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Monk

"Be careful who you don't kill or you'll find yourself in a gutter."

0 · 361 views · located in Wasteland

a character in “Mechanophage: The Nextgen Infection”, as played by TheFinalOne

Description

Image
"Death waits for no one; you too shouldn't wait for it."


Name: Unknown. He was born without a name, or a family (In truth he was born in a family, but he chose to forget them). Known as, and calls himself, Monk. (See bio for reason) "Though I wanted your heart; I'll just have to do with your life."

Age: 25. "I survived this long; I'll survive you."

Special Ability:
"If only I could throw you away; my knife would remain sharp longer.."

The Devil's Tears: It is the ability to move and reshape inanimate objects around him.
This power, to reshape objects, is difficult to control and requires absence of movement, from both the caster and the castee. Monk does not require hand signals.

How this power works: Personally Monk does not know how he can do that. A Gift from a disease, his companions called it. The "Get out of Jail free" card, he calls it. Someone once told him that his brain can control electrons in the air surrounding and inside the object. Then using the power of repulsion, he moves the object around. Of course, since that does not cool at all, said man found himself in the gutter; head bashed in.

Basic Appearance:
"If you look slaver enough; consider yourself screwed."

The most noticeable feature of Monk is his white hair. Many have asked whether it was natural and indeed it was. People assume that is why he was named Monk, and they are wrong. (It was his habit of giving out bullshit advice that sounds nice.) Apart from that and his eyebrows which are dark brown, he is free of hair.

His eyes are also attention demanding. He suffers from total Heterochromia Iridum. Because of this his pupils are of different colors, one deep blue and one red.

He is ectomorphic, built like a slave who practiced martial arts to remain sane. He is six feet tall, and weighs about 160 pounds. His back is riddled with whip scars; earned while working as a whiplasher*.

He does not speak, unless he has a "badass" quote to say. Or if he wants food. His voice is coarse and 'manly'. Unfortunately it seems to scare kids.

Bio:
"This is the story of my life; minus my wife."
The Monk Who Sold his Soul

It was a cold evening. The stars hid behind a single cloud; thunderstorm approaching. The slavers amazed to see the size of the cloud, decided it was better to find a place to stay. "Try Remenis," said one. It was the closest village from them at the time; a village of weirdos, as the slavers called them. Many of the people living there had some genetic disease.

They raided the village, killed all but left the ladies and some children alive. After all, slavers too had their needs. One of the children was Monk, who was fifteen at the time. Till that time he had lived peacefully; as peacefully as the world allowed. His parents were caring and taught him the way of the Reminisians. No, actually they just handed him a book and taught him how to read. Most of his quotes are from that book; proving that even if the Reminisians did not have genetic diseases they would still be called weirdos.

After the slaughter was complete, only he and five other children, all aged between thirteen and eighteen, were left standing. One man from the village was also standing, but he had been impaled on a large spear so he doesn't count. The two oldest children were female, most likely for 'on the way' entertainment. He and the three boys would be slaves. Monk too would have died in the slaughter if one of the slavers hadn't joked abut how much Monk would fetch in a circus.

Satisfied with the loot and the gruesome state of the village they departed again. It is on this first journey, or more accurately, that he name got a name**. When asked to sing a nice song for food would not be given, he said, "I don't eat crap." Later he was given a sound beating. When one of his assailants told him how they would just hit him till an inch of life, he said, "Be careful who you don't kill or you'll find yourself in a gutter." The men laughed and christened him Monk, and continued beating.

Seven years later and several change of hands later, he found himself in a circus of sorts. Unfortunately(?) he was not circus material (he was too good looking). For two years he worked as an announcer. One night, during the show, one of the circus materials got fed up. He shouted and screamed and called the owner a devil. He was killed subsequently at the request of the crowd; skinned alive and then dropped in hot oil. The owner earned a lot that day; many loyal customers, much wealth and the fear of his circus materials.

One night, as Monk cleaned a cage- a new circus material was arriving- he heard screams. At first he did not bother as this was commonplace. But when the scream continued, now mostly weeping though, Monk decided he was bored of this place. He had no interest in helping whoever it was ("If you are not a slaver; here's a knife and there's the gutter.") and the nightly screaming made his ears ache.

As he moved out of the tent- he had freedom to move between tents because of the nature of his job- he realized the next tent on his to-clean list was the one from which the wailing originated. It was the circus owner's tent, much smaller than the main tent. He walked inside and a moment later turned back and walked away, never to been seen there again. The owner was later found in a gutter, makeup smeared by tears.


*whiplasher- A beggar who constantly whip himself to earn the sympathy of the public; and their money.
**Reminisians do not believe in names. He was called 14.31, or fourteen thirty one. Family Fourteen, generation Three, Child number One

So begins...

Monk's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tyr The Fierce Character Portrait: Gozer the Kinslayer Character Portrait: Monk Character Portrait: Milo Ratchet Character Portrait: Cammara Character Portrait: Illyn
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Illyn walked. This was nothing new to her. She was dirty, sore and bore the wounds of the long trek like the rest but her mind was not thinking about it. That was the advantage she and Neman had over “newer” slaves. They knew when to tune out thinking about the walk and the pain. The trick was to keep the mind active on other things. Illyn was busy counting the number of stiches it took to fix the leg of Neman's pants.

"14, 15, 16..."

