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I'm Not Human At All [nWoD Promethean: the Created]

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0.2 The Ramble
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    [X] Talk

    Lungs. Lungs were expanding within his hand. Lungs that pushed and heaved against ligament and bone. Joints, and msucle. His meaty fingers cringe heavily as they strain to move in resistance against the tumor, but every breath that gaping toothy abyss of a mouth took had made them uncontrollably stretch forward as if it was actually alive. It kept on at it. Opening and closing. Always opening. Always closing. Open. Close. It gasps for breath like it actually needed air while his calloused knuckles painfully crackled and popped in sync to its breathing patterns. The monster croaks and dry heaves with thoughts of himself perhaps finally succumbing to the brutal heat. His war of attrition after these endless days. He wretches out nothing. His empty stomach begging to be able to relieve itself of its burden, but the relief never coming. Disoriented, blurry eyed, and almost rendered completely immobile, he stays down on his knee.

    His dull senses snap out of their stupor as he finally realizes that he's scared again, but not for his own safety.

    After days of wandering through the valley, it is the first time his throat and lips feel dry. His throat quivers as he speaks.

    "... Hello."

    The sobs fade away, only to be replaced by a stiffed fit of joy.

    The created one slumps back on his rear with another grunt, and lets his heavy arms hang over his propped up knees. Sleek with sweat, he shines as the perspiration glistens over his body, but its wrong. He doesn't sweat, so why is he doing so now?

    His eyes still focus on the figure veiled by distance, who seems to move erratically in a dance full of glee. Maybe it's the wind.

    "Please don't be afraid." The ghastly voice awkwardly says out loud. Perhaps out of not knowing what else to say.

    The monster's head droops low. He brushes over his face again only to have it feel drenched and soaked.

    No longer able to ignore it, he swipes his forehead, and loose skin peels right off like wet tissue. His eyes widen. He's melting.

    "I love you. I can help you."

    He couldn't smell it. Couldn't taste it, nor touch it, but it was there. He just didn't know it. His azothic memory fails him as the radiation continued to lay thick over the badwater plains, and if he longed for actual answers or a fight, it may very well come at the cost of his own life, but then again, when has he ever lived? His instincts tell him to shrug off the pain, and get back up onto his feet.

    Describe your intent

    INTENT is what the players decide what they desire as the outcome of the challenge. It can mean more than just wanting to repair a car, or successfully running away from a threat. The intent could be more detailed, such as the players wanting to disarm someone without injury.

    [ ] "Fuck you."
    Intent: How long can you keep humoring the conversation before your face melts off of your head? It could already be too late at this point, but the actions so far have said enough than words could. It's a monster, and you are one too. Perhaps this is the answer you've waited to hear. That neither of you, should ever exist.

    [ ] "What are we?"
    Intent: This question plagued you from the very beginning. It was one that your creator never answered solely because they weren't there. One that your only friend never answered because they were never there. So maybe it is like how humans say, Third time's the charm? You are not human. That you know, but that's all.

    [ ] "How can you help me?"
    Intent: Ironic to ask as your skin's peeling off, but why not pry further? You've gone through worse. Your jouney may have been necessary to bring you here to this one moment. To be able to withstand such pain and gruesome bodily harm just so you can reach nirvana. To be enlightened and born again with new purpose.

    [ ] "What are you?"
    Intent: This is beyond anything you've ever experienced before. This thing is nothing like the creatures that dwell in the dark. The lonely corners of the world. Every question about yourself seems so miniscule to the enigma before you. One that can so easily bring you down to your knees even though you never ever yield.​
     
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    • Not this time. I'm still working on the system for this quest so for now, I'll specify when to roll the die.

    Also, I finally added text only versions to both posts so those wanting to read without using the big images can do so.
     
    3 way tie so far. I'm going to end the vote sometime during the weekend. I'll type up a short story to help pass the time until then.

    As for the aim of the quest, I'm stuck between making it a pure CYOA or including stats. For now, we'll keep it basic.
     
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    Saturnine Night
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    Scared. He's scared.


    He stands tall, ready to make a decision, but the moment is dwelled on far too long.


    So the facade he puts on, the persona he childishly adopted, unfolds for a mere second.


    A second long enough to tears away from him the years of repressed emotions. The moment unwraps the memories of the past as they surge forth to drown out everything else like a wave. The radiation. The blinding heat. Pain. Anger. Confusion. It's gone. It is simply all gone for now.


    And he begins to remember the first time he was ever afraid.


    He didn't even know what to call it. What it was. What he was feeling at the time.


    It's fear. An emotion. An sensation that throbs in his mind and thumps through his body until it grows ice cold, and he tenses up as if frozen. A state where one can move before the mind can, and it does things that most can't even imagine let alone fathom. He lets himself be swept up by the commotion, and dissociatively watches himself like his own personal theater, his own show, while not knowing the script nor the play. Not even knowing where he was at the time like some new born child out of the mother's womb, but with nothing there to comfort the soul. Cold slabs of cracked cement replaced everlasting arms. Jolts of nerve throttling electricity pumping the heart rather than the breath of life. The desert fades away into black, and he feels cold. So cold.


    And the fear comes back to him. His eyes blink, and he starts screaming while being naked.


    The screams echo in a building full of nothing. Darkness envelops him like a blanket as the odd plasm gooped all over his disfigured form cling onto everything he slips and falls onto. A literal thousand thoughts pop in and out of his head all at once, and he can't even remember his name nor even know who he is, or what he is. He falls over, and over clumsily. Not able to stand on his own two feet, both from different bodies. The stitches all over him threaten to quit and tear apart, rendering him even more incapable of doing something so mundanely simple. His teeth grit hard against each other before he finally realizes that he can breath, so he does. It's music to his ears as his wheezing moans fight back the terrifying silence that accompanied the mystery of everything else. He blinks, but the embalming fluid stings his retinas and he groans out pitifully.


    His horrid cries beg for a response, but nothing but his own echoes reply back...


    Until a muffled voice, different from his own, joins his.


    He starts crawling before he knew he could do that. His body moves on its own while trying to find its rhythm. Breathe. Move arms. Pull forward. Repeat. Blink. Repeat. Blink. Repeat. The newborn bumps into walls.He crawls over shattered glass and broken pebbles all while watching himself as if he wasn't the one in charge of his own self. He's too shocked to comprehend it all.

    The cries get louder. He's getting closer.


    Something's moving. The rattling of metal chimes loudly, but they weren't from the bolts sticking out from all over his body as they clack over the hard ground. They sound so familiar. Chains?


    Crawl.


    Keep moving.


    The chains rustle so frantically now that it hurts his ears, but everything hurts. Even breathing.


    Finally, he sees it.


    He sees it in the light now. The little bit of moonlight that seeps through a closed window, and…


    It sees him too.


    Shackled by its own arms, the chain is engulfed by its own flesh. Pools of blood soak underneath its boxed frame as it wobbles around pathetically in a vain attempt to move. Fingers melded into its skull as its pleading eyes shake. It cries instinctively while never able to open the stitched up mouth of its cursed body.. It sobs louder, seeing the slimy monster before have such limbs and a full body physique while its own potential to live was already brought to an end by a design far out of its own control. It was as clueless and confused as the monster was, but even worse off. It couldn't even scream like it wanted to. That small act was like a luxury in such a confusing time.


    And though he didn't know it at first, nor even had the capability of understand it, he could feel it though. After the wave of repulsion flowed over him, he saw past it and felt kindred in that poor doomed soul. Like he and it were the very same. The exact same regardless of shape or form. Was like looking into a mirror that revealed how he felt inside after his sudden cruel birth. The two just scream at each other in the darkness. Their cries being their only way to communicate.


    And he remembers the fear that day.


    He feels it again now. Now in Death Valley with the stranger nearby.


    And he's scared that he'll see himself in the silhouette in the distance again.
     
