Completed Borrowed Hands

Your hands should do, mind if I borrow them?

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forums. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

Borrowed Hands

Postby Alice Weaver on November 14th, 2020, 9:12 pm

26th of Fall, 520

The light did not do Sunberth any favors, pointing out its glaring flaws. The grimy streets, patchwork homes, and the few ruins that remained scattered around the city stood as a testament to its lack of order. The soft moonlight, however, acted as a concealer to the city's flaws, masking those unsightly shelters and allowing the flickering candlelight to shine through their close windows. It gave the streets a warmer feel, like a grandmother setting down for bed. But, as is the way of the world, when the parents and authorities go to sleep, the children and mischief-makers wake up. The City of Anarchy thrived on the silent streets as parcels changed hands in the lamplight and blades flashed within the silver pools shone by the moon. Those that valued their safety and lives huddled within their homes, waiting for the light to wash away some of the sins that infested this city. Only those that had an unsavory task to complete, we're looking for some fun, had nothing left to live for, were out and about. The barest shadow of a woman silently drifting from shade to shade checked two of those boxes.

Alice moved among the streets without a sound, disturbing no air in her wake, feet barely brushing the ground. Having wandered in from the mess of tents sitting just outside of where the walls should have been, she soon ran into the river that cuts through the heart of Sunberth. With a purse on her lips, she lifted further off the ground to coast over the slightly disrupted waters of the river. She came to rest on the other side while habitually dusting off her ethereal dress. She then cast her gaze around as she took in the few ramshackle stalls set into loose rows, recalling this place to be known as the Castle Commons of Sunberth. Very few people were wandering about the market place at this time as many merchants had closed for the night. None of the stragglers noticed the pale ghost that dissolved into the night air.

The only sound and light within the market drifted from a square building with a simple sign that hung from a strand of rope, reading off as The Pig's Foot. Drawn to the light and sound from the tavern the ghost silently drifted over, curious to what type of crowd Sunbearth at night attracts.

"Probably not a good crowd," Alice muses to herself as she comes to a stop in front of the wooden door. Before entering the tavern, Alice reached out to her misty edges, twisting them in on herself, having the loose and wispy strands of soulmist compact and reinforce one another. The end result gave a sense of weight and solidity to her otherwise ethereal form. The imperfect, flickering body with hazed edges set, she reached out at the spherical doorknob, wrapping a tendril of feathery soulmist around the knob before attempting to twist it. Instead of the expected click of the latch, Alice's eyebrows furrowed as the soulmist slipped off the handle's rounded shape from the uneven pressure she exerted on it. “What?” Her confusion evident in her voice as she, once again, twisted a strand of her shroud around the knob, clamping down on the metal. Already feeling the strain in her mind as she had to push the knob from both sides. Gradually, she turned the knob, watching it rotate so painfully slow, and, after a few more seconds of concentration, she heard the latch begin to turn over. The bolt of excitement that raced through her, especially at something as mundane as turning a doorknob, was genuinely shocking. The sensation causing her tenuous hold on the door to fade as the emotion agitated her soulmist to an unstable state.

Alice floated there for a second, lifting her semi-solid hands to her eye level. Giving them a hard look before flicking her eyes back to the knob, perfectly round and mocking her in its simplicity.

“You don’t belong here,” It seemed to say and she believed it for a split second. A flash of anger searing through her mists as her form broke down, great rents forming in her body as the carefully condensed soulmist poured out, dematerializing her.

“Gods damn whoever thought a rounded knob was a good idea!” She fumed at being thwarted by such a simple household object. An object that acted as a reminder that she was the anomaly here. She seethed by throwing weightless punches and kicks into the air, the lack of resistance doing nothing to settle her mind. Blinking through the door was now out of the question, simply for the fact it has become a personal affront. “If I can’t touch the door, I’ll just find someone who can.” a sly fox-like smile crossing her face, banishing the anger as her mist shot back like a squid, disappearing into the moonlight.
Last edited by Alice Weaver on November 17th, 2020, 6:10 pm, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
Alice Weaver
Crafting A Second Chance
 
Posts: 121
Words: 145803
Joined roleplay: November 7th, 2020, 11:42 pm
Race: Ghost
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes
Medals: 1
Featured Thread (1)

Borrowed Hands

Postby Alice Weaver on November 14th, 2020, 9:19 pm

A ghost on the prowl can be a frightening thing, walls are no object, and their wispy, silent form almost dissolves into the darkness. Alice took full advantage of her body, spreading the mists that composed it out wide while flowing from one pool of shadow to another, searching for a suitable target.

