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

    Bless This Mess



    Posts : 926
    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)

    Bless This Mess

    Post by Mortis on Thu Mar 03, 2016 7:18 am

    Time: 4:59 AM
    Date: February 29, 0006

    Heavy hooves thudded against the gravel driveway, a ghostly snort puffing from their rancid nostrils. On this early February morning, a rider and their raised steed came to visit the site of what had once been considered a home, a hideaway, and now... The rider pulled the towering beast to a halt, a command to stay hissing from their skeletal maw. He looked up from under the brim of his hat to look upon the structure, dull pinpricks of red glowing in the waning darkness that heralded the rising sun.

    It looked so tired.

    The two story farmhouse that he and his brother had once called their place to stay now stood with a permanent, haphazardly slouch, the aftermath of his prior stay here in August having taken its toll. Mortis half expected it to topple over at the slightest brush of a breeze, and with each gust that traveled across the snowy plains, the house softly groaned as if threatening to make that thought a reality. Despite the slovenly appearance of this property, it was where he was needed. He had promised his brother to become sealed with him when the time was right, and though that time was not now, it did not excuse him from making preparations and procrastinating. The ghoul was uncertain as to what extent his enchanted cuff would have upon his person, but it would be best if he found out when he had a place to safely stay instead of waiting for everything to possibly crash onto him at once.

    Though he would be lying if he denied that the idea of a fresh start did not sound appealing to him as well. His own place to stay, where he would not worry about stepping on anyone’s toes because he would be the only tenant. No one would care what he did out here in this no-man’s land, all the way out in God’s country!

    Granted, that came with its own boons and setbacks, but he had already considered them thoroughly.

    A puff of stale, frigid air hissed from between his teeth and he dismounted the towering, undead horse. Frozen gravel crunched beneath his bare feet and he made his way to the horse’s saddlebag, flipping open the leather vessel and pulling out a few odd parcels of luggage. There was a bag filled with a few bulk containers of sea salt, next was a thick and two neatly wrapped sticks of dried sage, a mixed assortment of incense, a feather, and a couple of bowls. He swiped his foot on the ground to clear a spot for them on the driveway and set each bit of precious cargo down within the clearing. Going around to the other side of the undead steed, Mortis opened up the other and pulled forth a thick tome, noticeably old and worn from being flipped through by numerous owners but bore a sticker upon its spine that labeled it as library property, and finally a long roll of paper and a small can of red paint and a brush.

    ”That ssshould be everything... Sssamhain, no. He hissed, scolding the rotted animal and reaching forward to pull on the reins. There was a dull snort and the animal looked up, its ears, or what remained of them leaning back as it looked at its rider. A permanent rictus grin was fixed to its features, which made the animal all the more unsettling as it settled its unnatural gaze upon the superfiend with dark, empty eye sockets. It nickered once and nodded its head, the sound detached and oddly high pitched.

    ”No, Ssssamhain. The sssalt isss not for eating. He reiterated, ”You will behave while I ready thisss place for our sstay.” With that Mortis went and carefully place the rest of their supplies in the cleared part of the driveway, the roll of paper set on top of the paint can and weighed down with the paint brush placed within the center of the loose roll.

    The undead horse gave little more than a puff and a whip of its thin tail in reply to its owner’s scolding before wandering off to forage something to graze out of the snow that covered the lawn. Months of neglect had let the grass grow long, and the horse found plenty to snack on.

    Although nothing it ate tended to stay inside the animal, and instead tended to fall out through the gaps in its ribs.

    Mortis plucked up a container of salt, the bulk bag looking like it was far smaller in his grip. It easily weighed a few pounds regardless, and the undead superfiend turned his bony sockets to look towards the house. Even from here he could see shapes moving behind the windows reminiscent of human silhouettes, and a familiar sickly aura seemed to radiate from its walls. This place, if it were within the city limits, would have been condemned for destruction long ago, and reduced to a vacant lot. However, if this place had been within city limits and slated for destruction, the ghoul could already imagine the chaos that would have ensued if the workers did not think to cleanse the overwhelming malignant aura before they started their demolition.

