Re: The Fearsome Encounter (GBS3G8) [Signups!]
08-07-2011, 02:31 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
Username: TimeothyHour
Name: Earliest confirmable name is, “Vinculis Tenebrarum,” translating roughly to “The bonds of darkness.” The earliest confirmable name of the being inside is “הנסיך של האפוקליפסה,” meaning “Prince of the Apocalypse.” Other names for the prison and the being inside have been floating around and whispered from person to person for untold ages.
Race: Hyperdimensional prison containing an ancient, super-powerful being.
Gender: The prison itself has no gender. Myths of the being inside, however call it a “He.”
Colour: limerind #324F17
Biography: August 07, 2053…
“The Bible. The Qur’an. Eastern Mythology. Other occult shit, n’ stuff,” the old man said, in-between loudly smacking on his chewing tobacco. He was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of the log cabin he built himself, and currently had a shotgun pointed at the head of a young, studious-looking fellow.
“Um, yes, sir,” he said nervously. “I know all that. I’m trying to find out more about Vinculis Tenebrarum-”
Suddenly the old man lifted his shotgun into the air, and fired several times. The noise was deafening, and the young one promptly covered his ears, his face an expression of horror.
The old man thrust the gun back towards the unwanted company. Half frustrated, half amused, he rolled his eyes and spoke.
“I wasn’t done speakin’. Ya don’t interrupt me when I’m talkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”
The old man continued chewing. An awkward silence settled over the two. The sound of birds singing echoed from the nearby forest.
The young one spoke.
“Um-”
“Not. Done. Speakin’.”
The two stared at each other a long time. The young man looked almost ready to cry, the old man rocking back and forth, his free hand patting the jet black cube next to him, the mysterious artifact ticking down, down…
“They all talk a whole lot ‘bout the numbah seven,” the old man said in his slow, drawn-out way. “And the numbah seven talks ‘bout this box right here.”
The old man gave the box a big slap, and went back to giving it smaller pats, showing the young man smile full of rotted teeth.
“And don’t call it the Vincent Tiberium or whatever. It’s a stupid name.”
“But-”
“It’s a stupid name. It’s called The Box.”
Another long silence, as if the old man intended to let this statement sink in. And once again, he began to speak.
“The Box is a prison, they say, in whispered alleys and backroom whisperin’s. An evil, the greatest evil, is locked inside. Where it came from, however, is all ovah the place. Aliens, Time travelers, hell, it might even be some sort o’ god or whatevah that locked this son-of-a-gun up.”
“Seven seals, they say. Six outside, one on the inside. One for each side, I always say.”
The old man paused, as if expecting laughter for his stupid joke. Met with silence, he frowned, and continued.
“The most interestin’ thing, in my ‘pinion, is the prophecies ‘bout it. They say it’ll be entered into a battle to the death when the first seal is broken. A battle with seven rounds. This evil, only partially outside of its fuckin’ prison, will hafta fight for freedom. This small, but ‘portant, window of opportunity to destroy whatevah dark what’s-it-called for all of eternity. The thing is, the longer it says alive, the more powerful it gets.
The prophecies say that as the box survives each round, another seal will break, until the begginin’ of the last round. Then everythin’s clusterfucked, ‘cause He’ll be finally out. Afta waitin’, afta waitin’ so long…”
The old man sighed. He pointed to the side of The Box facing the young man. A timer, written in some unknown language, was counting down.
“And that waitin’s almost up. It’s written in some ancient malarkey, but you can tell. Just a few minutes now. Your arrivin’ was really quite opportune.”
The young man looked at the box. It gave off an explicable aura of something horrible, something wrong. But it did indeed seem to be close to the end of its run.
“Y’know,” the old man said suddenly. “Every powahful nation in all o’ history has had this little box, countin’ down, always countin’ down. Sumeria. Egypt. Rome. Britain. US. China. I hear it was instrumental in the formin’ o’ several otha nations, too, whatevah your opinion on that might be. But me, I’ve got this little ol’ thing for ‘bout thirty years. And my forty acres have been declared a protected micronation for twenty-five of ‘em. And I didn’t even want that ta happen, it just did. So that makes me wonder, am I, a single old man livin’ in a micronation by myself, stronger than all the nations in the world?”
The old man stared at The Box a long while, before sighing. “O’ course not.”
He tried to smile briefly at the young one, but it was obvious tears were running down his face, gleaming brightly in the sunset light.
“So, I hafta wonder,” the old man continued. “Why’d it choose me?
“’Cause I know it chose me. There’s no way this box would be sittin’ here, right on this porch, if it hadn’t chosen me, personally. So I have to wonder, why?
“Does it like me? Did it want to spend its last few years away from the splendor and power of largah nations, with humble ol’ me?”
The old man took in a deep, ragged breath before continuing.
“Or maybe it wanted me dead, ‘Cause it knows what I’m about to do.”
