![[Grockadoc/Carter] Avatar](http://storage.proboards.com/forum/images/defaultavatar.png){kind=avatar}
Flaying the failure from my flesh.
Mar 10, 2015 0:08:07 GMT -4
Vladimir Strife, Desperado, and 2 more like this
Post by [Grockadoc/Carter] on Mar 10, 2015 0:08:07 GMT -4
Footsteps echo around the dark and deserted church, as a lone, robed figure is seen walking up the aisle between the pews, with a duffle bag in hand. The figure stops momentarily as it reaches the end of the aisle, and takes a deep breath before taking several large paces forward, and walks towards the altar. The figure reaches a hand out, and holds it above the lit candles, casting a large, dark shadow across the room as the soft, flickering, orange glow dims as its light is obstructed. With a heavy sigh, the figure lights a single candle, and steps back a single pace, bowing it's head slightly for several moments. Low, inaudible whispering is just made out by the microphones, but cannot be discerned and stop as abruptly as it had started. The figure takes another couple of paces back, and sinks to their knees on the cold, stone floor, before reaching up and clasping at the hood of the robe, and pulling it back. As it does so, the camera swings around to reveal the concentrated face of Grockadoc staring past the camera, his gaze intently fixed upon the giant, bronzed statue of Jesus Christ that resides at the back of the wall, with the altar and pulpit in front of it.
Grockadoc closes his eyes, breaking his gaze from the statue of Christ for a moment, and bows his head. He raises his hands, places his palms together, and sit in the orthodox and widely recognised prayer position and begins to speak.
Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy Kingdom Come. Thy will be done. On Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.
Grockadoc's voice is deep, and raspy as he recants The Lord's Prayer. As he finishes recanting the passage, he raises his head and opens his eyes, fixing his gaze upon the statue of Jesus Christ once more and, without blinking or breaking gaze, he grabs the robe adorning his body and peels it off, letting it fall to the floor behind him, a slight whooshing sound made as it crumples untidily into a pile of fabric behind him leaving Grockadoc near naked, except for what seems to be a cotton loincloth that is draped around his waist and over his groin, covering his nether regions. He opens his mouth once more and begins to speak.
Father, it is I, your humble and loyal servant Grockadoc. Can you hear me?
The Warrior of Christ continues to stare at the warrior of Christ for several moments, as if expecting a response. After several, tense moments of silence, Grockadoc's face transforms from one of concentration to one seemingly of anger. His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches. His mouth opens, and instead of the deep, raspy voice of the Warrior of Christ, a loud, booming voice that almost seems used to command emanates from it, echoing across the empty sanctum of the holy place of worship. The voice is not Grockadoc's.
Yes my son, I can hear you.
As soon as the sudden face change took place on Grockadoc's face, it completely vanishes leaving the emotionless face of the Warrior of Christ staring intently at the statue ahead of him.
Father, I have failed you. I failed to deliver Saul Ledgett into salvation, and failed to make him repent for his sins. I have failed you.
Grockadoc's voice echoes throughout the room, and all is still for several moments before the same facial transformation occurs, and the strange voice from earlier emanates from the Hand of God's mouth, this time tinged with anger.
Yes, you have failed me, my son. Saul Ledgett is guilty of many sins, and deserved to be punished. His greed has corrupted his heart. You were supposed to deliver his heart to salvation and free it from the chains of vile and twisted corruption that has poisoned it. You failed.
The voice booms around the church, and takes a while to dissipate and Grockadoc's face again returns to an almost serene state.
Yes, Lord Father. I failed. And being your humble and willing servant, I am fully prepared and eager to carry out any punitive measures that you decree.
As expected, Grockadoc's face warps back into the angered face of "God".
Yes, my son. I know you are truly loyal to me, and are eager to carry out anything I order of you without question. However, I do not tolerate failure, and despite being merciful, you deserve to be punished. 10 lashes should be sufficient.
The voice again eachoes around the room for several moments, before the room returns to it's eerie silence once more. The Warrior of Christ's face relaxes to it's normal state. The usual voice of Grockadoc emanating from his lips.
As you wish, Father.
With that, Grockadoc rises to his feet, and turns his gaze from the statue to the duffle bag he had brought with him, and reaches down, pulling the zipper open, and peeling the bag open, and rummages through the contents for a moment, before withdrawing a rather menacing looking cat o'nine tails, each strand of leather has dried and caked blood on it. Grockadoc fumbles around with each tail, and ensures the knots at the end are tightened, and stares at the statue once more for several intense seconds before swinging the whip over his shoulder hard, and a loud smack is heard and echoes across the cold chamber as each tail strikes flesh across the back of Grockadoc, whose face grimaces in pain, but he makes no noise, and instead keeps his eyes focused on the statue of Christ.
