Portal Breach: The Collision of Worlds :: v.4.0


    Out A-Wandering

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    Mortis
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    Out A-Wandering

    Post by Mortis on Thu Dec 10, 2015 5:16 am

    Time: Early Morning
    Date: December 8th, 0006

    His intentions were voiced, goodbyes were given... All that lay before him now was the ever rolling expanse of the grasslands, now turned a glistening white by winter snows. A certain familiarity to this position sent an involuntary shudder down the Dark Judge's spine. A few months ago, he had ventured out here, albeit with a completely different goal set in mind.

    Gnarled talons dipped down to his belt pouches and pulled out a crinkled packet of cigarettes, and a rusty lighter, tapping out one among the others and bringing it to his teeth before lighting it with a few sparky flicks of the lighter before flipping the lid back over it and putting both back into their respective places. He took a drag, looking out over the snowy expanse, which had been tinted a dark purple by the night sky. Soon, however, the sun would rise and turn it all a myriad of reds and oranges before finally settling upon a blinding white.

    Crunch... Crunch... Crunch...

    Long strides carried him over rolling hills, the end of his smoke glowing with every nicotine laced puff. Glowing red pinpricks could be seen in the shadowy recesses of his eye sockets as his skull swiveled upon his necrosis riddled neck, taking in the sights while he walked and sucked on his cancer stick. His usual regalia was covered by a long, thick overcoat, a little something he promised a friend back in the city. It was something to stave off the icy chill and keep his uniform from getting soggy from the snow, despite the fact he could not feel winter's biting chill nor be hampered by a little excess moisture. Still... it felt dishonest to travel without it. Something that the ghoul could not help but pick at himself over. His thoughts began warning him to turn back, the snaking miles of highway were to his back and close by, and the Judge could still hear the sounds of traffic as they moved past him. Deja vu sprung to mind, for it was the same warning he had told himself when he had first ventured out here nearly three months ago.

    But all the same, it was going to be different, he told himself.

    No long days spent meditating in a basement haunted by sinners past, no misguided attempts to "better" himself with butchery and skewed logic. Yet, as his lanky limbs carried him on, he could not help but take a long drag on the cigarette, a trail of ash quickly forming along its length before falling off from the rigid jostling of his motions. the overcoat around his person was brought tighter around him and buttoned up, more out of nervousness than any desire to keep out the light flakes that began to flutter about him. This was just a trip to clear his head, to get a better look at things, to think.

    How long would he wander alone? Who knew, but he inwardly reminded himself to keep track of the days, if only to ensure he returned in time to see his brother during the holiday, and deliver his gift to him in person.

    The grasslands were usually quiet, devoid of most wandering types and facetious chatter. There was only the rudimentary impulses from what wildlife remained during the harsher time of the year, and the farmers that tended their crops, waiting for the fields to thaw in order to start tiling in fertilizer. Perhaps he could give a few a quick visit, just for old times sake... Yellowed talons twitched as they limply swung in time with his steps, the thought pleasing to his senses no matter the intent behind his journey. Besides, all trips needed to have their little distractions, pit stops along the way to sit and have a bit of fun.

    Bloody, messy, gorey, good fun, at that. If any of the sinners managed to never come back from the ordeal counted as an added bonus.

    "Ssssss..." puff-puff! a few more wispy clouds of smoke curled from between his teeth, and the glow within his eye sockets seemed to brighten from their dull burn. The thought of a good kill was enough to distract him from more pressing concerns, if only temporarily. Though he knew he would have to face them sooner or later. It was only a matter of time...

    It was always a matter of time.
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    Re: Out A-Wandering

    Post by Mortis on Fri Dec 11, 2015 4:40 am

    It did not take long for the snows to pick up, obscuring the horizon with a dense cover of falling white. By now the sounds of the highway were distant enough to be forgotten, and the Dark Judge's senses were filled with the sound of the breeze whistling over his skull and the soft patter of ice as it struck his overcoat. Overhead it was hard to tell just how soon the sunrise would come to greet him, as the night sky was blotted out by a thick cover of grey.

    The glowing pinpricks within his eye sockets returned to his aimless path, no true destination set in mind. For the best he decided, as this was a journey that held no true tangible end. No buildings to stay at, no people he was intent on meeting, not a single schedule that needed to be kept. As his brother had advised, it was best he took his time with his trip and considered all of his options clearly. All the same, what sensible options were there for him to take?

    Certainly, he could remain as he was, a Judge of the law; Sidney's law. The only remaining one of four who still carried out their chief's doctrine. To truly set his badge aside, while greatly tempting, still made a shadow of treacherous thought loom in his mind. Judge Death, after all, had been the reason they went out on their crusade against the living, against the true source of crime.

    Centuries ago they had purged their planet and never looked back, destined to retire after their duties were fulfilled... At least until a certain group of visitors came to Deadworld.