    The result would have been entertaining, perhaps even a little bloody, but otherwise these was too much evil and negativity in this house to try and tear it down as is.

    Thus, the ghoul tucked the bag of salt under one arm and bent down to pick up the sage, feather, incense, and the two bowls. The feather was held between his teeth, careful not to let it slip loose in the winter wind. the incense, and two bowls were held in the hand that carried the salt, making for a slight test of dexterity. As for the sage, it was held within his freed hand. All that was left to do was confront the house’s stubborn, deceased, tenants.

    A family of six, still haunting the property since they had been sentenced to death years ago. Even now they still paced about, making the appliances turn on and operate as if they had a mind of their own, and make the lights flicker. Though he knew there were two others he needed to worry about the most, shades that lingered in the shape of himself and his brother. They could be stubborn to remove. A familiar silhouette lingered in the window upstairs, a woman and her child watching him as he walked up to the front door. The screen hung precariously off its hinges, rotted black and screen itself was rusted to a flimsy lattice. Inside the house a coating of snow and ice covered the floor leading in from the front door. Though to many a mortal this place would feel incredibly heavy upon their person’s and undeniably unsettling, the undead thought it felt a little like... home.

    Mortis quickly pushed the notion aside, if he wanted to get anything done, he would need to purify this place first.

    Empty sockets rested upon the entrance to the kitchen, and he carefully stepped towards it, mindful of the areas around the black, rotted shapes of footprints in the carpet that had lead from the cellar door to the front of the house. Any of the floorboards around the trail of rot would surely give way if he were to step upon them. His journey to the kitchen was thankfully uneventful, but all the while he was aware that he was not the only one in this house, that there were eyes upon him throughout his short walk. Centuries of existence upon an entire planet rife with unsettled spirits gave him the confidence to pay them little heed, his own power easily was far too great of a match for the ghosts that dwelled within these walls.

    The bowl was set down on what remained of the kitchen counter and the incense was placed within. He set the bag of salt down next to it, and the sticks of sage soon after. His free hand retrieved his lighter once again and went about lighting the different incense sticks.

    Clove, garlic, cinnamon, juniper berries... It was a time that Mortis was thankful he could no longer smell. He picked up both of the smudge sticks next, using the lighter to ignite the first one and let it smoke while he waited for the incense smoke to fill the first floor of the house. Already he could detect movement, the feeling of something disturbed lurking around the house.

    ”Ssspiritsss, pleasse leave thisss houssse.” Mortis hissed, removing the feather from his teeth and gently fanning the smoldering front of the first smudging stick to spread its smoke.

    It did not take long for the first few spirits to manifest. Mr. and Mrs. Ashleen appeared before him, their children standing close by.

    ”’Fraid we can’t oblige, this is our house.” Uttered Ben, a ghostly hand resting on his wife’s shoulder. ”Was ours long before you and your friend came here.” The manifestation of Rick sneered, crossing his arms over his chest confidently. It looked like someone thought they already won before the battle had begun.

    ”Thisss iss non-negotiable. Ssspiritsss, pleassse leave.” Mortis replied firmly, standing his ground. Even in death he still towered over their forms. He fanned the smudging stick once more as he reaffirmed they needed to leave.

    A fifth member of the Ashleen household appeared to stand with the group, this time the one that had given his brother and KARR so much trouble in acquiring this place to begin with. His name was unknown, but his ties to this house were strong, fiercely loyal to the end it seemed. In his desperate transformation, the man had grown into something far more foul than a restless ghost. Fire crackled within his ribs, and a skeletal visage pressed itself through his skin until it was drawn taught. He stood taller than the rest of the family, the only one of the group who was able to make eye contact with Mortis without having to look up. The air grew heavier, and all around the house furniture started to jostle and shift about.

    ”No. You leave.” He demanded, pointing a spectral finger at the sheep-skulled undead. ”Your kind brought this upon us, leave and let us stay in peace.” Rick nodded quietly, and Luanne clutched her mother’s floral dress and tucked herself further behind her.

    ”You cannot linger here, your time isss over. Ssspiritsss, pleasse leave." Mortis firmly commanded, continuing to stand his ground despite the tremors racing through the floorboards.

    ”Nnngh, damn you! Go away!” The militia man snarled, whipping his hand in a sweeping gesture as if to try and scare the towering superfiend away. The drawers rattled and began to bang open and shut, above him the kitchen light flickered and swayed from where it hung from the ceiling.

    ”Ssspiritsss, pleasse leave!” He rasped, fanning more of the sage smoke towards the manifestations. The damned man snarled, but ultimately took a step back, with him so did the rest of the family. Behind them, Mortis could see the forms of the grandparents that had been put to rest in their sleep slip quietly out through the front door.

    ”N-no!” The home’s self-appointed guardian spat, the flames within his person snapping and hissing as they flared. You get out! You need to leave!” he added indignantly, swiping at the smudging stick in the undead’s hands. Despite his incorporeal form, he managed to bat his clawed hands aside with surprising strength, both smudging sticks clattering to the floor.

    ”Ssss... The ghoul glanced at the two smudging sticks that were now laying on the linoleum floor, holding his ground as he reached back for the bag of salt. “SSSPIRITSSS, PLEASSSE LEAVE THISSS PLACE!” He yelled stepping forward and tearing the bag open with a talon. He reached in and brought forth a handful of salt, and the skeletal visage of the man took another step back, hissing angrily.

    The ghoul quickly laid down a line of salt where the man once stood, a boundary quickly formed between him and the group. Soon after, Ma and Pa Ashleen turned and headed toward the door, their children close behind. All that left was the angry husk of what used to be a man standing in front of him, glaring at him. His lip curled and the ghost spat at the ground.

    ”I’m not leaving!” He shouted, attempting to swipe the bag of salt from the intruder’s hands as well. Mortis however was quick to catch on, and brought the bag out of harm’s way. Red pinpricks continued to stare the man down , the two at a standoff.

    ”SSSPIRIT, PLEASSSE LEAVE!” Mortis shouted again, and the manifestation was driven back another step. It howled in contempt, flames now roaring off its body as it sent the house into chaos around him. The walls creaked and groaned, threatening to collapse in on them both and swallow the sheep-skulled undead whole, furniture slid around the floor, and the kitchen utensils shuddered and shook until they fell out of their respective holding places and were dancing about Mortis’ feet.

    Another step forward, and the ghoul drew another line of salt on the floor.

    ”IT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR! YOU DID THIS TO US! YOU MADE US THIS WAY!” The surrounding room felt as if it were being assailed by powerful winds, threatening to snuff out the incense that was upon the counter, but failing to disturb the salt on the floor.

    ”SSSPIRIT, PLEASSSE LEAVE!” Mortis bellowed in return, holding the bag of salt before him as if it were a weapon. The pinpricks within his eye sockets flared to a burning glow, and the nearly demonic entity in front of him howled and reeled back.

    ”AAAAAUUUUUUGH! DAMN YOU!” He shrieked, the winds picking up around his manifestation and snatching up any loose items with it into a vortex. Though instead of retaliating, the entity screamed once more and began to flow out of the front door in a torrent of spectral flame, loose debris was carried out with it in a gale, and Mortis had to put a hand on his hat to keep it from being blown out as well. Taloned toes dug into the floor as his trench coat whipped about him, the manifestation of the last member of the Ashleen family giving one last scream as its own rage carried him out of the house, its cries dying on the fading wind.

    Mortis gave a small sigh, adjusting the hat upon his head as he looked out towards the open screen door. It jostled some with another small gust, a passing winter breeze instead of anything supernatural this time. There was a soft creak and then...


