WEEK 8 - Execution

[al2955]

the pygmalion. . . ONLINE CAPTAIN'S LOG: WEEK (7)

sunday EXECUTION (22) survivors As voting comes to an end, a song filters in played so loud that it becomes distored and fragmented. If a participant checks their datapad, they will see the the victim and suspect chosen by majority's pictures displayed. If they attempt to scroll, they will see a list of characters and their votes in alphabetical order.

victim




culprit



accomplice



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RETIREMENT

[al2955]

[ In a flash, Hissrad's body collapses onto the floor, lifeless.

Hissrad is alone. The veil of night looms overhead, and, as he looks around, he'll find himself in a place uncomfortably familiar. The air is balmy and terse, like a moment frozen. The trees above all have fruit blooming from them, but every last one is neutered right down the middle. Hissrad reaches up to touch one, only to see his hand is covered in a thick plate of metal. He doesn't have long to focus on that, though, for soon after his eyes wander to the sky, torn and rended asunder, with green and black cracks. It seems almost as if the sky might fall entirely.

Once again, he doesn't have too long to focus on this. He hears a distinct sound coming from the ground, like it, too, is ripping apart, and from a fissure in the group comes two identical slabs of stone. They are rounded, and only come out partially, and each is engraved with one word — 'madness' and 'temptation', respectively.

Looking up, Hissrad will see Dorian. Except he doesn't seem quite right. He's teetering back and forth in an unfamiliar, graceless way, unlike the poised and restrained Dorian he had known. Hissrad reaches out to touch him, but he notices something behind him — a ghastly creature with a tendril wrapped around Dorian's head. It appears to fade in and out of existence, a non-corporeal silhouette. Hissrad backs away, removing his axe from his back. Dorian takes a step closer, his arm contorting, flesh bursting from every part of his body until nothing is left but a mass of viscera. Hissrad strikes. The arm is knocked clean off, but the creature does not stop its advances. It makes no attempt to strike Hissrad, but nevertheless seems aggressive.

Once again, Hissrad strikes, his head careening away as he does.

"Is this not what you wanted to do, Hissrad? Did you not seek annihilation?"

When Hissrad looks again, he'll see the creature bubbling, sinking into itself, as if its being was sublimating into the humid atmosphere. The knub left after he cut its arm clean off is still outstretched towards him, and it is the last thing remaining when there is nothing left of the being.

Hissrad turns, dejected, no longer looking towards where Dorian once stood. He begins to walk away.

"There it is! It is the one! The one who assassinated the heir of house Pavus!"

Hissrad stops dead in his tracks at that. He looks over his shoulder, seeing a gaggle of strangely clad warriors approaching. He notices one run straight for a mangled heap of gore and flesh. When he turns more, he notices it is Dorian.. as he remembered him. There is a clean and large gash through his shoulder, nearly separating his top half from his bottom, destroying his lush linens entirely and steeping them deep in blood.

Now Hissrad is turning completely. He doesn't have a chance to reach Dorian, though — the group of warriors are turning their attention to Hissrad, and they throw out several chains. They wrap around his horns, weighing down his head inside the heavy helmet he now donned, and around his arms and legs. Rendered immobile, he could only struggle futilely as the group of warriors approached.

"A maddened creature. We would do well to purge all of these from Seheron — from all of Thedas, if it possible."

Hissrad tries to open his mouth, but he cannot. His lips are sewn shut, and his struggles only rip the skin esh from them, causing his mouth to become a grisly glasgow smile.

"We would do well to remove, well, that. I do not know if this is true, but I fear that he will continue to live if we do not."

The warriors nod each other, and slowly, one approaches Hissrad. He places two hands on either side of the helmet, lifting it off as Hissrad struggles. Another approaches, a large dagger in one hand.

"I almost feel sorry for it. It does not seem sentient — just a wild bull in its death throes."

Despite his words, he does not hesitate to plunge the dagger into the dome of Hissrad's head. Hissrad would scream, but his mouth is still sewn, and it only serves to deepen the pain as grey flaps of skin float to the ground like petals. The warrior continues to carve at his head like a child might desecrate a pumpkin until Hissrad's head only has about half as much skin as it did initially. When he finishes, he reaches in and plucks from it a pulsing lump, as grey as Hissrad's skin. Despite his brain being pecked out of his head, Hissrad's body continues to writhe and twist as a dying dragon might.

"Funny. I thought it would be much smaller. I suppose everything on this beast is of equal size, despite its apparent lack of intelligence."

With this jape, he drops Hissrad's brain onto the ground. He kicks some dirt up on it, and then, with one firm step, crushes it under his heel. Grey matter flies away, atoms and thoughts and memories tinting Hissrad's armor.

The last thing Hissrad sees as he falls to his knees is Dorian's body, harvested, neutered, and claimed like those fruit he had seen a few minutes prior. Around his lips, he notes a red pearl of wine — or maybe it's blood. He never decides if it was Dorian's blood or his own. ]

[tevinteriscoming]

[Well.

He wasn't sure he was going to watch this one. He's still deciding back and forth on whether he feels he owes it to Bull to watch or whether he feels he owes it to him not to watch. But then he's in it, and his horrified fascination wins over both emotions. If he were a better man, he might watch and feel horror on Bull's behalf, for his fears turned against him. But instead, he feels horror for himself, the the pointed intent of the message, the knowledge of what he's already become. And then, in the end, he can't watch after all, too light-headed and ill and sad to continue.

But it's not over yet.

He slinks down in his chair in the conference room and waits.]