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Author Topic: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk  (Read 1252 times)

Bastard Son

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Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« on: February 17, 2020, 03:42:18 PM »


"At the end of the day, the only thing a man has is his name, pretending to be someone else is for cowards boy, never forget that."
Harlan Brosk

The Scaffolds, Paridon

"And how is the seed of divinity nurtured within us? . . . Come on, come on, this is very basic." The older fellow in his weathered blue robe rubbed at his own lined face with frustration, a reflex he quickly suppressed. The boy he spoke to lowered his face in embarrassment, dull blue eyes cast to the ground, his grubby face looked away from the Monk at all times, as though refusing to see him would halt the chastisement. "With inner reflection and refinement of the soul through the apex of experience. . " He answered his own question with a deep sigh of painful exasperation. "Where is your book of meditation?" A wizened hand slipped from the blue robe sleeve, awaiting the mediation journal.

The boy rose up, he had sat atop it, a subconscious attempt to hide it by shielding its existence by sitting atop the small book. The monk took it, prizing it open, his pale eyes closed almost immediately, like he was slamming closed the doors to his mind. "What is this Theodore? . . ." The question was laden with frustrated patience. "A thistle guv. . ."  The boy answered back just above a whisper, the image of a scraggly thistle emblazoning the first page in dark pencil.  "My name is not Guv, Theodore. It is Celebrant Wally- Wallace!" He corrected, his jowls jiggling as he grew flustered. A wizened, pudgy hand smoothed back his wispy hair, wiping sweat from the bald pate of his head.

"I just. . I find it hard to think Celebrant. . Loike I meditate but. . I just miss my mum. ." The boy seemed to visibly deflate, his shoulders slumping. "And thats why you drew in your book? Drew. . this?" He asked with clear disbelief and disdain for the drawing. "Yeah she likes Thistles. . I. . maybe if I . . drew her some. ." Each words sucked more of the life from his body, as he shut down further with each word. The celebrant followed his growing despair, and at the apex, swept his arms about the boy, patting his hand down upon his head. "Oh Theodore. . Whatever shall we do with you."




Many decades later - Barovia

He coughed into the mud, spluttering madly as he sucked the filthy water into his lungs, he was DROWNING! He tried to press up from the sodden earth, his limbs quivered like the legs of a newborn dear and he dropped again, the filth water that waterlogged his beard caused his breaths to be hazed with water. Lights flared in his eyes, sparks clouded his vision, thankfully however, his limbs twitched, rolling him over enough to breath through the filth encrusted beard. Wheezing he looked out to find the ocean he had somehow begun to drown in.

A chorus of cackles erupted from nearby, and as crusty eyes made painful from dehydration opened, the sunlight far too bright for his gaze rushed in, he saw them. . Vistani. A whole camp, some stared at the fool as he laid beside the small puddle of muddy water, languishing in his own indignity He was a sorry sight, dressed in a full suit of paridonese make, fine lines that followed his form, and bright brown snake skin shoes, a once fine jacket was stained with muddy water and vomit. His bloody hands leaked their precious vitae, he lay there. Staring up at the sun, letting the brutal pain of the light, punish his soul until he rose up, sitting in a pile of nausea and once finely tailored cloth. "Aw shit. . . this isn't Paridon. . "
Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #1 on: February 24, 2020, 06:22:47 PM »



The Scaffolds, Paridon

Each deep wheezing snore that ripped through the small home, was followed almost immediately by a great deflating exhale that filled the surroundings with the putrid aroma of whisky and curdled cheese. The small area around the snoring man was pungent with tobacco smoke and sweat. He was a mountain of a man, a great fleshy lump spread across the sagging table, his mighty mustache bleached yellow with persistent vomit from binge drinking, a bloated ruddy face, and a sweaty mop of hair. Once he had been very handsome, but drink and neglect had run it all to waste.