    The door finally fell completely off its hinges.

    Mortis approached the doorway, scooping another handful of salt and laying down a definite line before it. That done, Mortis returned to the kitchen and took up the smudging sticks again, along with the feather that had been batted aside with them. The bag of salt was placed back upon the counter, and the ghoul went around to continue his smudging of the household. Through the dining room and the living room, up the stairs and into all of the bedrooms, until the sickly presence of their auras had been lifted. However, there was one last place that needed to be cleansed, and it was here that the ghoul needed the second smudging stick and the bag of salt.

    Mortis carefully approached the cellar door and opened it. Here a sickly aura met him like a wall, familiar in all its rotted, malignant presence. It was his, and it was steeped deeply into every wall of this chamber. Should a mortal be imprisoned here, it would be only a matter of days before they lost their wits and sought to purge all life, including their own. Even for the strongest of wills, they would hardly last a week down here. For this was the site of a crime most foul, and something far more striking than mere malignance clung to it. Sorrow, guilt, jealousy and heartbreak lingered here, and as the undead foregone the stairs and opted to jump down from the doorway, something manifested in the gloom.

    Malignance hung heavily from its form, and a pair of glowing pinpricks stared out from the gloom to match his own.

    ”Leave me...” It hissed, its visage flickering and billowing like smoke. unlike the last group of spirits this one sounded far more morose and tired, as if its own aura was weighing it down.

    ”Evil ssspirit, leave thisss place.” Mortis hissed firmly, fanning the smudge stick. The shade of himself undulated and recoiled from the smoke, moving closer towards the door leading out.

    ”Ssss... Hissstory will only repeat itssself. In time it will be you who takesss my place.” A cryptic message it did not bother to unravel, and one that Mortis knew better than to entertain within his thoughts. He momentarily tipped the salt bag and laid down a clear line in front of him.

    ”Evil ssspirit, leave thisss place." He repeated, the shade once again taking a step back. Though there was no retort, no fight to be had from this creature like the Ashleen family had given him. It merely drifted back and turned with a low hiss, before exiting through the doors that lead outside. A small, relieved sigh hushed from his teeth, making his way to the cellar door leading out to the winter landscape and laying a line of salt there too. There were many ways that encounter could have gone far worse than it did.

    All there was left to do was place salt around the rest of the house and let the incense burn completely.

    Time: 6:00 AM


    Mortis stood back and looked over his handiwork, the rotted screen door had been pushed back into place. It was not set into its hinges, but it did not need to, all the superfiend needed was for it to stay upright and in its place. He made his way over to the small pile of supplies that sat in the driveway, thankfully the weather had not changed and blown anything necessary away. A bucket of paint and a brush, a roll of paper, and the tome from the library were what was left to use. Kneeling next to the supplies, Mortis prepared another clearing with a brush of his hand, pushing aside some more of the snow that covered the driveway.

    The tome was plucked up and clawed fingers deftly flipped through to a page he had bookmarked before coming out to the farmstead. The page illustrated a set of runes used to ward off evil spiritual entities, intended to be written and hung from the doors of a home. Keeping the book open, he unrolled the paper he brought with him and pried open the can of paint. Glancing back towards the book, Mortis plucked up the paintbrush and dipped it into the paint, wiping the excess upon the rim before putting down measured strokes upon the length of paper. Stroke by stroke he copied the diagram until it was finished in its entirety upon both rolls. Carefully he picked it up from the ground and carried it to the front door, holding it against the rotted remains of the screen door. With one hand holding it up, the other went to flip open a pouch on his belt, and retrieved a roll of tape from within. A few strips were cut and stuck onto the paper to keep it secured to the door, the ghoul stepping away to look over his work before walking around to the back door to place the warding slip upon it as well.

    That done, all that was left to do was clean up, and then leave to carry out some more errands. There were a few things he needed to pick up before he could consider this house ready for demolition.

      Current date/time is Mon Sep 25, 2017 2:43 pm