The he got quiet, and solemn tone reached his voice. “Y’see the timer? It’s about to reach zero in four…three…two…”
Before the box could reach one, however, it promptly disappeared. The young man’s jaw almost dropped.
“What just-”
“I’m still not done talkin’!” The old man shouted, pressing the barrel of the shotgun against the young man’s forehead. “’Cause you know what!? IT’S GONE. AFTER ALL THESE FUCKIN’ YEARS I’VE BEEN WITH THE DAMN THING, PROTECTIN’ IT, AND NOW IT’S GONE, OFF TO GO CLUSTERFUCK THE UNIVERSE!
BUT YOU KNOW WHAT!? I’M FREE! I’M FINALLY FUCKIN’ FREE! I CAN FINALLY DIE! GOODBYE, FUCKIN’ REALITY! GOODBYE FUCKIN’ LIFE! ENJOY BEIN’ FUCKED BY THE ULTIMATE EVIL!”
The shotgun then snapped around, pointed into the man’s mouth. The click of the trigger, deafening noise. The corpse collapsed there, head exploded, replacing the once-living man, a horrible altar to death and destruction.
Weapons/Abilities: The Box is an incredibly good prison, being both indestructible from both the inside and the outside. Or at least, it used to be indestructible from both the inside and the outside. At the beginning of each round, a seal on The Box will be opened, slowly giving the being inside more and more power and influence on the world around Him, until the beginning of the last round, where He will be completely unlocked. However, in this weakened, half-unlocked state, The Box is weakened, and the being inside can be more easily destroyed. However, it would still take quite a bit of force or firepower to actually destroy the box and its contents. Additionally, The Box emits a kind of dark aura, giving anyone nearby feeling of wrongness if they look at it or touch it for too long.
The powers and abilities of the being inside have been lost to time, but it is said he is extremely strong, enough to threaten the existence of universes themselves…
Description: The Box is two feet by two feet by two feet big. Made of an unknown material, it is jet black, each side marked by a green ring, with green lines extending towards the adjacent four faces. Inside each circle, unknown, ancient symbols are carved into the material, acting as the countdown timers for each seal to be unlocked. One face currently reads approximately 00000:00:00:01, and when that countdown completes, it the next seal will begin counting down.
The being inside is said to be without shape or form, but like the shadows that man fears most, lurking and shifting. It is said He was once a being that eats universes, consuming entire realities and civilizations.
He’s going to be very, very hungry when he finally gets out.
Username: TimeothyHour
Name: Earliest confirmable name is, “Vinculis Tenebrarum,” translating roughly to “The bonds of darkness.” The earliest confirmable name of the being inside is “הנסיך של האפוקליפסה,” meaning “Prince of the Apocalypse.” Other names for the prison and the being inside have been floating around and whispered from person to person for untold ages.
Spoiler
Race: Hyperdimensional prison containing an ancient, super-powerful being.
Gender: The prison itself has no gender. Myths of the being inside, however call it a “He.”
Colour: limerind #324F17
Biography: August 07, 2053…
“The Bible. The Qur’an. Eastern Mythology. Other occult shit, n’ stuff,” the old man said, in-between loudly smacking on his chewing tobacco. He was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of the log cabin he built himself, and currently had a shotgun pointed at the head of a young, studious-looking fellow.
“Um, yes, sir,” he said nervously. “I know all that. I’m trying to find out more about Vinculis Tenebrarum-”
Suddenly the old man lifted his shotgun into the air, and fired several times. The noise was deafening, and the young one promptly covered his ears, his face an expression of horror.
The old man thrust the gun back towards the unwanted company. Half frustrated, half amused, he rolled his eyes and spoke.
“I wasn’t done speakin’. Ya don’t interrupt me when I’m talkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”
The old man continued chewing. An awkward silence settled over the two. The sound of birds singing echoed from the nearby forest.
The young one spoke.
“Um-”
“Not. Done. Speakin’.”
The two stared at each other a long time. The young man looked almost ready to cry, the old man rocking back and forth, his free hand patting the jet black cube next to him, the mysterious artifact ticking down, down…
“They all talk a whole lot ‘bout the numbah seven,” the old man said in his slow, drawn-out way. “And the numbah seven talks ‘bout this box right here.”
The old man gave the box a big slap, and went back to giving it smaller pats, showing the young man smile full of rotted teeth.
“And don’t call it the Vincent Tiberium or whatever. It’s a stupid name.”
“But-”
“It’s a stupid name. It’s called The Box.”
Another long silence, as if the old man intended to let this statement sink in. And once again, he began to speak.
“The Box is a prison, they say, in whispered alleys and backroom whisperin’s. An evil, the greatest evil, is locked inside. Where it came from, however, is all ovah the place. Aliens, Time travelers, hell, it might even be some sort o’ god or whatevah that locked this son-of-a-gun up.”