He was of course, who the boy wished to avoid, bare feet tapped softly through the dust, carrying his haggard shoes in his hands, his skinny frame dipped through the room, avoiding the sleeping man until he vanished through the door like a ghost. Exploding down the street in a rush of long limbed footsteps till he skidded into a group of other children assembled in the courtyard of the chapel. "Marianne? Here. Hector? Here. Bruce? Present. Theodore?" "HERE!" He scooted in beside the rest of the children, Celebrant Wallace looked over them all and waddled around to the heavy book explaining the fundamentals of unarmed combat. "Alright, alright. . Now. .  who here has thrown a kick?"


Barovia, Later

A thunderous backkick split the spine of the skeleton in an arc of snakeskin covered fury, sending ribs and limbs flying into the stone of the crypt. The skeletons tried to moan out without words, lungless forms unable to manifest words. Rusted weapons slashed over head sheering away matted hair as the dozen foes charged the man and his companions. Shoving away the dead with his bandaged fist, only to crack another with the opposing. His companions rushed the others with steel and magic, his hands kept the mass of skeletons busy. Another swift kick landed, lodging in the armored chest of the dead man, it turned, running of in a faux expression of self preservation, yanking the puglist off his feet. His shoe remained inisde the dead as it scampered off into the dark.
« Last Edit: March 06, 2020, 06:20:32 AM by Bastard Son »
Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #2 on: March 02, 2020, 07:48:57 AM »
A bottle smashed with a high pitched keening against the wall, the young man ducked beneath it with practiced reflex. "You think you're going to marry that rich girl and move out of Blackchapel huh? You stupid little bastard!" The mans mustache shook with  the force of his words, blue eyes wide with the heightened emotion. "She actually supports my painting father! She actually-" Another bottle exploded against the wall, the young man did not even bother to duck, he was not truly trying to strike the boy.

"Its a dream Theo! The painting? You're a bloody trashpicker! You've got a decent arm but no one wants a bloody painting from a trashpicker!" He stormed back and forth, till the fuming overwhelmed him, pudgy hand roughly shoved the old splintery table before him away. His jaw clenched, bright blue yes glowering at the boy intently. The subject of his ire moved to speak but was cutoff as the ranting began once more. "That stupid girl has no idea what it's like not to have money Theodore, and as soon as she does shes going to break your heart and leave you a lonely, stupid fool!"

"What? Like mother did to you!?" He snapped back with a clenching of bruised, shaking hands. The father stood for a time, silent. He turned quietly upon his large feet and stormed out of the small house in a quiet but terrible rage. Theodore rushed quickly into his fathers room, he needed money, enough money to leave this house and rush off with Connie. He pulled free the boxes of papers and slips of old diaries his father kept beneath his bed, until a wrapped object and letter attached caught his eye.

"To my son"

Within the package lay a knife, distinctly chipped from Obsidian, broken in pieces it had long ago been rendered unusable. A letter penned in a flowing delicate hand, he read with his heart risen up in his throat, eyes filled with rage and betrayal. When the letter was done, he packed away all he had found with a calculating cold efficiency, making a cursory effort to leave it as it had been before he looked. Only the broken tip of the obsidian knife tied as a pendant around his throat. And there it would remain onward.
Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #3 on: March 18, 2020, 12:49:42 AM »
Earlier, Paridon


White flares appeared in his eyes and his knees vacated their duties to let the limbs collapse into a wobbling jelly beneath him, open battered hand found the cobbles beneath him. Kicking out with his legs, he felt the covered boots catch upon the stone propelling himself backwards, just in time for the metal capped heel of the other boys boot to crash down with a crack against the cobbles where Theodores leg had been a moment before. His opponent, Jackmire Sykes had grown tall, long limbed and sharp featured, a favorite of the Celebrants if only for his physical excellence.  Theodore unfortunately was not so much, tall enough but with short limbs and a bullish face, currently swollen and bleeding from the beating he had received.