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    What is Promethean?
  • Informational
    • WHAT IS PROMETHEAN: THE CREATED, AND WHY A QUEST FOR IT?

    Think about the pilgrimage of Frankenstein's monster. How he was an abomination, but also a creation of man shunned by both his father and people. Why? Because he came into the world as a full grown adult, but lacked the knowledge one would have over their entire course of their life. He was a confused child with no clue. Now imagine others like him, such as the Golems made by rabbis used to make to defend their cities or the statues Greeks molded centuries ago and fell in love with, or even I, Robot. Imagine them being real with no souls. These are people who are working backwards. Working to earn their soul instead of working to keep it. They have godly powers, but no power to feel comfortable in their own skin. They see their real horrifying selves in the mirror everyday while struggling on the path to be human so they can finally stop running from people who instinctively reject them, and just start living. So that means they have to understand what being human exactly is first, but even humans don't know what that means. Basically, we've got the blind leading the blind and the deaf trying to listen to the mute. It's quite complicated.

    However…

    These Prometheans are on the right path. At least, the one in our quest together is. Hopefully. They're refining the fire within, their azoth, and removing its purities into an actual soul. They go through all these challenges and pain because they know, or at least think they know, that there is something worthwhile waiting for them at the end of the pilgrimage. Some sadly never even know about it though, let alone realize that they can potentially be a real human being. Some are honestly doomed to remain as they are as well, but with Promethean the Created, we can help those creations who can reach there get there. Maybe even find out what the hell we ourselves are all about.

    Promethean the Created is a reflection of us a bit, really. We're looking at monsters we can be, and how isolation can be worse than it is when you don't even enjoy your own company. At the same time, we are looking at those who are doing nothing but better themselves even as they fail. Even when they do the worst things possible. It is in that we also find our own humanity, and out of every other single nWoD system, Promethean can be argued to be the most hopeful out of all of them. There is a goal. An achievable goal. You're not fighting to keep your humanity. You're striving to earn it. It goes against what most want to play, but Prometheans aren't like most.
    ___________________________________

    Updating the glossary with the new updates. Creating the archive. If nobody else votes, I'll assign numbers on a die to the 3 voters and roll to see who wins.

    If you don't know PtC, and find all of the updates I made to look too melodramatic or just crazy, keep in mind that it's not like that all the time. It's just the beginning. The beginning always sucks.

    Hopefully the text above explains not only why I like the system so much but why you could get interested as well. I'll be updating with more information later. Perhaps even doing the update tonight.
     
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  • Informational
    • Votes are over.

    [X] "What are you?" wins

    Update to come some time before or after the weekend is over.
     
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    Okay, I'm going to postpone the next update to late night Monday to early morning Tuesday since there's pictures I need to make.

    That being said, I'll like to give a shoutout to @Shintouyu @Ridiculously Average Guy @Red Bovine and @veekie for being interested in the quest so far. I appreciate your guy's interest and I hope you continue to enjoy the story so far that you guys help guide along the way.
     
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    Yeah, they are definitely are. Hoping for somebody to add a tag for it down the road.

    It is confusing too, but I did make it that way as well. Ya'll mostly seem pretty informative about Promethean so you guys know why.
     
    0.3 The Zombie
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    [ X ] "What are you?"

    As the monster grows more agitated by the deathly silence that followed, the hand starts again to caress his bloodied face with an animal curiosity. The swollen palm rabidly twitches with uncontrollable emotion. It shakes as it feels out the form of the monster's dry lips as they purse to speak, but the stranger cuts him off just before the tongue could roll. "I can feel your stitches," it states while continuing to stroke over those same seams. It fondles the bolts and discolored tissue that haunted him since the first moment he saw a mirror, and intimately maps out his angular, rough-hewn face by just touch alone. Like a blind person would've done. The mouth then gasps breathlessly from silent laughter, which makes it seem like it was trying to clap one handed.

    "The weave of your skin. I wish I still had mine."

