Thread: Eye of the Planchette [Quin + reaper]

closed due to differences in writing styles The Non-Life was bullshit. Everyone always made it out to be like a fucking ideal, like the No walls, no bounds rule for bodies was some secret to power and limitless freedom. Tch. Yeah, just like everybody with a soul on Earth getting a Maserati for taking their first breath, right? Everywhere, there'd always be the hierarchy and there'd always be those who got stuck on the bottom scraping together what energy they could from the scraps the more powerful left behind. Frye was sick of it. For too long he'd been pushed around, told where to fucking go and what to do. He'd been on the Earth plane a handful of times in his millennia, out of bounds and punished for it. So, being a dedicated servant, torturing souls like a good little cum drinker for his Master, of course they'd offer him a chance once they started opening more slots for physical plane jobs. Right? WRONG! Ungrateful pukes, the whole fucking lot of them! All Frye had ever wanted to do was possess somebody, to feel real, human hunger, to bleed, to pain, to pleasure, to feel the weight of the flesh that he commanded. Who the fuck was he kidding? They'd never let him get close enough. He wasn't blessed enough to even be a shoulder whisperer. But damned be to Hell if he ever accepted his lot in the Non-Life. Which was why he was out of bounds now, in the Endless Staircases level. Boogeymen and mormo roamed here, finding portals that led into the dark spaces of houses. Mostly, they did it to gain runoff from human children, scaring them for their energy, or in worst cases, infecting them with psychological curses that wouldn't be felt until they became inexplicably depressed in their teen years. If he was discovered here, he'd be fucked but he just couldn't help it, especially now that he was here. His form prickled with the electrical energy that suffused this place indefinitely, his inner core throbbing with the foolhardy rush of potential and rebellion. That's when Frye heard the call. Hiding from passing Boogeys down an alley, Frye felt the tug of intent on his right horn. So he followed it. Sliding through the passageways, his form folding and unfolding, slithering across the surfaces of the corners and jutting steps, hiding in the shadows to avoid discovery. When he got there, he wasn't really sure what he was looking at. Down a darkened passage, on the ceiling was an illuminated slab. Standing beneath it, it was like someone drew a rectangle and set it on fire, the glow, piercing and orange like the embers of a fire. As Frye reached up a tentative hand to touch the lines, whispers floated down to him and fiery letters appeared. An alphabet. Modern Anglo-Saxon. The fuck--? Frye huffed, licking his lips and glancing around to make sure he was still alone. There was power here, so, he was a little worried he'd be caught touching if it wasn't his to touch. Hell knew that he couldn't have been the only one to hear the call, so, it was really only a matter of time. Words were said, echoing over him and he realized they'd been saying shit all along, he just hadn't been paying attention. Is there anyone here with me? That was cool. What did he do now? Who owned the voice? Touching the lighted slab, even smacking on it, suddenly a triangle appeared. Like a stone, it formed a point on one side, it's little legs touching the ceiling and moving about over the glowing letters. Frye touched it and found it moved when he pushed his fingers against it. A grin slowly spread across his features, his yellow and black eyes shimmering in the dark as he pushed the triangle across the board. 'Yes'