The boys and girls that encircled the fight cheered loudly for their favorite of the two fighters, many themselves bearing the recent damage of brawls just occurred, Theodore recognized some, Hector with his lanky arms waving, William looking as mindless as always and Noel, quiet Noel. Hands both bloody and not sought to push Theodore back up into the fight. With a drunken stumble the teenager dipped forward, the weight of pain drew his body downwards to the filthy cobbles, the textured stone, hand whipped out, blood arching through the air despite the bandages across his skin. Knuckles crushed against Jackmires orbital bone, sproinging back as the vibrations ran through the bones of Theodores arm. "Oi wots all this then!?" The youth reacted like a den of Jackrabbites and suddenly ran, boots and barefeet scratching noisily against the stone in a mad dash away from the voice, trampling over each other, leaving the bloodied fighters with the shadowy figure, baton in hand.


Present, Barovia.


The shadowy figure stepped noiselessly through the sewer water, composed, calm as always. To Theodore it made him seem less human and more something else. The figure dark as shadows seemed to remain for a time in the darkness, but it could have been a trick of the eyes, any thought of this however was quickly chased away as the nausea of the hangover overcame the pugilist, the rush of bile and half digested food expelled out of his mouth into the water, a rushing of poison and antidote that left him panicked and shaking amid the filthy water, water that already had tainted and ruined the suit he purchased to make himself feel less horrific then he had in his time within the Core.

He dragged his waterlogged form to a quiet section of the sewer, fear, alcohol abuse and the simple pain of existence made his hands shake as he brushed the battered fingers through his greasy hair. Eyes wide and buggish. Pondering over the truth and the philosophy that had challenged all he had thought before, and resonated with understanding. Death, Life, the Grand Pyramid of Ascension.



A being is only complete once it has undergone metamorphosis.
« Last Edit: March 18, 2020, 01:05:19 AM by Bastard Son »
Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #4 on: April 01, 2020, 11:09:53 PM »
Earlier, Paridon

"Go back to your part of town you bloody half breeds!" Quickly a bottle was whipped towards them, following the harsh words from the older gentleman, exploding over the head of the three young men huddled in the alleyway, conspiring. They lept up all together in a flurry of anger, slapping their own chests with angry shouting as the toothless old man faded back into the throngs of people milling past, the vague aura of disdain towards the half bloods of Blackchapel had swelled more then usual in recent days, a greater wave of famine passing through the poor quarter was blamed quickly on those whom it was easiest enough to blame, this season it was the Vistani.

The young men, despite the only vague aura of heavy Vistani features about their visage were 'tainted' with the itinerant peoples blood, and had bonded as their own tiny tribe amid the skirmishes of Blackchapels streets. "Old bastard. . Alright we all know the plan?" Theodore spoke with tired frustration to the other two lingering in the cramped cobblestone alleyway, the garbage of the city whipping around their legs. "Yeah, gold comin' in from the Cadaver trade, swipe it, leave." Hector answered as the other squished in close handed over the ancient flintlocks wrapped up tight in cloth to hide their existence from sight, as he slapped his hand on Theodores shoulder. "You'll have enough to run off with that cute Kings-girl soon enough eh?"


The Manor Retreat, Port-a-Lucine - Dementlieu

With the small point of the knife, he snipped away the branch growing from the tiny tree, its growth stunted by the pot it rested within, sheering away the excess limbs to make room for the veined cocoons that hung from the rough body of the plant. Fingers reached out to check one of the bulbous growth pods affixed to the tree in silent contemplation. With a noiseless unfold the cocoon began to open, he sat back into a lotus position, legs folded beneath himself. He sat back to observe, adjusting the heavy flintlock against his lap.

A centering breath rain through his body, his eyes focused sharply upon the cocoon. Fingertips followed the form of the pistol. The blunt head of the moth split the membrane of the cocoon and slithered free, clambering its freshly formed legs around the outer layer. Shiny new wings squished hard against its newly forged form, unfolding out in a wave of darkness, before it took off, flapping clumsily around its home tree, observed. Understood.




