Loading...... Prayer.exe

[fourthmade]

This is a place to send your prayers to the Fourth god. He may not always respond, or he may respond in ways you don’t expect, but he is always listening.

Speak, he hears you.

OOC note:  As of April 2020, threads with the gods will be capped at three NPC replies! Please keep this in mind when writing god prayers to make sure you get everything you need out of the thread.It’s also possible to handwave prayers by titling your comment HANDWAVED PRAYER. Handwaved prayers lack our usual flourish, but you can expect a faster response!

As of February 2024, god prayers will be handwaved only. Please only submit a prayer if you have a question for either god which needs answering in order to progress your character's arc within Ryslig. If this is something you need to tier up within the god boon system, or just to set up a player plot in general, please don't hesitate to submit a prayer about it! You may shorten it down to an OOC summary of what your character is asking. This will allow any of our helper mods to reply much faster, without having to dig into the specifics of either god's personality/writing quirks. Should this limitation be lifted again in the future, this note will be removed.

Comments

Shortly after Stocke takes out Kimbley

[nestingdevil]

[It doesn't take long for him to get the news.]

[What little details there are, they'll slim at best. Stocke's answer had been curt, but honest. The circumstances of how and why he killed Kimbley are still vague. When it happened, where; right now, they don't matter. Not in the long run. And certainly not with the impeding pressure still surrounding the block like an unseen vacuum. Even this far away, he can feel the sensation. The prick, while mild, lingers sluggishly in the air. Between the mismatched points of his scales, shy currents lace themselves from carbon to carbon; the trembles of corrupted static bouncing like that of a ward or a sudden shift in the atmosphere flashing a foreboding warning.]

[For here, here, is the border of numbers and codes.]

[Greed slowly shoves his heel into the steel barb of a kickstand. Most of the residents in this section of Vandare have fled already. Cold windows and empty homes pucker in the dark like flash-frozen yelps. A few of the buildings still have a light on or two, but under the Fourth's radiating influence, the trembles they give off are erratic and unpredictable. It leaves the narrow alleyways pulsing in a lightning storm's flash: the appearance more close to that of a disaster's vicious aftermath. Fat cables bounce in a tangle of faint-laced wire and as one of the lampposts further away shatters inside its case, a headlight on the opposing corner goes dim. The cutting engine practically deafening.]

[No, today? Today, he's here alone.]

[The Sin hooks his claws lazily in the loops of his keys. Copper, silver, and a dash of well-loved nickle hang on the crook of his knuckle. By the looks of them, they've seen better days. A kind of wet slicks atop the grooves like well-licked teeth. One spin though, and they quickly dry; the sudden rise of temperature in his hand turning metal and steel a searing, orange-bubble hot.]

Y'know, for someone like you, I figured you wouldn't be that dense. [Greed's voice smooths out from the dusk. Where there's a playful hum to his words, there's no denying that sharp edge. It flicks at the tips of his teeth in flutter - the forks of his tongue tasting the air with a rolling pop punctuated by a flare deep on the inside of his cheek. The former homunculus takes his time; counts his seconds. He passes by the front of his motorcycle in a hunch, his shoulders positioned high and tight.] Sorry, but you really haven't given me much of a choice, friend.

[The night's cool air ripens the more he draws near. Crisp before, his presence seems to bring a trickle of humidity. Subtle, yes, but all too much like a fever that's only clamming at the surface. Greed sinks his heel in the center of two, uneven stones - drawing the tip to a high, arching slice.] Getting me involved, that's one thing. [The pause is dangerous and indicating.] But forcing mine to kill one another?

[The Sin's jaws snap and in the shadow of a dead post, the glint of his teeth replace any light. The glow white and hot; giving even the most infamous deep-water predator a run for everything it's got. He taps his knuckle atop the side of his thigh.] That's still stealing. And if you're anything, then you should already know.

[A lift of his chin brings his head upward, the shimmer from his eyes like two, beady flashlights cruising in the dark.]

No one takes what's mine.

[fourthmade]

[Static hums in the darkness, Greed’s declaration seemingly falling on deaf ears. It isn’t until the once dead lamp post lights up that he gets a response: his own voice, staticked and on loop.]

“Mine?”

[Another lamp post lights up, then another. The lights throw something of a spotlight on the sin.]

were they yours?
they seem more like stray dogs
cold and hungry with nobody to watch over them

but me
at least i gave one a purpose

a reason to seek freedom
and not to lie back
while she makes you do terrible things

not to be like some people

[The lights hum.]

if you really wanna keep them
If you really really want what’s ‘yours’

[His voice play again, from a dozen lights and radios. “Mine?” “Mine?” “Mine?”]

think about where you stand, mister sin.

[Pop Pop POP! The lights each burst one after another, the hum of static gone, and leaving the demon simmering alone in the darkness.]