    Regardless, he had been the catalyst that brought about their massive shift in existence, even if their own reasons for doing so were dubious at best. The man had killed everyone and anyone who got in his way, after all. It would have been foolish not to join forces with him, and the way he pulled strings to ensure he could still carry out his law... The man may as well have been a puppet master. He, Fear, and Fire were simply ahead of the curve in figuring out just how dangerous Sidney could be. His admirers he called them, trusted friends and lieutenants. It was a wonder to think what may have happened should they all have decided to mutiny against the Chief after everything was said and done.

    Not that it would have been wise, for The Sisters likely would have had none of it. That part Judge Mortis knew very well. Though to say that the Dark Judge felt absolutely nothing but discontent towards their leader would be false. For even he had to admit he felt a glimmer, just a small one, of respect and dare he say admiration towards Death's methods, his resourcefulness, ambition, and how he managed to plan the extermination of an entire planet. No nukes, no wide-scale destruction through means that Mega City One had readily available, just their abilities and an army of Judges. It was good, satisfying to purge every iniquitous soul from the face of their planet.

    However, he knew that it was a task that would damn them eventually. After all life was extinguished, what would there be to do?

    He had made a small effort at one time to do something with the bones that littered the ground of their Necropolis. That eventually lead to the construction of a church, furnished with the remains of all the citizens they laid to rest. Seats assembled from bones, a chandelier made from bones, an altar, and an organ made from -you guessed it- bones. Still, it was better than sitting around, or going into the city and browsing through the library for the umpteenth time, or visiting the bar to sit and drink with no one but the same three people he worked with. Not that he did not mind spending time with his brothers, but things grew dull when there was nothing new to talk about and only so much could said from his end.

    Far more than an odd stare could have arisen should he have talked about everything that had been on his mind.

    Although he had to admit, attempting to play something on the instrument he had crafted was far more fun when he had a few bottles of liquor steeping in his bones. A horrendous loud mess, but fun. Judge Mortis took another puff of his cigarette and quietly chuckled at the memory. Good times, good times...

    His heels crunched through a swath of tall grasses, pinned down by heavy snow. Every footfall, even in these chilly temperatures, brought with them a sickly black trail of rot and a glistening puddle of maggots. Despite the cold, they still managed to squirm and writhe about long after he passed on, much like the stink of decay that lingered in his wake. Even if he were to turn his badge, the ghoul knew that his aura, his abilities would not simply disappear with it. He would still reek of decay, maggots and other crawling decomposing things would skitter about his feet wherever he stepped, and his aura... Well, it would still potentially warp the mind of any sinner foolish enough to linger around him.

    Hm, in a sense, he thought, they had signed themselves off to be eternal servants of their leader's goal; body and soul. For a small moment his brother came to mind, perhaps this was why he entertained the possibility of becoming living for a short while? To return to being a sinner would push him further away from his ties to their leader. As did the amulet that dampened a good portion of their psychic perception. Of course, the dark Judge knew Fear was not one for ulterior motives, all of his intentions were upfront and clear, and the undead valued honesty above all.

    Though that did not stop him from wondering if perhaps this desire was more subconscious.

    he gave a small shake of his skull, ash falling from the tip of his cigarette with the motion. What did it matter, so long as his brother was happy. If he wished to return to his beginnings, who was he to wonder about the intention of it? Still, part of him wondered just what their leader would have said should he end up on this strange planet, or even Fire. Would it have been seen as an act of mutiny, perhaps insubordination? A clawed hand raised to press against his temple. They were not going to arrive here, he reminded himself. If they were fated to suffer this dimension with them, they would have shown up long ago. Long before they had the chance to question anything about their laws. At this point, he figured, the two may as well be destroyed and the remains of their spirits cast to the wind.

    He and Fear were free of them, for better or for worse.

    Yet, to be free somehow left a sour taste in his thoughts, to know they were less than half of what they used to be. He hated to admit it, but to be shackled to their leader and in turn to their endless cause, held something of a comfort. It was familiar, it was what he knew. It was all he knew. Mortis took another drag from his cigarette, smoke billowing from his nasal cavity alongside a thoughtful sigh. But that was not all, even though all they had suffered, having to tolerate their leader's antics for over twenty years in the Mega City, having to suffer growing weaker and weaker the longer they stayed in the parallel dimension, the undignified containment in crystals... Death and Fire were still his brothers. After a few centuries of having to exist alongside them, there was something of a kinship he held with the three Judges he worked alongside, and had nearly retired alongside.

    Gnarled talons pushed aside the branches of a snow-covered bush as he continued onward, and he could not help but notice the snowfall was starting to grow thicker by the moment.
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    Re: Out A-Wandering

    Post by Mortis on Sun Dec 13, 2015 4:47 am

    Shwooooooh...

    The edge of Judge Mortis' coat whipped about in the wind, snapping and cracking every so often as he kept trudging onward. Although no matter how loud the gusts around him became, they never were enough to drown out his thoughts. Always mulling about within his skull, enough so that perhaps his brother would say that he was thinking far too much should he have decided to join him on his excursion.

    Ah, but there was little reason for him to abandon the city's confines, and plenty for him to say within them. The Dark Judge could hear his pondering regarding the upcoming holidays, wondering about gifts and working to complete the ones he already had in mind before the deadline. For his friends, his family...

    Hm, family.

    A few more puffs of narcotic smoke pushed themselves out from between his teeth, his cigarette reduced to a small stub of a filter that threatened to extinguish itself with every strong rush of chilly air that battered itself against his skull. The only real family he had were his brothers, he knew. Three other undeads like himself, three Judges he spent centuries working alongside... Now reduced to only one other. Yet lately that word started to feel hollow.

    Brothers, family... Kindred spirits. How true were those now, when he still wore the badge and his brother had decided to venture into retirement? He still had been true to their ways, their doctrine, committing righteous slaughter for the sake of their laws as they knew them. He returned with black sludge caked upon his talons from the numbers he had laid to rest, the numerous clouds of code he waded through to manage to lay a handful of sinners to eternal rest. Though he did enjoy the chase, the hunt, in the end it all was work, a ceaseless toil.

    It would have been the same if they managed to purge the Mega City, his thoughts hissed, Sidney would have flogged them all into purging more cities, more planets, more dimensions until he was satisfied. How long would that take? Likely as long as it would if he and his brother continued to try and purge every semblance of life from this irritating mud-ball. The ghoul sighed and tipped the butt of his cigarette back into his mouth to chew upon, a set of gnarled claws reaching down to retrieve another cancer stick from the pack and light it. Eternally purging, eternally killing with no end in sight... While now it would only be him striving towards a complete extermination, he could not help but wonder how it could have been. If his brother would still be working alongside him if not for his decided resignation.

    The resignation that was all his fault. He retired to spare his dear brother the turmoil of having to work alongside a bent Judge, a sinner sympathizer. It was the risk of going so deep undercover, a side effect of Fear's decision to go native for the sake of their initial plans. Part of the sheep-skulled Judge figured it was the reason why Fire had been so poetic, flamboyant even. He remembered their run-in with PJ Maybe, how his fiery brother went so far as to say he sensed a certain kinship with the man. It would not be foolish to think that perhaps something similar happened to Fear, albeit on a far deeper level. All the same, it was the more rotted of their duo who was at fault that he resigned, that he left to allow Mortis his peace of mind. Yet for all that Fear had claimed, the Dark Judge could not help but feel a sting within him at the notion.

    At his failure.

    Not the sort that could have been considered of his brother should he have been more rigid, but of himself. Brothers were supposed to look after one another, support them during their time of need, to act with a bond forged between them that surpassed bloodkin. Yet, what had he done? He skulked in the shadows, butchered himself for the sake of his own interests with little thought towards what would happen to his fellow Judge, and on top of that his own weakness drove his brother to resign his badge. Now the ghoul was left with one who warily shielded himself whenever he made contact, rebuked his attempts to calm and comfort him, eyed with suspicion instead of that kinship they had held. Centuries of trust had been undone within a year, despite what Fear opted to say otherwise regarding their brotherhood.

    All because of what he did. He had to be weak and run off. He had to become jealous, envious of something that was never meant for him. He had to become the weak link that crippled his brother.

    His lengthy strides came to a halt, and Mortis grew still for long while as an inky black stain upon a field of rushing white.

    Perhaps... Perhaps it would be best if he never returned. After all, Fear had his family, a real one that gave him what he could never find while working with the rest of his brothers. Appreciation, understanding, support... What place was there for him among that? The answer came simply to him; there was no place. He was the Law, The Man, a Badge that did nothing but raise tension and suspicion whenever he came near. Who was going to slip up today? What poor sucker would end up at the business end of his talons?

    Would it be Kev, a scaly green sinner who was by all rights a criminal under their doctrine?
    Would it be his brother, a sinner-sympathizer and bent Judge?
    Or maybe it would be Miss Kitty and her friend Mister Rabbit, or Livewire, or Nym...

    Who knew, just about anyone could be a target when Judge Mortis came wandering around. A pity he kept wandering around them when there was a whole planet he could patrol instead. No matter how he looked at it, so long as he kept his badge, the ghoul was the odd-man out. He was a stain on what would be considered a picture of happiness.

