Twitch's vision clouded easily with the regret forced into the depths of his mind, the sounds and imagination of his possible fates influencing him to simply pass out again. Swain, and his leading lady, Leblanc, would apparently have none of it. Soon a hand was laid atop the rat's head and a voice indirectly called out to him, whom he assumed to be Leblanc. Twitch weakly forced his head to rise and gaze upon the one who faced him now, their words only barely heard before the works of magic took hold of him.
No matter how hard the Plague Rat tried his body would not move from its position. His head and eyes froze, fixated on the source of the magical essence without a means of looking away; his eyelids would not close. Within moments, the pain began, feeling almost as if his head were splitting in two. Slowly the rat's head was torn at and the inner bone exposed for her to see, unable to stop any of the torture, pain and insanity of the situation by his own will.
His mind was expunging itself of anything that made sense to him now.
Reality seemed to be slowly tearing itself apart. As moments that became slow minutes passed by the woman began carving her intentions into him, each sensation felt inside the rat causing his very soul to spasm and cry out, yet his body remained still and calmed. Pent up emotions and even those clearly visualized began to attack his mind, each and every one coaxing him of the remaining sanity he had left, if any.
Something snapped elsewhere now, a piercing pain in the upper area of his head; one of his eyes had been removed. The intense emotional experience had overwhelmed him, any further pain was unable to be truly comprehended, if it were pain at all. Twitch could easily see his own eye simply rolled about in Leblanc's palm as if it were a plaything; and yet the pain he experienced felt unending. The flesh, the eye and soon another were pulled and torn from him, an hour passing for each new form of torture.
The rat's brain was exposed just as easily yet slowly and surely, the bone covering the area lifted away by Leblanc's hand. One single finger placed upon the spongy tissue caused his mind to go completely blank, shutting itself off in the moment of time; yet he knew what she was up to. It was...somehow, to him, enlightening.
Hours passed. Seemingly violet surges of light shone from the markings she inscribed into him. Soon enough, they disappeared, and his skull was reformed once again. More symbols and runic signs shone across his body until finally, her ritual seemed to have been finished. One look at the rat could confirm that it seemed nothing had happened at all.
Twitch could hear all, but understand none of it; only silently ponder the reality of what just happened. His eyes remained open past their usual needed limit to blink, streams of tears forming around them and lining the fur on his cheeks, making them damp. Some fell to the floor to leave even darker markings. The things that he felt and the experience that came to be, was it possible? Minutes, hours, days? The Plague Rat's hunger ceased in favor of the extreme mental, emotional and physical trauma, yet none of it seemed...real.
Not a word could be spewed from his maw. His lips trembled as he gathered what senses he could, and yet they broke apart within his attempts to conceive anything. Twitch's mind hung open for those in front of him to see and manipulate, torn by Leblanc's magics.
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 13, 2013 2:34:02 GMT -5
Five hours passed in near silence. The Master Tactician stood, an accessory to the room, a shadow, perfectly still, while LeBlanc performed the procedure. Her deft hands moved gracefully over--and through--the rat's anatomy, until finally she stood. Her request elicited a half-smile from the Grand General.
Morning's light streamed in from the single high window, a spotlight shining directly over the product of The Deceiver's handiwork. Swain offered her his arm. "Exquisite craftsmanship, as always. You may sanitize upstairs." He raised his brows slightly, adding, "What sort of flowers? I'll have them delivered over breakfast, assuming you'll join me."
Post by The Deceiver on Mar 13, 2013 15:40:11 GMT -5
LeBlanc moved her hand over to Swain's arm, but stopped short of touching it. She drew back and gave him a quick bow. "Lest I forget my manners, do forgive me for my dirtied hand. It is going to ruin your beautiful clothing, Jericho."
Her right hand moved forward and she locked arms with his. She walked at his pace, never one step behind, never one step ahead, and replied to his inquiry of flowers, "Lily of the Valley, jasmine, and some citrus blossoms would be lovely, darling."
With that, LeBlanc walked away with Swain, but her staff remained behind. Slowly but surely, it shrank in size by the hour, as though it were dictating to Twitch when next they would return. If anyone else were to look in the room, all they would see is a husk of what one could possibly consider to be a rat.
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 23, 2013 2:14:41 GMT -5
Two days later, a likely delirious plague rat would be awoken with a sharp POP and a flash of light. A few rinds of moldy cheese lay nearby his crumpled form: scraps haphazardly tossed into his cell. It would not do for him to starve to death. Oh, no. More lay in store for the rat.
The staff had disappeared completely, and, right on cue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the dungeon halls. The click-clack-click of stiletto heels. The thunk-kah-thunk of a cane and boots. Shadows loomed in the hall, discernible even through the prisoner's bleary vision: The Master Tactician, his sinister familiar preening upon his shoulder; and Matron LeBlanc, the crystal of her headdress gleaming ever so slightly through the gloom.