The camera moves back behind Grockadoc, revealing the large, red welts already prominent on the back of the Warrior of Christ. The Warrior of Christ swings the whip hard over his shoulder again, and the same smacking sound is heard as leather meets flesh, and the muscles in Grockadoc's back tense up in pain, and his body goes rigid. Even more welts are seen as Grockadoc drives the whip hard over his shoulder a third time. As the third blow strikes, pieces of skin fly off, and leave gashes in the flesh of Grockadoc who again, rather stoic, remains silent, his body taut and stiff.
The fourth, fifth and sixth lashes progress much the same way as the third, but upon each successive lashing, more welts appear and open up, and more skin is flayed off as blood slowly trickles down the spine and ribcage of Grockadoc, and is absorbed by the loincloth, staining it a deep scarlet colour. The seventh lash however,opens up some of the smaller lesions and blood spurts from them increasing the blood flow from it. The eighth lash sends even larger chunks of flesh flying from the torso of Grockadoc, and the blood is freely flowing now, his back a mangled mess of flayed flesh and blood. The ninth lash lands, and, after holding it back for eight lashes, Grockadoc lets out a long groan of pain, and his body begins to spasm from it, as there are no more traces of white in the loincloth, and the blood begins to trickle down his thighs. The tenth and final lash sends a large spray of blood outwards, and the Warrior of Christ lets out a howl of agony this time as his body spasms again and he falls to his knees for several moments, before collapsing to the floor face first, his jaw clenched in pain and groaning as blood continues to seep from the exposed wounds left behind by the whip.
Grockadoc’s body spasms in pain, his muscles taut, and his whole body rigid, laying there near naked on the cold stone floor of the church. Blood from the freshly opened wounds slowly trickles down his ribcage, and there he lay, prone, for several moments as the spasms course through him, and finally, with a few aftershocks from the spasms, his body relaxes and the groaning slowly dies out. The Warrior of Christ gingerly places his hands on the cold stone floor and pushes himself up slowly, struggling, into a kneeling position. His face is a grimace of pain, and his jaw is clenched, and he opens his mouth and the loud, powerful voice begins to speak.
You have done well my son. Amongst this punishment, there is two lessons you have learnt. Firstly, that I do not tolerate failure. Failure to deliver all those who trespass and sin into the light of the Lord and bring them into salvation will be punishable by lashing. Second; that your body can handle everything that is thrown at it, within reason. Lashing is one of the most painful forms of punishment and you endured it stoically. So do not fear in your matches, my son. No-one can hurt you. You must remember this. If no-one can hurt you, you should hold no fear. If you hold no fear, you shall never lose. Trust in my words, my son.
Grockadoc’s face relaxes slightly, but his jaw is still clenched and he is wincing slightly, but he nods slowly, staring at the bronzed figure of Jesus ahead of him.
Yes, Father. I believe and trust in you.
Grockadoc’s face slowly melts from pain to one of adoration. The voice emanating from it the second voice in the conversation
Thank you, my son. Now, with the punishment out of the way, you must focus on your mission of continuing to save those lost souls of the EVPW. This week, you will be up against Agent Shadow of Project Rebirth. It is imperative that you save him from his corrupt heart and soiled mind and send him on his way along the path of light and righteousness so will finally be free from the chains of sin and vice that have infiltrated his every thought. The same goes for his partner, Chris Pyro. I permit you the use of any actions that you deem necessary to ensure that they are made to repent and are brought to absolution, my son. Success will see you rewarded handsomely, failure again, will see you punished. Now go, my loving son. Go forth and continue to spread my word and enact my will and wrath upon all those who defy me, and blaspheme.
With that, Grockadoc’s face transforms one final time, back into the slightly pained expression of the Warrior of Christ.
Yes, my Lord Father. Thy will be done.
Bowing his head in prayer once more, the Hand of God kneels silently for several moments, whispering can be heard but cannot be made out, and after several moments, he raises his head and stares at the bronzed statue of Christ, studying for several intense seconds as the whispering has stopped.
Amen.