"The soul is nothing but smoke, function without form, subsistence without substance"
Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #5 on: April 14, 2020, 08:29:35 PM »



He approached the squirming masses crowding around the chrysalis, each no doubt picturing their own change within a cocoon of their very own. "Calm, I am not here to interrupt, only to observe" Words ran through the audience, perhaps not clearly understood but they turned their gaze from him. The cocoon hung, heavy and pregnant with divine change, its shadow cast across the dirt beneath it.

He approached the squirming masses crowding around the chrysalis, each no doubt picturing their own change within a cocoon of their very own. "Calm, I am not here to interrupt, only to observe" Words ran through the audience, perhaps not clearly understood but they turned their gaze from him. The cocoon hung, heavy and pregnant with divine change, its shadow cast across the dirt beneath it.

All assembled in scattered groupings wriggled away from the chrysalis as though they knew proximity may affect the manifestation of new being, uncaring for each others wellbeing tiny limbs slapping against each other in callous panic and greed at their own creation. The cocoon trembled against itself, veins of white ran across its membranous form. "Metamorphosis" Caterpillars with dead dull eyes trampled each other in fat wriggling away from the subject of their own fascination.

All assembled in scattered groupings wriggled away from the chrysalis as though they knew proximity may affect the manifestation of new being, uncaring for each others wellbeing tiny limbs slapping against each other in callous panic and greed at their own creation. The cocoon trembled against itself, veins of white ran across its crystalline form. "Metamorphosis" Cultists with dead dull eyes trampled each other in fat wriggling away from the subject of their own fascination.

Curled dead lay still beneath the chrysalis. Curled bodies quiet in repose. Black membranes of the cocoon split with slow deliberate cracking, opening up in a large panels that tore apart the rest of the cocoons form, the shining oil like texture foreboding in its substance shook the structure of the branch it existed upon. A tremble that began to send ripples down its wooden form, the audience still left fell still in reverent panic.

Curled dead lay still beneath the chrysalis. Curled bodies quiet in repose. Red crystals of the cocoon split with slow deliberate cracking, opening up in a tiny fractures that tore apart the rest of the cocoons form, the shining ruby like texture foreboding in its substance shook the structure of the tomb it existed within. A tremble that began to send ripples through its stone form, the audience still left fell still in reverent panic.

The black skin of the cocoon broke fully, from within, wings of silvery blue, reflecting the light of the moon slipped from within. Shiny with fluid that glued them to the body of the being that emerged. The being was so fundamentally different from its observing audience they could not comprehend its existence now, they could only assume at its nature, benevolent or malevolent in aspect, its life, its function its ecology, all beyond thought and comprehension.

The red crystal of the cocoon broke fully, from within, nothing. Only a laugh that spoke of something beyond comprehension.
Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #6 on: April 26, 2020, 10:10:14 PM »
"Growth requires sustenance, the soul thrives on the victual of wisdom and death." - Theodore Brosk, on the Apex of Apotheosis

"This way Monsieur." The dusky gendarme guided him towards the exit, the blue jacketed men watched as he exited the building through the reinforced doors. He felt like he could feel their fingers tighten on the triggers of their long muskets, the whole building vibrated with the sensation of leaving the maw of a wolf. Thought yet it did not appear to have a true reason why. Simply the rise of hair along his spine.

He quickly made his way instead to the Terraces, where most idled away their days to the chatter of others doing the same. These observations fueled the mind, fed the intellect but did little for the soul or the body. A steadying cigarette was the cure for the discombobulation that followed his experience with the enforcers of the law. His eyes drifted to two, a scandal in the making. A young nobleman, no doubt the youngest of his family the way he disregarded the protocols of the gentry so openly, and a young woman, pretty, tall and of the commoner class. They spoke openly with simmering mirth that displayed a dangerous familiarity. Her laugh was delicate, practiced, teasing. His arm slinked into hers, a dangerously close gesture, and he led her away, leaving behind only the question of the repercussions to come from such minor, but meaningful exchanges.