The hunt lasted only a scant few chimes before Alice heard something, a hefty slap followed by a cry of pain that perked her dead ears. She gathered her mists in a tight ball before throwing herself to make a sudden turn down the dingey alley she was passing by. Keeping her speed and dashing right through the few rotten crates that were carelessly stacked along the sides. After a few seconds of racing down the alley, she could distinctly make out two voices, one pleading and the other uncaring and slurred.

“Please. Please, you paid and I did it! Now let me go!” A feminine voice from behind a crate expressed.

“But what if I wasn’t pleased with the service, little lady~” The bulky shadow, that Alice could now see having peaked around a crate, responded. It spoke in slurred, raspy tones, and seemed to struggle to take in ample air. Looking past the large form, Alice could see a younger-looking, flaxen-haired lass who was pressed in between two boxes, pinned on the ground as she struggled to lever herself out of the pinch point, only to be shoved back down roughly. Alice wrinkled her nose at the display and tutted at the rough treatment. “Who's there!” The man spun, revealing a scar running diagonally across his face, his snarl displaying his blackened teeth and bloodshot eyes, alerted by the small sound.

“Apologizes. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Alice spoke calmly while grasping the edges of her wispy form, causing the mists to begin to spin faster and faster around herself. The soulmist colliding with itself, gaining a solidity as she materialized. The illusion of mass began by flowing from the tips of her fingers, then up her slender arms before reaching her torso, rapidly blooming to the rest of her body. The process gave definition to her locks of red hair and pale skin before billowing out, forming her flowing black dress that trailed on the ground. Despite its glaring imperfections, namely the hazy edges and slight flickering, to the inebriated brute, it seemed as if a maiden of moonlight just stepped out of the dark and presented herself to him. A wide grin cracking his face as he thanked the gods for his good luck.

“Well, ain’t you just the preeetiest thing, darlin’,” He rasped and Alice responded by giving him a slight curtsey. The motion hiding the disgust that flowed across her face at his unwarranted and unwanted compliment.

“Thank you, sir. Now, might I ask what is going on here?” Lifting from the curtsey, gently tipping her head towards the girl pinned between the crates.

“Oh, that? Just some cheap whore. Don’t give ‘er two thoughts, miss.” He grinned, taking a step forward toward Alice, “Ya should be worryin’ bout yourself.”

“And why should I?” Her straightforward demeanor catching him off guard, causing his step to hesitate before reaffirming himself with a slight shake of his addled head.

“Cause a preeeaty lady like yurself shouldn’t wander the streets.” His smile growing vindictive and predatory.

“Ah. That's why. Well, all you had to do was ask, man.” She responds while stepping in to meet him. ‘Standing’ on her tippy toes to reach up and wrap her arms around his thick neck, careful to not actually touch him and reveal her forms fragility. She would have never attempted this on someone sober, however, this lovely specimen of a human seemed to be five casks in and on something, if the bloodshot eyes and twitchiness was any indication.

He shivered slightly as the temperature dropped from being in close contact with the spirit. Frost steadily grew on his clothes as her arms hovered mere centimeters from his skin.

“You’re very good lookin’, lady.” He smirked down at the thin woman who, from his perspective, was hanging herself off of him, a thought that was greatly pleasing to him.

“And you are not. But it will do.” No longer bothering to keep the eye roll out of her voice.