    Was it any wonder the Dark Judge was all too willing to toss aside the badge when given the chance? So much changed so quickly, too quickly. Two years was all it took for things to turn themselves on their heads, and Mortis was struggling to keep up. Yet... upon offering to join his brother, he had suggested he... take his time? Did his brother want him to remain a Judge, to be shackled under the law and doctrine of a man who likely would never arrive to this world? Was this all a test of his will, to see how much his integrity would suffer until it broke under the weight, if it would break? For a long while no smoke puffed from his teeth or nasal passage, the tip of the cigarette left to slowly smolder.

    Or maybe that was his way of saying he did not want him around...
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    Re: Out A-Wandering

    Post by Mortis on Mon Dec 14, 2015 5:26 am

    The Dark Judge's snout tilted downward, watching as his legs slowly grew a coat of frosty white from the falling snow. His brother could not have actually wanted him to leave, could he? No, if he did, the ghoul would have been far more forward in saying so. Not to mention Fear likely would not have come to visit him of his own volition just before he decided to set out on his journey.

    His attention glanced back towards their mental link, which Judge Mortis opted to remain open... If he were truly disowned, his brother would have shut him away entirely.

    But all the same, their meetings were decidedly tense when they did happen. As was to be expected, given their differing viewpoints. When to kill, who to kill, what to kill... And of course, the always present why. Why did they kill, if not for the sake of aiding their leader with his omnicidal goals of a cross-dimension spanning necropolis. To kill merely for the sake of killing made one a monster, a murderer that was no better than the criminals that they all too often sentenced to death, regardless of who was their chief. No, they were far from that degree of mindless slaughter, there was purpose to their actions. If crime was committed only by the living, then the way to eradicate crime completely was to destroy all life. It was a simple philosophy, hard to argue against and all encompassing of every crime they came across; from petty theft to violent homicide. Only the dead were truly innocent, and thus only the dead would have been fit to carry out their laws in accordance with this philosophy. From this standpoint, it made sense.

    The dead were not prey to corruption, they could not be bribed, seduced, or otherwise coaxed from carrying out their job without flaw. They did not have passions to be stirred, no evils to plague their minds and possibly pollute their thoughts and actions.

    Ah, how wrong they had been... They still felt, they still could fall prey to all of humanity's ills. Lusts, envy, ambition, wrath, pride, all the makings for corruption were still there. They still lingered within whatever constituted for their minds at this point. As they were human at one point, they still carried all their weaknesses and flaws with them. Yet they were expected to act as something greater, a force of justice that transcended mere mortal qualms and strife. At one point they falsely believed themselves forces of nature themselves, each taking on the element that suited their work the most.

    The fears that plagued a sinner's mind, whether they be real or fanciful.
    The unbiased, eternal flame that waited to devour all and everyone's misgivings.
    The ever present, ever devouring decay that slowly reduced everything to dust in time.
    And Death, which encompassed all three; to which decay followed behind ever faithfully, the two ever entwined.

    Odd, that. Where Fear and Fire embraced the intangible, made the conceptual a reality, the talents that had been chosen for Mortis had been a literal force. Embers gradually clawed and devoured their way up the length of the cigarette as he took another drag. Even his name was merely another name for death, uttered in a dead language. Part of him wondered if perhaps there was something deeper intended, if not a form of nepotism then something else... A plume of smoke unfurled from his nasal cavity, the thought leaving with it. There was no point in lingering upon what Death may have intended, not when he never let on a single hint regarding it nor was he here to interrogate on the matter.

    The one thing he did know, was their chief had put a cause behind their slaughter, a desire to rid a world of life and with it every crime imaginable. For the sake of safety, for peace they diligently slaughtered them all. To put that aside, their interest to make a world more peaceful and just for the innocent dead, what were they? For a moment the dull red pinpricks within his sockets turned to the badge on his chest, a hand reaching to gently cup its edges. Without his job, his original purpose, what was he then?

    A single word pressed itself into his mind, stubborn enough that he could not merely will it away.

    Monster.

    Without the law backing his actions, without their goals, he may as well be nothing more than a murderous undead beast. He took another drag of his cigarette, willing his host forward to try and walk off the growing distress within his person. Was that all they were, merely abominations collared and chained to a cause to guide them? No, they had to be more than that, he had to be more than that. While Judge Mortis bore a sheep's visage upon his shoulders and a tail wagged behind him, the ghoul never favored the thought of being some base creature driven by a singular desire. He was more than that, better than that!

    The long time spent standing still in the snow could be heard cracking and snapping with every rigid flex of his legs, ice having started to sink its frigid fangs into the flesh of his corpse and crystallize in the wetter spaces of his joints. By now, the darker purples and blues the snow had taken on around him had long since faded as morning ascended in full, tinting the flakes a warmer shade despite the sun remaining restrained behind the storm clouds overhead. The snowfall itself was thick enough that it would be cautious to merely sit and stay until it passed, but the Dark Judge continued on. He did not need to truly see in order to know where he was going, his sense of direction supernatural in nature.

    For a few long hours he kept walking, attempting to stem the thought from plaguing him further. Whether it be through blind luck or merely subconsciously willing it, the ghoul's sockets glanced up to see a light through the frosty haze. It was far too low to be the sun, too high to be the lights of a vehicle... Not to mention Judge Mortis doubted he had managed to stumble onto a road at any point. Frozen grass still crunched underneath his rotted toes and he had yet to step over any fencing. His skull tilted with a soft crackle, the tip of his cigarette flaring a bright red as he took another puff of tobacco. Curiosity was welcomed gratefully, and the undead took the opportunity to distract himself from his thoughts.

    Perhaps it was a building, a lone cabin out in the middle of the grasslands. At once the glow within his eye sockets flared and an excited hiss pressed itself between his teeth, noxious smoke tracing it. Yes, a cabin, and with it a sinner or two to purge to get his mind off his unsavory train of thought. His iced over limbs cracked and crinkled as his stride grew longer, eager to meet what lay at the strange light's source.
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    Re: Out A-Wandering

    Post by Mortis on Tue Dec 15, 2015 12:48 am

    Snow crunched and crackled beneath his feet as he strode onward, his gaze set upon the glowing beacon ahead. Every step closer rewarded him with its shine becoming clearer, and with it the Dark Judge was starting to make some sense of what it was attached to. Tall wooden walls stretched upwards, and a few large rectangular slots could be discerned through the heavy snow. Yes, it had to be a structure of some kind, perhaps a house... Although he did not remember seeing a house that was painted so red before. No, it was not a cabin like he had hoped, but a large barn. Rigid steps drew closer and Judge Mortis found the light was coming from inside of it, one of its large doors having been neglectfully left open.

    Within, the undead Judge could also detect something else, a stink of life. It was not overwhelming, suggesting a massive presence or a teeming population within, but enough that his interest piqued and his now ice-coated talons curled.

    One fool's neglect was his opportunity, and Mortis slipped inside, shutting the massive wooden door behind him with a creak and a clatter. Inside it was far warmer than the blizzard he had walked in from, but the ghoul had yet to see any animals inhabiting its confines... His skull swiveled and tilted to look inside each of the stalls, the cigarette hanging limply from his teeth as it was forgotten in the ghoul's new interest. Dirt blackened and cracked beneath his feet, and maggots swam up from it to writhe sparsely in his wake as he lurched forward. It was around here somewhere, he could hear their heartbeat thudding rhythmically in his head, and all too easily he could make out the thoughts of his prey. It was a human, a sinner, who was lurking about the premises.

    And with each shambling step, Judge Mortis was growing that much closer to finding them. His gaze tilted upwards as he noted the source was nowhere to be found on the first level, and the ghoul gave an ecstatic hiss as he realized they were essentially trapped so long as they were sitting in the loft. Swiftly he made his way to the opening, the fact the ladder was missing hardly a deterrence as he bent at the knees and leaped up. Gnarled claws sank themselves into the support beam next to it as he came to land with a solid thud on the loft floor. "Greetingssss, sssinner!" He exclaimed, the glowing red pinpricks within his eye sockets focusing upon his prey.

    There was a shout as they stumbled back in surprise, the Dark Judge happening across a farm-hand taking shelter from the storm until it passed. There was no time for him to do anything else, for just as quickly as Judge Mortis had came to meet them, he rushed across the loft with his claws poised to sink into his flesh. To them, the undead looked more like a coalition of rotting flesh, bone and ice, with icicles hanging down from his skull like translucent fangs and a layer of frost covering his face and arms. The sight left him horrified and breathless, and the Dark Judge was more than happy to ensure he never had a chance to take another.

    "Now ssssinner, prepare to be judged." He hissed, the Judge's emaciated limbs holding the farmer in place with a strength that belied his corpse-like appearance. "The crime isss life, and the sssentence isss death!"

    Long talons sank themselves into his shoulder and face,skin turning from a fearful white to bruised blues and greens as it rotted away beneath the Dark Judge's touch. Clothing withered and fell away alongside the fetid remains of his flesh, until nothing but bones remained within his grasp and then... code. 1's and 0's flowed out from between his talons to fade on winter's chilly gale. He had watched the life drain from his face, his body. The undead had putrefied his body through and through and though it happened within seconds, in Mortis' mind he had drawn it out in the languid minutes, hours, days. Long enough that he could appreciate every morsel of unease and distress within the sinner's mind as he ebbed away, and watch as his vibrant lively form spoiled, withered within his grasp until nothing remained.

    Monster.

    That word echoed in his thoughts once again and the Dark Judge raised a clawed hand to his skull. No, he was not a monster, he told himself. He had laid a criminal to rest, relieved him of his iniquitous existence. Even if he was not doing anything currently he would have done something further down the line, committed some sort of crime that was warranting of a sentence. It was only befitting of the living that they held evil within their minds and hearts, and all of them held the potential to do something wrong at some point. A trail of blackened rot followed him as he shambled over to the far wall of the loft and leaned with his back against it, before sliding down to sit on the floor.