Hungry. Increasingly hungry. He had been busy, so busy he had begun to skip meals in pursuit of his understanding, stopping for less sleep then he should have. Pulling on his heavy coat, the rapidly approaching winter had begun to send chills from the ocean over the city of Port-a-Lucine in sporadic blasts. However, the hunger settled deep inside him and spurred the question, what did he hunger for, if death grew the soul, and existence only kept it in motion. What fuel did his body require. - Contemplation. - He left the room, he had an appointment to keep, pausing after his contemplation at his tiny tree. - A sharp sear of pain in his his palm, a rush of heat, the splash of his vitae amongst the earth filled pot. Life, feeds life.

Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #7 on: May 01, 2020, 10:44:16 PM »


He pushed into the room of the Manor Retreat, his hands ached as the tight leather crushed into the meat of his fingers, pressing against the leather gloves as the damaged fingers and split knuckles swelled. It would be suffering to remove the gloves before the swelling subsided. He could hear the maid in the hallway, trundling past to clean the vacant rooms and his mind drifted to the blood he had left on the door frame. His stomach rumbled at the sound, he had not eaten in some time.

The hunger was immense, unrelenting churning his stomach, two days had passed without the consumption of food. The persistent training helped to distract his mind from the painful thud of hunger in the depths of his stomach. On occasion the nausea hit. Welling up inside and pulling his focus away from the blind drive of his practice. His companions had remarked on his peaked appearance, the pallor of his skin, pale and wan. More then once the statement of undernourishment arose, as the usually dusky pugilist was devoid of his usual coloration.

The pursuit of alchemy had allowed an understanding of the fundamentals of being, he was mortal for form begets function. Fuel determines flame. A being is determined unto itself. Be it the invocation of anima mundi into ones own animus. Or the refinement of vita cruor through direct embodiment. In such things the most simple approach was often the most correct.

To pass the time, and allow the poisons of mortality to pass, and pass on with it the need for morality he meditated, focusing himself to allow the vestiages of mortal focii to pass beyond. Soon enough he would find a way to replace it, with something greater.




Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #8 on: May 19, 2020, 06:52:32 PM »



"Youre a bit of a monster aren't you Brosk?"

"I can see why the Rauni doesn't want to meet with you."

"By Torm do you have any feelings at all Brosk?"

"You ever been called a monster?"

He sat amid the trash and destitution of his room, unscrewing the cap of his pewter flask. Slowly dribbling the refined tonic from one bottle into a funnel that dribbled the distilled potion into the flask with a tinkling, he swirled it, letting the brew combine inside the canister. He let the fumes waft from the flask, before he screwed the cap on tight, as not to capture too much of the gases expelled by the movement of the brew. - The gentle flap of the wings of his moth companions was the only sound in the otherwise still movements of the room. He had ended his fast, his heath returned. However passing on the diet of the mortal was a painful experience, that led him precariously close to fracturing and he was unsure if he could do something similar again. What would be the cocoon of his being? It was not that, all that was was how the pupae gorges before the creation of the chrysalis.

The mask grew tiresome, the rictus grin that he displayed to the world was heavy on his cheeks, each spread of his mouth felt like rusty gears being forced to move for the first time in decades. It would have to last a little longer.

Theodore Brosk

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Re: Apex of Oblivion - Theodore Brosk
« Reply #9 on: June 12, 2020, 10:49:34 PM »
He stared up at it, the symbol of the apex, a wash of confusion settled on him, how did they know, why did they care? - The Apex was not for others to know, not yet, not till he had found it, and so it was wiped clean. Gone.

Theodore Brosk