“Wha-?” Was all the brute could get out before Alice smiled as she broke herself into hundreds of fine streamers of white mist that swarmed over the man like a pit of snakes. Each strand clawing at his eyes, nose, and ears, forcing itself into his body. The wisps fully vanishing into the man within a few heartbeats.
User avatar
Alice Weaver
Crafting A Second Chance
 
Posts: 121
Words: 145803
Joined roleplay: November 7th, 2020, 11:42 pm
Race: Ghost
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes
Medals: 1
Featured Thread (1)

Borrowed Hands

Postby Alice Weaver on November 14th, 2020, 9:28 pm

Once within the man's soul, Alice began to rapidly expand herself. Wrapping her own dead soul around his like a weighted blanket, crushing in around him, looking for a weak point in his defenses. She felt the man pushing back, of course. His mental hands sank into the soft material that made up her shroud, trying to throw the crushing, encompassing weight off but was struggling to do so. The copious amounts of alcohol in his system made his mental fortitude plummet, and soon she sensed a crack in the shell that surrounded his center of being. Shifting some of her ‘weight’ away from the blanket she had laid over the man she crafted a spear of her soulmist before plunging it into that weakened spot of will. Ripping and tearing before slipping her entire being through that small chink, bullying the man's soul into a corner as she took its place. After another few heartbeats, her soulmist had spread throughout his entire body, carried through his own vessels and nerves, fully suffusing the conquered body.

Stretching herself out, bending far back, and hearing the pop of the vertebrae brought a rush of euphoria.

“Gods, I do miss having a body sometimes. Makes things like...doorknobs easier.” She declared absentmindedly.

“Who- who are you?!” Alice hears a shaky, high pitched voice, hesitantly calls out. Turning the meat puppet she was wearing towards the voice she looked at the battered and bruised flaxen-haired girl.

“Just your resident ghost.” Alice shrugs, lifting the massive shoulders of the body she was riding in, his deeper voice booming across the alley. The volume caused the girl to cringe, “I needed someone to open a door and you needed some help. Seemed like a win-win. Besides, we women need to stick together right?”

“I-”, She swallows nervously, hanging onto a bruised shoulder. “Yes. But what are you going to do with him?” Alice shrugs again, scratching his head out of a habit she had while alive.

“I’m probably going to run by the tavern, open that damnable door, then I'll go jump this body into the river. I am positive it could use a bath.”

“Yeah," The other woman laughed bitterly, “It sure could.”

“Well…I guess I shall be going.”

“And I gotta get going too.”

“Farewell.”

“Goodbye,” And with that slightly awkward ending, Alice took the body she was wearing and began to sprint down the streets like a mad man. One foot in front of the other, stretching his stride further than it should go to get even more speed since she felt none of his pain. Watching the buildings fly by as she pushed the man faster and faster, pumping his chest to get even more air in. Just when she was approaching the tavern did she feel a sense of lethargy overcoming her. This was not from the running but from having to micromanage every one of the muscle groups and having to keep pushing the man's soul back down. Her energy levels dropping rapidly as she realized her time was running short. But, no matter, her goal was in sight as the tavern crested into view when she rounded the corner. Flying up to the door, she reached a meaty hand down, twisting and yanking for what the body was worth, resulting in the door to open with a thunderous CRACK, letting the light from inside to pour out onto the streets.

“Whoops.” She grinned sheepishly as the current patrons turned to stare at her, a few going even so far to begin to crawl their hands down to their daggers strapped on their waist. This man deserves it, right? Yeah, he does. “Your mother was a rat and your father a half-wit!” She called while pointing at no one in particular. That elicited a few growls as the drunken members of the tavern lurched up at the insult but Alice was already gone, barely holding onto the possession with her fingertips, exhausted beyond belief but determined to finish the job. Swiftly approaching the waters that flowed through the city before bending the man's legs, quickly extending them while throwing the rest of his weight forward. To call the jump graceful would be a stretch, more a controlled tumble, but it got the job done as the man smashed face-first into the water, the shock of the cold water sending a thrill of fear through him that ejected Alice like a piece of flotsam. She reformed over the water, a pale shadow of what she started the night as, lacking more definition than usual.

“Enjoy your bath,” She yawned while giving a small, unnoticeable wave to the man floundering in the water before vanishing into the dark.
User avatar
Alice Weaver
Crafting A Second Chance
 
Posts: 121
Words: 145803
Joined roleplay: November 7th, 2020, 11:42 pm
Race: Ghost
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes
Medals: 1
Featured Thread (1)


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests