Post by The March of Ides on Mar 15, 2006 1:30:47 GMT
*It is uncertain what type of calendar is used by the inhabitants of Wolfenden and its surrounds, or how many of them use any calendar at all, what with all those temporal disruptions that would occur. But on some calendar somewhere, the date is March the fifteenth. The Ides of March.
In a field close to the path into and out of Wolfenden, a small fork of red lightning meets the ground. And suddenly, there is a baby there, sleeping. A few moments pass; the baby turns, opens his eyes, and peers around him. As he does so, his flesh and bones expand, his sinews stretch, his dark hair thickens. Within a split second, the baby is gone, replaced by the form of a prepubescent boy. Grinning, he leaps to his feet.*
Awake I am, and wondering what
Awaits me if around I trot!
*The boy trots around in a circle, impersonating a horse. He soon tires of this. His body starts to shrink, and in a trice, a toddler stands forlornly in the field.*
It's boring here, no things to do.
And also, I am lonely too.
*He sits on the ground, and tries to think. He can't seem to remember much. Where was he before he fell asleep? What should he do now? He cries a little. But then a memory starts to surface. He remembers being in a playpen.*
He said to play, but gave no toys
And I could hear an awful noise...
*The memory is sharpening. He remembers the sound of laughter. Not nice laughter, bad laughter. I-want-to-hurt-you laughter. The toddler transmogrifies into a boy several years older. He is growing very nervous.*
Although I didn't want to play,
He wouldn't let me go away.
I thought, my freedom will come never,
Forced I am to 'play forever!'
[OOC: He's having a flashback to the dungeoneer death of Team 5 of Series 2 - the 'Mogdred's playpen' death.]
*The pale face of Mogdred, evil and mocking, fills his mind. Writhing on the ground, he changes into a man, screaming all the while, and ripping up clumps of earth. Eventually he stops, breathless and tear-stained.*
Another's pain that was, not mine.
The echoes of a doom malign.
A steely will's what I must don...
*Drawing in breath, he somersaults forward several times, then backwards once, and then stands up looking a dozen years younger than he did before.*
...So I can pass my madness on!
*He chuckles, first quietly, then as loudly as he can.*
I am the bastard fate derides,
I am the damned. The March of Ides!
*The March of Ides applauds himself. Then he spots the path running alongside the field. His grin broadens.*
No longer have I need to wallow,
When I have this here path to follow!
*The March sniffs his left hand, burps, then bounds like a monkey over to the path. He reaches it having aged again, and now appears to be a man in his twenties. Brushing down his plain but smart clothes, he has a brief laughing fit, waves goodbye to the field, and walks calmly towards Wolfenden.*
[ModNote: Continued later at The Clock Tower.]
In a field close to the path into and out of Wolfenden, a small fork of red lightning meets the ground. And suddenly, there is a baby there, sleeping. A few moments pass; the baby turns, opens his eyes, and peers around him. As he does so, his flesh and bones expand, his sinews stretch, his dark hair thickens. Within a split second, the baby is gone, replaced by the form of a prepubescent boy. Grinning, he leaps to his feet.*
Awake I am, and wondering what
Awaits me if around I trot!
*The boy trots around in a circle, impersonating a horse. He soon tires of this. His body starts to shrink, and in a trice, a toddler stands forlornly in the field.*
It's boring here, no things to do.
And also, I am lonely too.
*He sits on the ground, and tries to think. He can't seem to remember much. Where was he before he fell asleep? What should he do now? He cries a little. But then a memory starts to surface. He remembers being in a playpen.*
He said to play, but gave no toys
And I could hear an awful noise...
*The memory is sharpening. He remembers the sound of laughter. Not nice laughter, bad laughter. I-want-to-hurt-you laughter. The toddler transmogrifies into a boy several years older. He is growing very nervous.*
Although I didn't want to play,
He wouldn't let me go away.
I thought, my freedom will come never,
Forced I am to 'play forever!'
[OOC: He's having a flashback to the dungeoneer death of Team 5 of Series 2 - the 'Mogdred's playpen' death.]
*The pale face of Mogdred, evil and mocking, fills his mind. Writhing on the ground, he changes into a man, screaming all the while, and ripping up clumps of earth. Eventually he stops, breathless and tear-stained.*
Another's pain that was, not mine.
The echoes of a doom malign.
A steely will's what I must don...
*Drawing in breath, he somersaults forward several times, then backwards once, and then stands up looking a dozen years younger than he did before.*
...So I can pass my madness on!
*He chuckles, first quietly, then as loudly as he can.*
I am the bastard fate derides,
I am the damned. The March of Ides!
*The March of Ides applauds himself. Then he spots the path running alongside the field. His grin broadens.*
No longer have I need to wallow,
When I have this here path to follow!
*The March sniffs his left hand, burps, then bounds like a monkey over to the path. He reaches it having aged again, and now appears to be a man in his twenties. Brushing down his plain but smart clothes, he has a brief laughing fit, waves goodbye to the field, and walks calmly towards Wolfenden.*
[ModNote: Continued later at The Clock Tower.]