Her nose itched, a piece of blonde hair was tickling it. It interrupted her counting. Leaning over towards her hands, Illyn did her best to scratch and not rattle the chain too much or break her pace. One of the slavers seemed a bit more sadistic than she was used to and Illyn did not want him coming at her for a simple annoying itch.

Her eyes watched ahead, keeping an eye to ensure Johno, as she had heard him called did not look over to her. She did not need to worry. Ahead of her, another slave had fallen and she could hear Johno voice yelling for him to get up. The crack of the whip broke the air and the chain slowed as the guards were called for.

Illyn scratched the annoying itch for all it was worth, relieved at the break to do so. Her eyes raised to their surroundings. There was something eerie and unsettling about the ruins. It wasn’t simply the stories she had heard about it. Intact but empty buildings as they entered made it feel as if ghosts were watching them as they walked, bidding them enter if they dared.

The caravan kept going moving further in and as they did more and more slave became nervous. Illyn went back to counting.

"1. 2. 3..."

Now, remnants of structures stuck out of the ground. Large pieces missing giving them the appearance of giant creatures about to devour anything that came near them. Illyn tilted her head mesmerized for a moment by one particular one. The whole building was slightly toppled but there was also a chunk missing out of the one side. This hole gaped open, a great mouth of darkness. Two openings, windows in a bygone time were perfectly positioned, giving the building-creature black absorbing eyes.

Illyn was staring into it and to her the building was looking back. She could almost hear it calling her forward, calling her to her death. She frowned, blond eyebrows furrowing on tanned skin. Something was wrong. The chain was suddenly heavier.

Illyn pulled her gaze from the building and looked to those in front of her again. Her mind worked to play catch up to her eyes. Slaves, on the ground. No, not just slaves, slavers too. She worked to comprehend just what she was seeing. It made no sense. As more dropped, Illyn was forced to the ground. She tried to look behind her. Neman had been chained there. Maybe he had an idea of what was going on, saw something as she was staring into the building.

Her brother lay on the ground. Illyn blinked. He must have collapsed under the weight as she had. Neman wasn't on his knees though. His body was contorted, crumpled and misshapen from how he had landed as if he simply dropped or collapsed. Trying to turn Illyn grabbed hold of the chain in front of her. She attempted to drag the body and chain in order to aid her movement. There was too much weight and she too weak. She huffed slightly in annoyance.

“Neman...wake...wake up....” Her voice was low and hushed, a habit from conversing with him when others might be listening. “Neman...”

Illyn kept trying to pull on the chain. She needed to see her brother. They had never been apart, he had always protected her. He couldn't just be dead, not after the years they had endured. Not without a logical reason for his death. Illyn could hear but did not understand the sounds of gunfire. She didn’t understand anything at that moment. Nothing seemed to make sense.

Illyn grabbed the chain again. Her hands wrapped themselves around the links and pulled. This time it moved and allowed her to turn towards her brother. The shackles rubbed but she didn’t care. “No...”

Someone was yelling from the front of the line but she wasn’t able to hear it clearly. Her mind was too preoccupied and new noises made distinguishing words harder. New screams rang out. Illyn looked up from Neman’s corpse, angered slightly that people were making so much noise that it was making it hard for her to think. She was struck immediately at how few slaves were still alive. Looking towards the front of the line there was a commotion going on.

Head’s were looking into the ruins, the chain was being pulled on and Illyn simply watched it all. Those that she could see, at least three other slaves were watching some the ruins and frantically trying to escape. Blue eyes were wide as she watched the scavenger emerge from the ruins. “From the pit of demons....they are coming for us.” She felt oddly calm as she watched certain death come for the survivors. Illyn nodded as if understanding now what the fear was about.

Illyn watched a very big man scream for someone to grab the keys. Somewhere inside of her there was a voice telling her that she should be doing the same but kneeling in the dirt next to Neman’s body all she could do was watch with an almost fascination. Flight. Crouched in the dirt, Illyn observed first hand a person's desire to flee to save their life.

A scavenger was eating one of the dead slaves. The remaining slaves were screaming and trying to flee still. Illyn licked her lips. The slave was dead when the scavenger began eating, like Neman. She looking around at her brother she realized just how many were dead and the slavers too. Again a frown appeared on the woman’s face.

There had to be something that had caused the initial wave of death. On her right had been the ruins and judging by the sun, it was the east. The scavengers had come from that way. Nothing else that she could see gave her any clue. Illyn looked to the north, again nothing but dirt and ruins. Turning her head to the west, Illyn’s left, was something entirely unexpected. Her expression never changed she stared back at the wolf. It was watching the chaos as if, like her, it was fascinated with watching the people flee.

Illyn stood slowly, the chain still in her hands. Those bodies closest to her moved slightly with her, including her brother’s. She paid them no mind. Her eyes never left those of the wolf’s. Licking her lips again, Illyn stepped towards it. Something about the way it stared, that it was staring gave the wolf an almost human quality. Illyn was both terrifed and unafraid of it.

She knew she should run. Neman would have wanted her to run, to try and flee but Illyn couldn’t bring herself to do it. Chaos was behind her and calm in front of her, yet everywhere was death. Whatever killed Neman had not killed her and now it seemed she had a choice. Scavengers or the wolf. Moving as best as the chains allowed Illyn moved towards the wolf. She was pulling lifeless bodies behind her, like the train of a dress.

“A choice in death, than I chose you”

Illyn kept her eyes locked to the wolf’s.