Sunday, February 26, 2012

Sorry, I've been a wee bit busy. The fighting has died down, so mostly we're just flexing at each other.


Anyways, Soren has gone mysteriously quiet. I wonder what he's up to...

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Busy, busy, busy. There's been a flurry of fights, though luckily I haven't been involved in many. I don't trust my luck to hold too much longer, especially with the assassination attempt by Maple.

Jennifer's been out of town, but is still hanging around. Apparently she was out by Portland before (which is where she first caught wind of me) and thought it was rather boring out there. Plus, she hates the Timberwolves, so she came out here to join me.

Joyous day. I get a psycho for a partner.

Well, any partner is better than no partner. Gotta have someone to watch your back. Either way, it's still getting dangerous around here. I'm going to lie low for a little bit. Apparently I'm getting a shipment of Novichok. Yay.

Though this begs the question, who is it supposed to be used against...?

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Well, that was probably the bloody creepiest thing to happen lately. I had returned home from the failed negotiations (wow, I'm on a roll), and had just settled for whatever crap happened to be in the fridge, when I noticed that I wasn't alone.

A boy, about 8, in a little sailor suit and hat was standing in my room. At first, I was like: HOW ADORABLE.

Then I was like: Wait, how'd he get in here?

Then I thought: Wait, half his face is frozen.

SHIT. IT'S THE COLD BOY (as if I couldn't be any more obvious). And all that took about two seconds.

Then he started to sing a nursery rhyme (maybe? It's not one I've ever heard, but it's disturbing enough to be one). His voice was... rather spellbinding. It went like this:

The piper weaves a frantic tune,
His notes are played in vain.
A child weeps in the corner
The scribe has gone insane.

He sings of merry whisperings
Alas, no one is listening,
Oblivious to what transpires,
He brings his tune oh-so higher.

He tells a tale of shattered minds
What quirky thoughts the mad man finds,
Of twisted dreams and hazy vision,
Of a foolish knight on a dooming mission.

He alone knows who they are,
He alone carries them far.

For he is them, and they are he.

Then he giggled at me and left. Now, if that hadn't sent my weirdness sensor through the roof, the fact that I know where that poem is from (it was written by a guy named Kristopher over on a forum I used to visit), makes it even creepier. I have come to two conclusions:

A. Kris is being stalked by the Cold Boy.
B. The Cold Boy steals people's poems.

I certainly hope it's not the first one. Kris was a cool guy, and I'd hate for him to have to be a Runner =/

And the second one, while not creepy... is a bit odd.

Anyways, I think I'm going to try and sleep, now that I've been kept awake most of the night.

Monday, February 13, 2012


So, remember how I said that an ambassador from the Wooden Girl was here (god, it feels like Star Wars. THE AMBASSADOR IS A JEDI KNIGHT).

Um, anyways.

Yeah. One of the other Apostles (Jennifer), who happened to be in town, showed up with an audio recorder. So, the following is a transcript from the recording, which has been set up suspiciously like a chat recording but is, in fact, not. Also, lots of audible silences will be seen. With awesome sound effects written by yours truly.

*shuffling noises*

Jennifer: Is this on? I think it is.
Paradoxical Machinations: Yeah, look, the equalizer is going. Goodness.
J: Shut up and get on with it.
PM: *muttered* yes ma’am. *louder* SO! Why are you here today, Miss…?
Ambassador: Call me Maple.
PM: Fine, Ms. Maple. What can I do for you today?
M:  *giggles*
J: Please. Scare tactics? You do realize none of those work for us.
M: Whatever you say, Jenni. Now, to business. Doesn’t this war seem a bit silly, to you? Really, fighting over this little city. Who needs it?
PM: Apparently you do. Why?
M: Nothing of importance. My Mistress wants it as a plaything, nothing more.
PM: Yeah, I’m sure. Why this city?
M: Why any city, Mr. Alex?
PM: You tell me.
PM: Go on.
M: My Mistress wants this city for certain people inside of it.
J: And we give a fuck… why?
M: She is willing to stop the… little tussle we’ve been having, in exchange for the giving up of this city.
PM: Considering that you were LOSING, I don’t see the point. My city. GTFO.
M: Are you sure that we were losing? We can bolster the ranks whenever we feel like, after all. Taking control of others is no problem.
J: My Master has control over all the dead, Maple. There’s more dead people than living. Do the math.
M: Are you sure? This could be your final chance.
J: Yeah. We’re sure.
M: Very well.
*Sound of chairs being pushed back*
PM: Wait, look out!
*sound of flesh hitting floor*
*rapid gunshots*
*footsteps receding into distance*
PM: You alright?
J: Yeah.
PM: Thank God she shot fast. She could have gotten us.
J: Well, she didn’t. *inhales shakily* I’m going to go. We’re not giving up the Master’s city, so I expect things are going to pick up a bit. I’ll stick around to lend a hand for a bit.
PM: Thanks. I best start preparing as well. Who knows what’s going to sneak in during the chaos…
*recorder switched off*

So, if you didn’t gather, we told Maple no, she attempted to kill us, missed, and now I think it’s going to get a little more exciting around here…

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

So, apparently word of the Apostles is getting around, but nobody actually knows who we are.

So I guess I get to play exposition fairy today.

So, first things first. I will use the word "so" at the beginning of every line.

So, second things second. We are all, obviously, servants of HIM. There's twelve of us, for added symbolism. Each of us has found "favor" of a sort, though how exactly one gets favor from HIM is still quite the mystery, seeing as he doesn't really care whether any of us live or die. He seems to be the aggressive chess player, who will sacrifice his pieces if it means getting a pawn to the other side of the board.

So, what do we do. Well, we basically act like any other servant does, except that we're a lot more autonomous than most of HIS servants. And by that I mean that we're not crazy, on drugs, or any combination of the two. We're told, through the Prophet usually, but also directly  by HIM, what to do. Sometimes we're also sent through the Empty City to get supplies, such as the recent trip to get some Sarin, which is now gone, thank God.

So, now that that's cleared up, uniform. We always wear gas masks. Even though HE can take any form that HE wishes (of those who have died, anyways), everybody knows him as the guy in a hoody and gas mask. Thus, we always wear gas masks and black hoodies, with the Twin Triangles emblazoned on the back. Intimidating? Quite.

And screw it, I'm done saying so.

Anyways, we get some powerups. Comes with the position. We get some stamina boosts, strength boosts, agility boosts, etc. Nothing superhuman, but enough to make those who get the boost on the level of professionals. Which is nice, in a way.

We're not really connected very much. I've met one other Apostle since I was raised, who was... quite interesting. She was also bloody insane, but in the ways where you won't notice until it's too late. Luckily, I don't need to work with her.

Now excuse me. Apparently an ambassador from the Wooden Girl wishes to meet with me. Joy.

Monday, February 6, 2012

I have work to do, it seems. The Wooden Girl has been pressing up against HIS territory, and I don't mean physical territory. Apparently, he's getting annoyed at her temerity in raising the dead. Same with the Unnamed Child, but apparently she's only raised the one, but he's letting it slide.

Oh goody, Sarin. I don't want to be a terrorist.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Well, if I don't have to worry about Proxie, that means that I don't have to worry about death by knife.

Which is something.

And yes, I'm afraid of death. I'd rather it not come for me. Too bad it came to that gang, though.