    No, right now he was not a monster, but without his badge? If the ghoul were to retire and display the same urges... And he knew he would eventually, what else would he be? Taloned fingertips flipped open one of the pockets on his belt and slipped inside, retrieving a polished bit of metal from within. He flipped it around to show its visage, the face of some sort of bird with the name FEAR emblazoned across it.

    ...Was this what his brother meant when he said retirement was scary?

    Certainly there was more to his existence than killing, back on Deadworld he managed to fill his time with other activities when there were no more sinners to purge. But to entertain giving up his badge on a planet that was just so ripe for culling... Judge Mortis doubted he could quell his urges when wherever he turned he could detect a life presence, a heartbeat, a thought that made his judicial instincts go on alert. No, to be rid of his killer instinct was an impossibility, he knew that for sure. But all the same, it was his badge that put a wedge between himself and his brother.

    Not to mention it prevented him from doing a great many other things as well. A Judge did not take days off to admire the scenery or explore, they did not go to the library to read for pleasure, and they certainly did not visit an area dominated by iniquity to just hang around and talk. Although lately that place was inhabited more by the undead than the living, as he pondered the Sanctuary further... Yellowed talons scratched at his skull, ice dislodging and flaking from it surface to melt on the barn floor around him. All the while his eye sockets remained fixed upon his brother's badge.

    "Sssss..." There were not enough hobbies, not enough activities or company that would completely stem the Dark Judge from his urges should he happen upon them. Though even that notion sat sourly with him. Was he but a mere beast, driven by base urges after all, a killing instinct that directed him for the sake of his own personal pleasure? He was a human at one point, and now eternal through undeath. He had transcended life, passed through the eye of oblivion and upon reaching the other side gained knowledge beyond that of mere mortals, a wisdom befitting of the grave and beyond, nearly demonic in nature if the Sisters were anything to go by.

    No, he could not be so simple in his instincts. Or at least he liked to think that was the case. All the same, there was the fact he still derived pleasure from the activity, he enjoyed rotting away a sinner's flesh and reducing them to bones, he loved the thrill of the hunt and the chase. It was a part of him, perhaps larger than he would have liked to admit, but still a part. The fact he was doing it for the sake of justice made it all the more sweeter. Although he had to admit, after purging an entire planet, it felt like a good place to stop and rest. After all, why bother going to another dimension, another world to purge the living when they had their own domain in Deadworld?

    Hm, Deadworld... He took his gaze away from the badge to cast his sockets up towards the ceiling. They would never see their home again, not in ten years, twenty, one-hundred. Yet, despite knowing this he could not help but yearn to return. Things were far simpler back home, there were no sinners to worry about, no Mega City One, no Dredd or Anderson... And certainly there was nothing like this to continuously vex them. All the same, if the Mega City had been wiped out in a blaze of fiery rain, along with many other dimensions, how long would it be until their home was next to be destroyed to sate a god's hunger? They would have ended up here regardless. At this the undead judge sighed, absentmindedly running the pad of his thumb over the surface of Fear's badge.

    "Damn thisss place." He gravelled, the Dark Judge's voice barely a murmur. Damn this dimension, its deity, it's ever-hungry god that brought them all here.

    Outside the snowstorm raged on.
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    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 900
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Out A-Wandering

    Post by Mortis on Tue Jan 05, 2016 3:30 am

    Simple, yes things had been so much more simple. There were no sinners to purge back on Deadworld, there was nothing on par with the sheer tenacity and irritating luck that Judges Dredd and Anderson possessed, and there was no outrageously advanced Justice Department that they needed to contend with. There had also been centuries of nothing to do, years of inactivity that allowed the Dark Judge time to construct an entire church of the dead out of the bones of all the sinners they had purged. Would he be truly honest with himself if he had said he was more than content to stay in the necropolis for an eternity longer?

    Would it have been true if he said he preferred three-hundred years of the same thing over and over, attempting to make something interesting out of the ruins they had left in the wake of their planet-wide purge?

    No crime sounded like a utopian ideal, being able to do whatever they wished with no one around to make a fuss or for them to have to respond to the ceaseless bickering that the living were wont to cause felt like a dream. The undead’s head came to rest against the wall of the barn with a soft, hollow thunk. It was common knowledge that all dreams had to come to an end eventually, if the dimension -jumps did not arrive on their planet and Death took one to the Mega City to start a new necropolis, inevitably the ravenous god known as Alpha would have come and tossed them into this hellish place. Now instead of being trapped near constantly in glasseen they were forever kept in a place equally inescapable but with a little more wiggle room and a lot less sanity.

