Ironworks Gaming Forum - View Single Post - Antagonist’s Anarchy: Derived from Dianthus

dplax · 04-30-2010, 05:06 AM

Nivram

Colours whirl in a cascade of conflicting waves, painting an impressionist picture of the cavalcade of contrary thoughts and emotions that make him tick. The world does not exist. Coherent thoughts do not exist. All is just a blur of blue, of yellow, of green and of the most magnificent red he has ever seen.

He is a man who is lost. So utterly lost that he does not even realise it. His life, once driven by a purpose now resembles a driverless cart hurtling down a mountainside littered with empty and broken bottles at break-neck speed. Mayhap it would be best for him to stay lost in his own mind, in the cavalcade of colours that his subconscious uses to represent the fire, thunder, lightning and other supernatural events going on around him. Surely he would not want to wake and be confronted with the sorrowful fact that his dreams paint a much better picture than the hell he lives in?

The worst part of sleep for him is waking up. Waking up and realising that what he dreamt is not real and that the nightmare is not in is dreams but in reality. It is thoughts like these that make a man want to reach for a bottle half-finished from the night before right upon waking.

But there is no half-finished bottle. What he saw around him was a living nightmare. It made him wish to return to his dreams, to just get away from all this. He staggered a few steps, leaving the safety of the wall he could lean against. He fell, knees scraping on the ground. He made it to all fours before the urge to review the contents of his stomach hit him like a galloping horse hits a standing man. All the while the skies unleashed their worst nightmare on everyone around him.

04-30-2010, 05:06 AM	#191
dplax Jack Burton Join Date: July 19, 2003 Location: an expat living in France Age: 38 Posts: 5,577	Re: Antagonist’s Anarchy: Derived from Dianthus Nivram Colours whirl in a cascade of conflicting waves, painting an impressionist picture of the cavalcade of contrary thoughts and emotions that make him tick. The world does not exist. Coherent thoughts do not exist. All is just a blur of blue, of yellow, of green and of the most magnificent red he has ever seen. He is a man who is lost. So utterly lost that he does not even realise it. His life, once driven by a purpose now resembles a driverless cart hurtling down a mountainside littered with empty and broken bottles at break-neck speed. Mayhap it would be best for him to stay lost in his own mind, in the cavalcade of colours that his subconscious uses to represent the fire, thunder, lightning and other supernatural events going on around him. Surely he would not want to wake and be confronted with the sorrowful fact that his dreams paint a much better picture than the hell he lives in? The worst part of sleep for him is waking up. Waking up and realising that what he dreamt is not real and that the nightmare is not in is dreams but in reality. It is thoughts like these that make a man want to reach for a bottle half-finished from the night before right upon waking. But there is no half-finished bottle. What he saw around him was a living nightmare. It made him wish to return to his dreams, to just get away from all this. He staggered a few steps, leaving the safety of the wall he could lean against. He fell, knees scraping on the ground. He made it to all fours before the urge to review the contents of his stomach hit him like a galloping horse hits a standing man. All the while the skies unleashed their worst nightmare on everyone around him.