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

    Board The Windows And Lock The Doors



    Posts : 922
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

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    Board The Windows And Lock The Doors

    Post by Mortis on Sat Oct 01, 2016 5:00 am

    Time: Dawn
    Date: September 27, 0007

    Camping Gear...
    Nutritious sheep snacks, stationary, shot gun and ammunition...
    Check, check, and triple check.

    Mortis went through the contents of Angemort's pack gear one last time, scanning through the mental checklist he had prepared. Per usual it was all checked once, twice, and then thrice. For the last kind of surprise he wanted down in the jungles was to find that he forgot something crucial. So far, everything seemed to be in order, although the wayward superfiend could not help but think he was forgetting something...


    He looked down with a questioning hiss, empty sockets peering down from under the wide brim of his hat to meet Woolie's big yellow eyes. Little cloven hooves propped themselves against his skeletal leg, in her mouth was their messenger's leather harness and satchel. "Ah, yessss. Thank you." He rasped, taking the equipment from the lamb's mouth and neatly placing it in the the cargo bag alongside the other supplies that were essential for making the large bird's part of the trip easier. Most of which were meaty snacks in case there were not enough carcasses along the way to keep him fed. Although with how lively the jungles tended to be, he doubted that would become an issue.

    Ombre himself was already on the wing, his wide wingspan carrying him to the top of the barn to soak up the morning sun. Every so often the condor would glance over a wing to see what the sheep-skulled undead was doing, his beaked head tilting to and fro as he focused on the events below. Every so often a soft croak punctuated his observations, almost as if the bird was adding his own two cents in to the matter. Maybe even his own idea of an inspection. But, for one that was deeply intimate with the art of reading thoughts...

    When is breakfast?
    What is that?
    Can I keep it?

    Mortis glanced up at the bird, and back to the tin box of stationary in his talons that he was inspecting one more time. "...You can have the box when I am through with it." The ghoul rasped, quietly finding the bird's choice in treasures a little odd for a carrion bird. He would have sooner expected Ombre to have wanted to keep bones, or perhaps nothing at all in his roost. The tin box of paper and writing utensils was set snugly in with the rest of the supplies, before Mortis slipped the flap over the top of the bag and cinched it shut. Further ahead, Samhain tossed her head and snorted, impatient to get a move on before the morning was wasted. Her own saddlebags bulged with a few necessities, including the Polaroid that the ghoul managed to acquire over the course of their fishing trip in the spring. The undead deduced that Fear and his family would like a few photographic supplements to the weekly written updates. Granted, getting the proper paper for the device tended to be a chore with the way everything was so digitized, but the sheep-skulled undead preferred it to fiddling around with chips and plug-ins. It just felt satisfyingly simple to have the picture pop out automatically after he pressed a button.

    He checked the rest of Angemort's bags and pockets to ensure they were securely closed and fastened tight, then turned his attention to the house. He had fastened the windows closed and locked them prior to coming outside, but the doors had yet to be secured. Although his aura had managed to permeate the dwelling by now to the point where he could manage to lock the doors by his will alone... Mortis was not all that ready to accept the state of the supernatural presence that he constantly exuded. A number of things made it difficult to feel completely comfortable in his own rotted skin, a majority of them emerging from the events of yesteryear and its disasters. So, the sheep-skulled undead instead produced a set of keys from his utility belt, and went around locking up all the doors, including the exit from the cellar. It felt normal, even if it was only by a small margin. The barn doors were closed tightly and locked with a sturdy padlock and chain, ensuring that none but the most determined, or most destructive, of intruders would be able to break in.

    Yet, something still felt off, the homestead still did not feel completely secured and safe. He needed eyes to keep watch over the property, a presence to deter the average crook from growing bold. Yes, a presence... His empty sockets turned their gaze to the patch of weed-riddled dirt just outside of the barn, the newer growth seeming to arrange itself as if planted along a rectangular plot of fresh dirt. At his feet, Woolie backed away as she noticed the ground start to turn a blighted black and maggots began to sprout from the now cursed earth around her Ma's toes. She knew this event, she had seen it before. Woolie may not have been able to comprehend exactly what her Ma was doing, but she knew that he was doing A Thing.

    And this case, Ma's Thing was making the ground next to the barn move around. The dirt shifted and heaved as something moved beneath it, the roots of grasses and weeds softly ripping as they were rudely shoved aside in a spray of earth. The ewe crept closer, curious as she stayed cautiously behind the living corpse's legs, and witnessed as an arm stabbed itself out of the ground. Bony, mold-covered fingers curled like claws in the crisp morning air, before slamming rigidly to the ground and digging into it. Earth heaved and shifted, and finally birthed a soil-covered humanoid form from its depths. It's flesh was bruised green and blue from decay, worms squirming in a glistening mass where there was no skin or tattered clothing fell out from deep wounds in clumps as their feast suddenly decided to awaken. The figure wheezed a clod of dust from its dead throat and garbled a dull moan as it clawed its way out of the ground. Woolie's ears pinned themselves back at the sight, but she remained close to the towering undead she called mother. He would not do anything to intentionally harm her, after all. She trusted him with her life. The ground next to the newly risen corpse erupted as two more carcasses stiffly clawed their way to freedom, dirt and insects falling from their cracked, dead lips as they greedily gasped for air they could no longer breathe.