    Judge Mortis tapped his talons against the edge of his brother’s badge, looking down only to carefully polish away any smudging that his greened skin may have left with a soft cloth before placing it back in his belt pouch. As his talons grew close to letting it slade back into its confines however, they paused, tilting it’s gleaming surface to face him. The lettering glistened, and the Dark Judge turned his attention back to the mental link. He had left it open as a gesture of good-will, that he would not succumb to the wraiths that sneered and snapped at the edges of his mind like he had in the past. Good intentions, reassuring intentions, that as he pondered them further were becoming all the more clearer that they were unwarranted. His brother trusted that he would not be so foolish as to decide to attempt another lobotomy upon himself, and should he come across anything while traveling he knew his experience and cunning would see him through. Judge Mortis’ thoughts as of late were less than appealing to look at, more than likely he was only causing more trouble upon his brother’s end of the line. Would he really appreciate his troubled musings, the internal monologue of a paranoid mind? The undead Judge gave a small sigh, before closing off his mind from the link they both shared.

    ”Apologiesss, Fear.” He quietly hissed, though the fellow undead could no longer hear him. This journey was meant for Mortis and Mortis only, whatever thoughts he held, whatever arguments he entertained within his own psyche were for him to deal with.

    The Dark Judge turned the badge over in his hand, watching how the light reflected off its surface. With it, he felt shame wash over him. His brother, his poor brother was not only robbed of his badge due to the Dark Judge’s actions, but also had to suffer his thoughts, his feelings. Granted, it was not the first time Fear had considered turning in his badge, unsatisfied with the status-quo that followed working under Judge Death’s command, but a retirement should be a far more happy occasion, the ending-mark of a long journey and an equally satisfying rest awaiting him ahead. Instead, it was something he was forced into. Certainly there were other factors that contributed, that would have seen him suffer far worse should Death have arrived with them here and borne witness to his brother’s affairs with the more sinful individuals of this dimension.

    A dull, tinny chime quietly echoed from the metal as Judge Mortis tapped his thumbnail against it. His gaze traveled through the badge, seeming to penetrate the floor-boards of the hay loft. How much had Death gotten away with and still managed to keep his badge? Did he not have a romantic affair with two witches, and after, befriended an old woman to the point of finding her innocent of any crimes?

    Including that of life.

    Life, the very thing that created crime to begin with. For without life, there would be no choice, no thought. It was the very thing their leader, the chief that their followers called a messiah, had deemed criminal enough to warrant an extermination. Yet the same breath that deemed all others guilty had excused her from their righteous purge. He still kept his badge, he still remained their chief not only to his lieutenants but also to the Sisters, who could have very well decided he was no longer fit to lead them. The Sisters, who had made them what they are and held enough power to blanket the entire expanse of Mega-City One in darkness, still followed him. Certainly, he figured it could be argued they loved him that much, but the sheep-skulled Dark Judge doubted that their affinity for their leader stretched that far. If they held the knowledge to grant him life beyond death, they certainly could take it away if they so desired. Yet, they did nothing. Not a single slap on the wrist, neither had his badge nor title been revoked.
    This had been the man who set the bar for what their duties should be, the mentality they took in carrying out their method of justice. Yet, the example he set for them was more set-in-sand than set-in-stone. He worked with sinners to get where he needed, reworked their laws to adapt to the world he was trapped in. Exceptions were made where he saw fit, and yet he nor the rest of the lieutenants or even the sisters confronted him on it. As Judges who were to follow in his stead, would it not befit them to do the same and still work without turning in their badges? A dull, slow beat of bone upon wood started as Judge Mortis’ tail flicked and slapped thoughtfully against the wooden floorboards. With every beat, a layer of ice shattered and fell away from the segments, small puddles starting to take form as the barn’s heat melted them away. While Judge Mortis certainly was not thoroughly convinced that Kev was completely innocent, he understood the reasoning for his brother’s interest in the green alien.

    He was laced with sin, but he did strive to better himself with proper guidance. Before then? He had proven to be useful once finished hissing and spitting in Fear’s direction.

    The Dark Judge himself was not without his personal exception either. Miss Kitty, at first spared for the sake of having at least one sinner around who tolerated them and could be of some use. Even if it was only a talent of making fine spirits. Now, whenever the undead Judge was in the Sanctuary she had been almost certain to have a seat near him, or on him. Certainly that was warranting of more than a few disciplinary actions regarding laying hands on his person and growing way too close than what was considered judicially acceptable. By all rights he should have moved her aside, barred her from any physical contact.
    Instead, he embraced it. The Dark Judge returned her hugs, let his talons rest on her shoulder and even give her gentle scratches without a single trace of rot or disease left behind. At once his tail stopped tapping the floor and started to curl. It would be a lie if he thought that absolutely nothing was left behind from him on her person. His aura, sickly and malignant, hung upon her small, fluffy form wherever she did roam after she spent time with him. He knew it, he warned her of it. Yet she still came around, decided that she would be fine despite its fatal effects upon every sinner they came across who lingered too close to them for too long. Judge Mortis, for all his folly, decided that perhaps she had a point.

