so, whether its mind was even present in its own body. In fact, it had such an air of vacancy, tiny tongue lolling out of a jaw slightly ajar, that you would be hard pressed to notice it in the first place. Combined with the extraordinarily detailed camouflage its skin provided, this could explain why such an odd creature had survived this world.

    Were its eyes recording anything at all, it would be overseeing the mystical ritual taking place by the nearby glass cliff. It might wonder at the rippling in the air, be amazed at the forms that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The gray, tough-looking being that roared defiance into the air might have inspired it to flee, and the darkness that seemed to be emanating from those raised metal hands would have made its heart beat faster. It would have taken in all of this and perhaps spared a look at the ancient-looking human being, more the shape of a prune than anything else, propped up on the giant's back, its mouth moving in continual whispers. If it gazed into the eyes of that woman or man, it would have good reason for its own appearance of great fright, and it would have cowered for the long minutes until the following was gone beyond a large dune.

    A droplet of spittle fell on the dust and was instantly gone. From deep in the throat of the little animal came a very quiet and high-pitched utterance that could best be perceived as dotty, and then it slowly rotated and flopped onto its back. It was asleep, tongue still lolling, remarkably alive and remarkably oblivious of its surroundings.