    "What are you!?"

    He repeats the question again louder like a bark. His patience that was doomed to snap at any moment stretches fartoo thin. His gravelly speech resonates through the valley, and only dies when the winds could carry it no further. He ignores the palpating tumor that was now protruding veins on the back of his dying hand, which started to grow blue. The circulation of blood was cut off from it. He opts to shout again from the bottom of his burning lungs the same question while stepping forward. No longer able to bear the wait.

    The shadow freezes, and grows still to draw no more ire from the beast.

    "I am a prisoner."

    "... and I am alone. I am like you."

    "No. No, you're fucking not." The monster snarls under his breath like a growling beast. His temper going unrestrained. Emotion left unchecked. He was never good at subduing them in the first place, but now he was at his worst. Meat came out of his face as he whips his head around tentatively. He spits out blood and tastes iron. Thoughts of himself just shooting first, and asking later arise as he gets closer, and the shadow gets bigger.

    The monster is soon welcomed with open arms and a shape no longer ambiguous as the feminine stranger raises her arms for a hug far beyond her reach. Sand now turning into glassy rock underneath his worn-out boots. He makes out hair. Her casual shirt, and tattered jeans. Everything but her face. Everything but the big picture.

    "Yes. Not anymore. Because you can survive me."

    A few steps more is all it takes, and the monster finds her staring back at him, but yet, also past him. He finds his mangled reflection in her tears of joy. Her sincerity. Past all her power over the monster, they fade away like more grains of sand in the hot desert. All that remains is a pair of foggy eyes teary with their blank stare.

    She was missing a nose, or at least, the skin over it. Her long hair was dry, brittle, and it threatened to fall out with any quick turn of her head in the future. The pale skin of hers remained as it was somehow under the scorching sun even though she's been out for who knows how long. The zombie radiated the stench of death with dried blood stains remaining permanently fixed on her bobbling chin. The same one that tried so desperately to keep the lips above kept closed in a trembling grin, but always failing every time. It was a perfect teeth smile amplified by all of her hideous disfigurements, her god given flaws, like the bloody gap of a flapping mouth where her upper lip ceased to be. Only replaced by numerous tiny bulbous tumors that weren't far from ones caused by cancer.. It was the only thing perfect about her other than the moment.

    "What... are you?" He asks one more time all dumbfounded like a broken tape recorder, but no verbal response comes from her other than sniffles from wet nostrils. She wasn't lying. She really was like him.

    It also seemed like all the zombie wanted was this embrace, and no answers would come from her until she got what her heart desired. She had waited her entire existence for this, so what was a few more minutes of waiting compared to all that? Her lithe arms reach out and gingerly grip onto the baggy sleeve of the monster's hoodie, and she tugs on it to beckon him forth along side an open grin moistened with tears. Her blank, aimless stare never once focusing on him outside of the occasional quick glance that passes right over him to some other mundane part of the valley. The zombie was floored. Speechless. Stunned.


    … She was happy.


    [ ] Punch her in the fucking face

    [ ] Just hug her
     
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    • I forgot to mention that the deadline for this vote will be short. It'll end tomorrow late afternoon PM 6:00 PM PST-ish and the update will be sometime during that or in the weekend.

    This update took awhile because I had to kinda figure out a lot of things all at once about this quest annnnd I still have no clue. Anyway, at least this isn't a two week long break.
     
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    Ridiculously Average Guy said:
    [X] Just hug her

    Not sure this won't kill us, but hey?

    For all I know it leads to a weird Promethean fusion dance or something.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Death by hug, you say? To be honest, these two characters are so deprived of social interaction that a hug might just do them both in. I'm going to put that in the 'save it for emergencies' pile.

    Also, double update. I'll be writing another short story tonight. Nothing fancy. Just something I had in mind for awhile to help confuse you guys even more. Hell, it may even end up being two.
     
    [X] Just Hug Here
    WokeRonin threw 1 10-faced dice. Total: 6
    6 6
     
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