    The insects and creepy crawlies had long since decided to take their eyes as their first meal, leaving empty eye sockets filled with little else than skittering beetles and slimy worms. Hair fell from their scalps like loose straw to mingle with the nightcrawlers that were steadily pooling in squirming puddles on the morning grass as the corpses moved around and managed to stand again. Three corpses were expertly raised again as three zombies, which came to stand obediently before their master. They were not a pretty sight, but they would do. From a distance any average joe would think them to be little more than homeowners milling about the property... Or so Mortis hoped. There was an unarguable lack of smoothness to their rigored shambling, and the way they stood partially slumped to one side or another suggested they were missing a crucial muscle group or two. "Ssss... I will have to make a few modificationsss." Mortis muttered to himself, while Woolie looked on at the three zombies. She had never seen Ma do that before.

    The sheep-skulled superfiend looked down at the stupefied black ewe, kneeling down to give a reassuring pat on her head. Clawed fingers lovingly massaged between her ears, and a familiar sibilant voice soothed her anxiety. "I jussst raisssed usss sssome houssse-sssittersss, Woolie dear. Nothing to fret about." He gave a light pat upon her wool-laden back, the sheep's winter coat already coming in dense and making her legs resemble twigs from its thickness. "Come, help your Ma get sssome new clothesss for our helpersss," He chanced a glance back at the trio just in time to see one of the zombies slump over a little more until its middle was bent sideways at a ninety degree angle. "...And perhapsss a few other thingsss."


    It took only a few moments to throw together some simple outfits for the zombie trio, although Samhain continued to gripe and complain about how long her master was taking to get moving. The undead mare stamped her hoof and swished her tail, looking over her shoulder every so often to watch the circus that was the master's plan for home security. By now, even Ombre had fluttered down from his perch on the barn roof to observe, fluffing up his dark feathers from where he rested upon Angemort's back.

    Woolie was draped with a few loose pieces of clothing, mostly shirts and jackets to cover up the parts that had obviously been eaten away by worms. Her Ma held some packing materials; old newspaper, cardboard, and duct tape to fill in and give support to the areas that no longer possessed flesh. He patched and stuffed the carcasses until they stood upright. Or more, upright enough to be deemed human at a glance. Little could be done to help the state that was their faces, as skin dangled in patches that were not occupied by hungry grubs or carnivorous larvae. Shadow, he supposed, would do to temporarily remedy this problem. Anyone who came close enough to see any of the zombies' faces would be close enough to be in biting range anyway. So, each one of the mindless living carcasses were gifted a hat. Sunhats, baseball caps, and even a cowboy hat was placed securely upon the zombies' heads, effectively covering their continuously shedding hair and partially covering their rotted visages from any passerby's curious eyes.

    Now, Mortis decided, they could leave.

    He dismissed his housekeepers from beyond the grave; one shambling stiffly to the front porch to lean against one of the posts, while the other two went out back to keep an eye on the rest of the property. They would make for good imitations of life while he was gone for a month, and if not, he still had an army of corpses scattered around the property that could be raised in case any trouble reared its head.

    Woolie was plucked up from the ground and deposited into one of Samhain's saddlebags, one which had been designated her special travel satchel. A dip had been cut and stitched along one of the edges to allow her face to look out from it comfortably, while letting the top flap close without issue. By now she had learned to lay comfortably within it, her little nose poking out to wiggle and sniff the air while they rode. Then, Mortis climbed into the saddle, is shotgun safely holstered in the rifle bucket at his side. The eternally grinning mare fidgeted where she stood as her master got situated, the same thought repeating in her mind.

    Can we go now? Can we leave?
    Are you done stalling, master?

    The undead superfiend waved her anticipation aside, though he understood her excitement. He too could not help but find the trip, a month or so in the making complete with research and thorough planning, exciting as it finally came to fruition. Beneath his long overcoat, his skeletal tail slowly wagged across the back of the saddle. "Easssy, easssy Sssamhain." He soothed, sending a calming thought across their link. "We ssshall leave now, yesss. Take usss to the junglesss, Sssamhain." Mortis replied, taking up the reins and coaxing the horse forward with a thought, Angemort and Ombre following close behind. The morning mist quickly began to grow thick around them as they loped out and onto the road, enveloping them in a impenetrable veil before seeming to swallow them whole. At one point they were there, and the next... They disappeared with the morning sunrise as it sliced through the fog.

    ((Gunderson Acres will be uninhabited from the date of this thread -September 27th- until November 1st. Any trespassers that arrive on the property during this span of time will be met with a horde of zombies should they be noticed.))

      Current date/time is Wed Sep 20, 2017 8:41 am