“Seven seals, they say. Six outside, one on the inside. One for each side, I always say.”
The old man paused, as if expecting laughter for his stupid joke. Met with silence, he frowned, and continued.
“The most interestin’ thing, in my ‘pinion, is the prophecies ‘bout it. They say it’ll be entered into a battle to the death when the first seal is broken. A battle with seven rounds. This evil, only partially outside of its fuckin’ prison, will hafta fight for freedom. This small, but ‘portant, window of opportunity to destroy whatevah dark what’s-it-called for all of eternity. The thing is, the longer it says alive, the more powerful it gets.
The prophecies say that as the box survives each round, another seal will break, until the begginin’ of the last round. Then everythin’s clusterfucked, ‘cause He’ll be finally out. Afta waitin’, afta waitin’ so long…”
The old man sighed. He pointed to the side of The Box facing the young man. A timer, written in some unknown language, was counting down.
“And that waitin’s almost up. It’s written in some ancient malarkey, but you can tell. Just a few minutes now. Your arrivin’ was really quite opportune.”
The young man looked at the box. It gave off an explicable aura of something horrible, something wrong. But it did indeed seem to be close to the end of its run.
“Y’know,” the old man said suddenly. “Every powahful nation in all o’ history has had this little box, countin’ down, always countin’ down. Sumeria. Egypt. Rome. Britain. US. China. I hear it was instrumental in the formin’ o’ several otha nations, too, whatevah your opinion on that might be. But me, I’ve got this little ol’ thing for ‘bout thirty years. And my forty acres have been declared a protected micronation for twenty-five of ‘em. And I didn’t even want that ta happen, it just did. So that makes me wonder, am I, a single old man livin’ in a micronation by myself, stronger than all the nations in the world?”
The old man stared at The Box a long while, before sighing. “O’ course not.”
He tried to smile briefly at the young one, but it was obvious tears were running down his face, gleaming brightly in the sunset light.
“So, I hafta wonder,” the old man continued. “Why’d it choose me?
“’Cause I know it chose me. There’s no way this box would be sittin’ here, right on this porch, if it hadn’t chosen me, personally. So I have to wonder, why?
“Does it like me? Did it want to spend its last few years away from the splendor and power of largah nations, with humble ol’ me?”
The old man took in a deep, ragged breath before continuing.
“Or maybe it wanted me dead, ‘Cause it knows what I’m about to do.”
The he got quiet, and solemn tone reached his voice. “Y’see the timer? It’s about to reach zero in four…three…two…”
Before the box could reach one, however, it promptly disappeared. The young man’s jaw almost dropped.
“What just-”
“I’m still not done talkin’!” The old man shouted, pressing the barrel of the shotgun against the young man’s forehead. “’Cause you know what!? IT’S GONE. AFTER ALL THESE FUCKIN’ YEARS I’VE BEEN WITH THE DAMN THING, PROTECTIN’ IT, AND NOW IT’S GONE, OFF TO GO CLUSTERFUCK THE UNIVERSE!
BUT YOU KNOW WHAT!? I’M FREE! I’M FINALLY FUCKIN’ FREE! I CAN FINALLY DIE! GOODBYE, FUCKIN’ REALITY! GOODBYE FUCKIN’ LIFE! ENJOY BEIN’ FUCKED BY THE ULTIMATE EVIL!”
The shotgun then snapped around, pointed into the man’s mouth. The click of the trigger, deafening noise. The corpse collapsed there, head exploded, replacing the once-living man, a horrible altar to death and destruction.
Weapons/Abilities: The Box is an incredibly good prison, being both indestructible from both the inside and the outside. Or at least, it used to be indestructible from both the inside and the outside. At the beginning of each round, a seal on The Box will be opened, slowly giving the being inside more and more power and influence on the world around Him, until the beginning of the last round, where He will be completely unlocked. However, in this weakened, half-unlocked state, The Box is weakened, and the being inside can be more easily destroyed. However, it would still take quite a bit of force or firepower to actually destroy the box and its contents. Additionally, The Box emits a kind of dark aura, giving anyone nearby feeling of wrongness if they look at it or touch it for too long.
The powers and abilities of the being inside have been lost to time, but it is said he is extremely strong, enough to threaten the existence of universes themselves…
Description: The Box is two feet by two feet by two feet big. Made of an unknown material, it is jet black, each side marked by a green ring, with green lines extending towards the adjacent four faces. Inside each circle, unknown, ancient symbols are carved into the material, acting as the countdown timers for each seal to be unlocked. One face currently reads approximately 00000:00:00:01, and when that countdown completes, it the next seal will begin counting down.
The being inside is said to be without shape or form, but like the shadows that man fears most, lurking and shifting. It is said He was once a being that eats universes, consuming entire realities and civilizations.
He’s going to be very, very hungry when he finally gets out.