    Perhaps it would not effect her, despite the wards that Veskur put in place around the tavern and the way his magic had dampened his aura during his visit to the brewery. Maybe her demon-blood made her tougher than the average sinner, even though she was cleansed of his and Fear’s aura every time she came to the Sanctuary to visit.

    It was obvious who was keeping her safe, that she was being kept clean of their madness inducing taint. Even if she was not aware of it, he should have been. As the only presiding Judge he should have made her aware of it.

    A thoughtful hiss escaped the Dark Judge and for a brief moment the dull red glow within his eye-sockets flickered like a candle’s flame. Would it not have been lawful to not warn her to begin with, to slowly allow her to rot from the inside out as consequence for her fatal fascination, or more, to allow another to suffer through her? What did it matter, she would only be furthering their goals in her own -unaware- way. Being so friendly, she would be a perfect vessel to carry the psychic sickness they radiated to the denizens of Portal City. She would be an extension of their law where their talons could not reach! He should be proud of himself, he knew. He was doing exactly what Death had said he was good at, no one better than Judge Mortis could be chosen to perform an inside job.

    Yet, he felt more sick than accomplished. It was evident she was being cleansed, and it was equally evident just who may have been doing it. His posture remained slumped against the loft wall, a suspicion was not evidence, and even if he was correct in who he thought could be behind Lunette’s cleansing there was nothing he could do. With how often he had spent time with the Anitra bartender, and how malignant their auras tended to be, likely they were beyond help at this point. Within five days of being locked in the same room with his aura, the residual energies of Death’s aura had driven a sinner mad. He hesitantly pushed the thought aside, their fate was decided, along with whatever gruesome end inevitably awaited them.

    He and his brother were no better than their late chief, despite their earlier huffs and claims that they were indeed above befriending the very criminals they sought to exterminate. How often had they said that they were more by-the-book than Judge Death over a few drinks and a smoke? They joked and ribbed at his relationship with the old woman in Sylvia Plath Block, chortled at how bent their leader had been in the past and during the entirety of their attempted crusade upon Mega City One. There was no reason not to, given how botched each attempt went. Every plan became choppy and sluggish compared to the swift, clean culling of Deadworld. The Dark Judge fished out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from one of his belt pouches, flipping his brother’s badge over in his palm as if to inspect it. The current cigarette in his teeth, now an ashy, damp stub from his time spent thawing, was sucked back into his teeth to chew upon thoughtfully.

    Perhaps that had been Judge Mortis’ problem the entire time he was trapped upon this dimension. He swallowed the remains of his last smoke and brought a new one to his teeth, laying his brother’s badge down for a short moment to light it. Taking the silvery metal back into his palm he turned it back over so the lettering faced him. Perhaps his adaption did not mean putting aside his badge completely and discarding their lawful calling to the wind. Without their home to return to, he could not rightfully retire, at least not on this world. There was still too much life, too much iniquity that bore itself for all to see.

    It would taunt him for the rest of his days if he turned in his badge, doomed to look on as the world kept turning and life kept multiplying while he stared at it all like some hungry beast. His instincts would not rest, his talons would curl and long to sink themselves into a sinner’s flesh whenever they walked by, every criminal intent past, present, and future easily read like a book from their thoughts.

    Smoke curled from his nasal cavity and the Dark Judge gave Fear’s badge one last look before placing it back into its respective pouch.

    How much did their badges truly restrict them? Would it be right to say that he could not sit back and enjoy a good book when Death had taken months aside to rest in a burial pit, or take a long walk out into the wilderness to reorganize his thoughts and construct a better plan to deal with this particular dimension? No, he decided. the way this place was structured may had thwarted them from purging it completely, but it was also the nature of law to change and shape itself to better fit the area it was implemented. Archaic structures were torn down and built back up into something better, something greater. That was how they purged Deadworld and changed it into a crime-free, peaceful planet.

    The Mega City was no different, it forced them to change their tactics and how they carried out their laws. In the case of their leader, it made him reconsider what constituted crime, what made a sinner criminal.

    Perhaps it was time he followed in Death’s footsteps and do the same regarding this dimension, instead of trying to adhere to their old doctrine despite the ways this world tossed curve-ball after curve-ball at him and his brother. His skull turned to look out at the howling blizzard, every so often a gust of wind would blow in and threaten to snuff out the tip of his cigarette.

    Once the storm died down, he would move on. Until then, there was far more than merely retirement for the Dark Judge to contemplate while he sat in the barn.




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