"Open it," came Swain's hoarse command. Keys jingling, a guard strode forth and drew open the grate. Cane, step, step, the general crossed the threshold. Four pairs of luminous crimson eyes leered down at Twitch--three avian, one human. "What is the likelihood he'll be ready by this Friday, matron?"
Swain apparently knew how to torture well; there was likely no mercy hidden in the Tactician's mind for Twitch, only the query and proposal of his usefulness towards what devious plans Swain had in mind. The rat's body was near deathly stages, having starved and forced into dehydration for an unknown amount of time. Only the ringing in his mind combined with a sudden light piercing the darkness behind his eyelids served to knock him out of his unconscious state.
His eyes barely stayed open on their own and the rat's jaw agape, practically begging for sustenance and nourishment. For the second time during his 'visit' Twitch's mind was numbing over; a world of anarchy raged on inside, brain cells committing terrible crimes and destroying themselves with all around them. His body and spirit were slowly rotting in his prison. Without food and water soon...
The likelihood of Swain giving him food at all was inevitably low, yet...the scent of cheese invaded the rat's nose, filling it and tugging at the over-sized flesh teasingly. Morsels laid about after being tossed within the cell holding Twitch, scattered around; they spoke to him, calling out to him. He could only try to force his body towards them, but the shackles holding him were much too sturdy for his lack of strength, especially in his current condition.
All Twitch could do now was whine. Whine a faint squealing whine. His mouth formed stuttered words but the result was something else; a caged rat, begging for his master to provide the cheese he sought so very so. Almost to the point that the others in the room were completely ignored.
Post by The Deceiver on Mar 25, 2013 22:49:10 GMT -5
"Friday?" LeBlanc's voice rang out. "If you wish for Friday, it shall be Friday. If this is the case, no point in delaying. I'll have to work his chest, his spine and his pelvis today then."
The Deceiver walked over towards the rat, cooing at him, "If there's one compliment I must pay you, rodent, is that you're very, very resilient."
LeBlanc looked back at Swain and nodded her head. "On your command, Grand General, my work shall continue."
Post by The Master Tactician on Mar 26, 2013 23:03:40 GMT -5
Shadows crept about the dungeon, stretched along the floor, seeped between the cobbled stones and skulked behind the door. The Grand General's silhouette loomed over the crumpled form of his prisoner, ominous in the dark, luminous eyes flashing. He addressed the rat before the matron, noting its wasted state, "Twitch." A single step towards the shackled rodent echoed loud throughout the underground. "Survive this, and I will give you place to sleep in comfort, a platter of cheeses the decadence of which you have never tasted."
He offered this motivation to ensure his subject's will to live did not fade or falter during the coming trial. "You may proceed, matron. Friday would best suit my purposes." He folded his scarred hands over his cane. The tedious hours that lay ahead would be a living nightmare for the plague rat--but when it was all over? Thanks to the handiwork of Matron LeBlanc, the rat would be just another addition to his arsenal, just another cog in the Noxian machine, which rumbled ever onward towards its Absolute Destination...
"CHEESE. YOU HEARD THAT. CHEESE. CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE! YES YES SAY YES, DO IT YOU FOOL. By the tiny little life hanging by a thread as we speak YOU WILL SURVIVE TO TASTE THE DELICIOUS CHEESE HE SPEAKS OF OR-"
Twitch's head shook wildly from side to side, attempting to destroy such thoughts tearing apart his mind and his sanity. He breathed heavily and hesitantly, weakly keeping his eyelids open and focused on Swain's eyes; this time was different. The crimson red glow formed around Twitch's eyes once more, devouring the pupils and irises within to create two pools of blood-colored mist. They seemed to trail away from their beholder, fading bit by bit with its essence. The glow did not last long, beginning to fade away just as the crimson mist had taken hold of his eyes, revealing his pupils again.
Determination took hold; was it the promise of delicious platters of cheese, or the thought of a home where his 'rest and relaxation' would not be his suffering? A place where dead bodies of his brethren did not line the hallways and floors they called 'sewer beds'. He only needed to survive Swain's tests. Simple. His infiltration was to be 'simple'. Twitch's information went unyielded only to be held prisoner and tortured. Nothing would be simple.
The rat's head did not lower this time; he waited, watching, preparing for further 'testing'. His mind was silent, for the moment.
Post by The Deceiver on Mar 31, 2013 14:19:23 GMT -5
LeBlanc made her way over and knelt down in front of Twitch, a smile lighting her face. Her delicate, silk fingers pressed against the rat's chest, and sank into his flesh. Slowly she peeled away his fur, skin and muscles to expose his ribcage.
