Patrollogs
(Isaiah's decursing attempt)
[Sat Oct 12 2024]
In a Darkened Alley alongside the Elm Street Apartment Complex
It is morning, about 52F(11C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
"Alright... Thirty minutes. I can do this," Isaiah says on a soft exhale as he holds the dagger in hand, shifting it in his palms as it starts to heat up from his inner fire. The metal glows red hot in his grasp, immediately starting to quake from the effort it takes to lay waste to the curse applied upon it.
An arc of lightning blasts out of the artifact to strike Isaiah, sending him flying.
"I can do thi-" Isaiah almost repeats until he's struck by that lightning, sending him crashing back against the brick wall of the apartment complex, dust cascading around him as he drops to the ground in a heap. "... Okay, I can't do this," he wheezes out.
A section of Isaiah's clothing catches fire.
"Twenty.... Twenty minutes," Isaiah exhales as he tries to stand up again after being zapped by so much electricity. "I... Huh? Who's there?" he asks as that sound, that whisper catches his ears. He turns to look only to realize his clothing is on fire. "Shit shit shit!!!" with a red-hot dagger in one hand, he starts to furiously pat himself out. "God dammit, this my Dean jacket!!"
Who is there? No one, of course. No one bar Isaiah and the many demons they bring along with them. Oh, and the knife, of course. The knife that sings, and swims in their hand, working against their magic with it's own keen intelligence. "You cannot do this," there is that voice again, everywhere and nowhere both. "You are not enough. You are never enough, are you?"
All metal objects in the room are suddenly tugged violently towards the artifact.
"Go away-" Isaiah starts to scold that voice, though in the midst of his demand he's immediately pelted by bottle caps and tin cans, striking him in the head and the arms as the dagger unleashes a magnetic wave of power. Then, Isaiah, too, is drawn towards it- particularly his chest, which makes him hiss out a sound of pain. "Owowowowowow wait, wait I'm sorry!" he pleads with the inanimate object. All the while, some person, more heard than seen, taunts his insecurities, causing him to clench his eyes shut to focus on his task.
The hungering, starving blade of the dagger draws in closer toward Isaiah's chest, toward the beat-beat of his heart, and the delicious venting of crimson blood. Just a taste. Just a lick. Give in. Give in. How quickly the pain might be over, the indecision, and the stress. The dead do not need to meet expectations, or fight back against monsters, those outside and within both. "Does it make you feel in control to hide beneath layers, and scribbles on your flesh, Junior? Do you think it makes people not see you? See the sickness inside of you?"
A blast of force sends Isaiah flying into Dominus.
"Shut up... Shut up shut up.." Isaiah says through gritted teeth as that voice continues to harass him, tears starting to well on his lower lids. "You're not stronger than me.... I'm not weak. I'm not. I'm not sick ... I... I'm not sick..." But it's true, he does not wish to be perceived. He hides. He builds brick walls.
Hopefully these walls are built with Vetr branded brick and mortar, though the voice that taunts and teases Isaiah suspects this may not be the case. "Shut up? You are talking to yourself, Junior. There's no one else here." The voice points out, cool, and cold, and frigid, and some other icy-word all at once. "People who are not sick do not need to tell themselves this. People are strong do not need to say, 'I am strong'. It is okay to rest. It is okay to give in. Let the dagger slip into the warmth of your heart. Infected as it may be. Spoiled. Turned by a curse, and weakened. Doesn't your blood burn as it works against your very nature?"
With a final burst of power the curse on a silver dagger is broken.
Isaiahs Decursing Attempt 241013
(Isaiah's decursing attempt)
[Sat Oct 12 2024]
In a Darkened Alley alongside the Elm Street Apartment Complex
It is morning, about 52F(11C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
"Alright... Thirty minutes. I can do this," Isaiah says on a soft exhale as he holds the dagger in hand, shifting it in his palms as it starts to heat up from his inner fire. The metal glows red hot in his grasp, immediately starting to quake from the effort it takes to lay waste to the curse applied upon it.
An arc of lightning blasts out of the artifact to strike Isaiah, sending him flying.
"I can do thi-" Isaiah almost repeats until he's struck by that lightning, sending him crashing back against the brick wall of the apartment complex, dust cascading around him as he drops to the ground in a heap. "... Okay, I can't do this," he wheezes out.
A section of Isaiah's clothing catches fire.
"Twenty.... Twenty minutes," Isaiah exhales as he tries to stand up again after being zapped by so much electricity. "I... Huh? Who's there?" he asks as that sound, that whisper catches his ears. He turns to look only to realize his clothing is on fire. "Shit shit shit!!!" with a red-hot dagger in one hand, he starts to furiously pat himself out. "God dammit, this my Dean jacket!!"
Who is there? No one, of course. No one bar Isaiah and the many demons they bring along with them. Oh, and the knife, of course. The knife that sings, and swims in their hand, working against their magic with it's own keen intelligence. "You cannot do this," there is that voice again, everywhere and nowhere both. "You are not enough. You are never enough, are you?"
All metal objects in the room are suddenly tugged violently towards the artifact.
"Go away-" Isaiah starts to scold that voice, though in the midst of his demand he's immediately pelted by bottle caps and tin cans, striking him in the head and the arms as the dagger unleashes a magnetic wave of power. Then, Isaiah, too, is drawn towards it- particularly his chest, which makes him hiss out a sound of pain. "Owowowowowow wait, wait I'm sorry!" he pleads with the inanimate object. All the while, some person, more heard than seen, taunts his insecurities, causing him to clench his eyes shut to focus on his task.
The hungering, starving blade of the dagger draws in closer toward Isaiah's chest, toward the beat-beat of his heart, and the delicious venting of crimson blood. Just a taste. Just a lick. Give in. Give in. How quickly the pain might be over, the indecision, and the stress. The dead do not need to meet expectations, or fight back against monsters, those outside and within both. "Does it make you feel in control to hide beneath layers, and scribbles on your flesh, Junior? Do you think it makes people not see you? See the sickness inside of you?"
A blast of force sends Isaiah flying into Dominus.
"Shut up... Shut up shut up.." Isaiah says through gritted teeth as that voice continues to harass him, tears starting to well on his lower lids. "You're not stronger than me.... I'm not weak. I'm not. I'm not sick ... I... I'm not sick..." But it's true, he does not wish to be perceived. He hides. He builds brick walls.
Hopefully these walls are built with Vetr branded brick and mortar, though the voice that taunts and teases Isaiah suspects this may not be the case. "Shut up? You are talking to yourself, Junior. There's no one else here." The voice points out, cool, and cold, and frigid, and some other icy-word all at once. "People who are not sick do not need to tell themselves this. People are strong do not need to say, 'I am strong'. It is okay to rest. It is okay to give in. Let the dagger slip into the warmth of your heart. Infected as it may be. Spoiled. Turned by a curse, and weakened. Doesn't your blood burn as it works against your very nature?"
With a final burst of power the curse on a silver dagger is broken.