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A Vision: C/O Isaac Mendez
- “Promise you won't post any spoilers?”
- - ― Isaac Mendez, Heroes
Sammy loses one Magical Essence
Sammy loses one Willpower
Sammy rolls Intelligence + Enigmas vs 7 for 1 successes.
2 4 4 5 +7
Sammy rolls Willpower vs 6 for 4 successes.
2 4 +6 +7 +8 +9
Sammy rolls Stamina vs 6 for 3 successes.
3 +7 +8 +9
*rattlerattlerattle*
cirrhosis fucking Sam leans against his large mallet he stole from the strong man game ages ago, smoking a cigarette and shaking a spray paint can and eyeballing the graffiti-covered wall in the Lost Kingdom like it just shit in his favorite pair of boots. Too many months away had left his go-to canvas riddled with the inane scribbles of his lesser, uninspired, tribemates. Finishing the cigarette, he flips it against the wall, pulls down his zipper and empties his bladder against the wall. "Mine motherfuckers. Take a fucking hint."
Satisfied, in more ways than one, he whips the spray paint around and begins to paint over the offending graffiti. He moves from can to can and then, as he starts to get high from the wyrm tainted fumes, he pulls his Brush of the Ancestors from his back pocket and begins to get to work, letting the fumes, the voices in his head and the power of the brush show him what has come and is to come.
It begins like it always does. The Galliard is poised and ready to paint. The first slash is a brilliant red, mingled with the oranges and yellows, and black to shadow it over. Twisted shapes appear in the toxic paint that is sprawled across the wall, pregnant with potential for a real masterpiece.
Fingers close on the brush and once more Sammy's taken with the Muse of his Ancestors will. At first, Sammy is only vaguely aware of the pressure. It's a weird feeling, like a tension in the neck where the shoulders and spine meet. It is easy to regard it as having slept wrong or pulled something painting. But it doesn't regenerate and it doesn't let up. It continues, a steady pressure behind the eyes and against the eardrums. But he paints like he's in a fugue...
He paints like this for an unknown amount of time. But the sun has begun to sink by the time the masterpiece is done. And it -is- a Masterpiece.
It's nigh Biblical. A wasteland of bodies littered across a field, impaled on spears and pikes. Burned and charred. Beaten and pulped. Slashed and torn. Bodies that stretch far into the horizon of this twisted picture. Wading through the bodies appear to be men in white 'Bunnysuits' or hazmat jumpers wielding all sorts of weird weapons from flame throwers to plasma cannons. Above is a spectacular display of some sort of alien solar system where the main star is an eye to match the eye-spangled nothingness that the strange solar system hangs in. Within the dark, there are darker things yet. A UFO hangs in the air below the planets but above the killing fields. The UFP is 'upside down', or at least a beam that humans would normally depict pointing down like a tractor beam is pointed up and past the plants towards the eye.
Higher, above it, all is a massive lidless eye, written in dark umbral reds and abyssal black. There are three stars formed around the eye, one to each side and another below.
Sammy steps back when the fugue state ends and wipes his eyes with his thumb and middle finger before looking up at what he has created. "Damn Sam you are a sick motherfucker. Or those fumes were extra special today. Either way, good fuckin job. I'm proud of ya." He takes the brush, shoves it in the corner of his mouth like he smoking it for a moment and squints, then dangles the brush and flicks it like a twisted, bulbous headed Groucho Marx. "Now let's see here, lots of dead bodies... could be fun... aliens... I think they said something about aliens in that meeting the other day.," he reaches up and tugs on the half a pencil still tugged in his earlobe, "Guess it could be one of those emo alt-rock concerts...let's see if I can figure out what you fuckers are trying to tell me."
The easy enough deduction is that they are trying to tell him about the aliens that the others were talking about. But there's more; the wasteland of bodies below and above space. Or rather, not space, maybe it's the color in one of the planets or the way that the whole of the 'solar system' was arranged. Something having to do with the Spirit World. The star-like eyes dotted over the darkness giving him the impression of being watched. Like that eye above, it seems to be staring at /him/, into him. It's enough to induce that weird sense of the creeps to pool between his shoulder blades again. It's a warning...
There's also something about the composition that needles his brain. Over and over. There's a feeling like he should know this but it eludes him.
Fin
(TBC...)
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