And just like she had done for his skull, LeBlanc started to weave her sigils and runes onto his ribs. Deft fingers and the threads of violet magic danced to and fro the two of them. She would make circles in the air with her index finger when she needed more bone exposed, and his flesh complied with her wishes as it peeled back for her to continue her work unabated.
Eventually, Twitch's entire torso, front and back, was completely exposed, his fat little abdominal region kept in place via invisible strings so as to not carelessly spill the contents of his stomach and intestines out onto the ground. With a snap of her fingers, Twitch's sternum cracked and split in half. Her soft fingers pushed the two halves apart and started to press against his heart, his lungs and his diaphragm, weaving more magic.
This part of the procedure took no more than four hours, and just like before, he was painfully aware of every stroke she made. Her fingers brushed the inner most parts of Twitch, rubbing against the back of his ribs, tracing sigils onto the aorta valves of his heart, and even tickled up his exposed bronchus.
LeBlanc shuffled her position over and started almost braid his spinal cord. Pulling and tugging at it, the flesh leaped away from her fingers as she quickly and efficiently wove her magic from his first vertebrae down to the tip of his tail. This surprisingly, only took half an hour to complete.
She then quickly started to replace the flesh that had removed itself into its proper place, and with every inch she laid back, a glyph would shine, showing that she was still working. This process took a scant two hours.
LeBlanc nodded at her handiwork and stood up, looking over at Swain. "Give him a day to recover, and tomorrow I will finish the rest of him. He will be ready for Friday if given time for tomorrow...unless, he's willing to let me finish now?"
The Deceiver looked over at the rat and cooed at him. "Come now, think about it, Twitch. Think of the reward that I would be willing to add, if you were able to hold on just a bit longer?"
Slowly but surely Twitch's eyes stayed focused on Swain's, even as Leblanc passed over and through his line of sight. Hatred swelled up inside of him, shifting and forming into something new; what was it? The churning in his belly was not hunger. Something new. Soon enough Leblanc's process had begun once again, though this time Twitch had been...slightly more prepared. Instead of squirming at the mere thought of incoming torture, he remained still, embracing his second fate as an inevitability rather than something to fear and avoid if possible. His mind said nothing.
Again, the surreal pain washing over him took his body by hold as Leblanc reached into his very being. The chill inside of him was pain, yes, but yet...something new, again. Each press into his bone and organs made his body want to squirm and shake, forcing loud audible squeals out of him, yet nothing came; the process did not allow it. Twitch's newly found determination didn't allow it. Swain would not find him to be a fool today.
The pain was excruciating. Pleasurable. New.
He waited for it to end in complete patience, only the thoughts of his brethren and his future lingering in his mind to further his path. Each stroke and press Leblanc made was simply a sign for him to bear the pain and keep his trap shut; even now, as she trailed over his tail, one of his weakest points. Too many hours had passed without a single stare at the cheese morsels scatted about below him. All the while, Twitch still managed to stare at Swain, who simply watched him endure.
It all seemed to pass so quickly to him now. But why? She began morphing his flesh into a recognizable form over his bones again. Each glyph made their place known inside him just as their previous likenesses did, burning their inscriptions into his very being. The pain slowly came to a stop as she finished, with the rat somehow still conscious. Voices rang through his ears, only barely comprehensible to him; though his name was clearly audible. Still the rat's eyes did not move at all, given the words 'his leading lady' spoke, merely nodding to whatever it was she said.
Welcome to Maelstrom, Original Characters, Summoners and Champions alike. We are a divergent setting roleplay forum for the ever-popular MOBA by Riot, League of Legends. This means we are based in Riot canon, but your characters' actions can have a real, lasting impact on the world. Together, the Maelstrom community endeavors to bring the League of Legends setting and characters to life through collaborative storytelling and meaningful development. We welcome you along for the ride.
Hang out in a citystate, visit the Institute of War, explore the uncharted recesses of Runeterra. Whatever you decide, good luck, have fun and happy writing.
hello new skin yes. gonna work out some kinks but let me know what you guys think. it's not all that flashy but i didn't really like the tabs so the side bar is back. oh and the cbox has also made it's appearance. -rurin.
Maelstrom was created by Swain. Written content is copyrighted to their creators on this site. The skin is created by Wolf and mini-profile template by Kuroya of Gangnam Style. The board and thread remodel is by Kagney and has been heavily edited by Rurin. League of Legends is owned by Riot Games. Maelstrom does not claim ownership to any images used unless stated otherwise.
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Chat box has been removed for the time being. Please contact me at Wyerden@gmail.com, or skype name DearCryophoenix with for any questions or concerns.