With that, Grockadoc gingerly rises to his feet and picks up the robe that sits behind him, and slides it slowly and carefully back on, wincing as the fabric meets the mangled and flayed flesh on his back. He places the whip back into the duffle bag, and zips it back up, standing up straight and fully, jaw clenched in pain as the skin stretches as he does so. Taking another look at the statue for several moments, he strides forwards to the altar, and stares down at the candles, wetting his thumb and forefinger with saliva, and places them around the wick of the candle he lit when he entered the church, extinguishing the flickering flame of it, and obstructing the soft flickering glow of candlelight around the cold, empty chamber, as it darkens. He steps back slightly, and turns on his heels, and slowly strides forwards through the aisles amongst the solid oak pews and reaches the large wooden door at the back of the church. He turns around once more, takes a final, longing look at the bronzed statue of Jesus, he smiles softly, and pulls the door open and disappears through the doorway, closing the door behind him, as the camera slowly fades out.
EoT
(I wanted to play up Grockadoc's Schizophrenia and Dissociative Identity Disorder by having have the personalities of Grockadoc and God, to reaffirm Grockadoc's notion that God is on his side. This should be tying in with a storyline/feud I am in the process of developing at the moment, so I can't wait to see how this all plays out. As usual, comments are welcome and appreciated.)
Grockadoc closes his eyes, breaking his gaze from the statue of Christ for a moment, and bows his head. He raises his hands, places his palms together, and sit in the orthodox and widely recognised prayer position and begins to speak.
Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy Kingdom Come. Thy will be done. On Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.
Grockadoc's voice is deep, and raspy as he recants The Lord's Prayer. As he finishes recanting the passage, he raises his head and opens his eyes, fixing his gaze upon the statue of Jesus Christ once more and, without blinking or breaking gaze, he grabs the robe adorning his body and peels it off, letting it fall to the floor behind him, a slight whooshing sound made as it crumples untidily into a pile of fabric behind him leaving Grockadoc near naked, except for what seems to be a cotton loincloth that is draped around his waist and over his groin, covering his nether regions. He opens his mouth once more and begins to speak.
Father, it is I, your humble and loyal servant Grockadoc. Can you hear me?
The Warrior of Christ continues to stare at the warrior of Christ for several moments, as if expecting a response. After several, tense moments of silence, Grockadoc's face transforms from one of concentration to one seemingly of anger. His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches. His mouth opens, and instead of the deep, raspy voice of the Warrior of Christ, a loud, booming voice that almost seems used to command emanates from it, echoing across the empty sanctum of the holy place of worship. The voice is not Grockadoc's.
Yes my son, I can hear you.
As soon as the sudden face change took place on Grockadoc's face, it completely vanishes leaving the emotionless face of the Warrior of Christ staring intently at the statue ahead of him.
Father, I have failed you. I failed to deliver Saul Ledgett into salvation, and failed to make him repent for his sins. I have failed you.
Grockadoc's voice echoes throughout the room, and all is still for several moments before the same facial transformation occurs, and the strange voice from earlier emanates from the Hand of God's mouth, this time tinged with anger.
Yes, you have failed me, my son. Saul Ledgett is guilty of many sins, and deserved to be punished. His greed has corrupted his heart. You were supposed to deliver his heart to salvation and free it from the chains of vile and twisted corruption that has poisoned it. You failed.
The voice booms around the church, and takes a while to dissipate and Grockadoc's face again returns to an almost serene state.
Yes, Lord Father. I failed. And being your humble and willing servant, I am fully prepared and eager to carry out any punitive measures that you decree.
As expected, Grockadoc's face warps back into the angered face of "God".
Yes, my son. I know you are truly loyal to me, and are eager to carry out anything I order of you without question. However, I do not tolerate failure, and despite being merciful, you deserve to be punished. 10 lashes should be sufficient.
The voice again eachoes around the room for several moments, before the room returns to it's eerie silence once more. The Warrior of Christ's face relaxes to it's normal state. The usual voice of Grockadoc emanating from his lips.
As you wish, Father.
With that, Grockadoc rises to his feet, and turns his gaze from the statue to the duffle bag he had brought with him, and reaches down, pulling the zipper open, and peeling the bag open, and rummages through the contents for a moment, before withdrawing a rather menacing looking cat o'nine tails, each strand of leather has dried and caked blood on it. Grockadoc fumbles around with each tail, and ensures the knots at the end are tightened, and stares at the statue once more for several intense seconds before swinging the whip over his shoulder hard, and a loud smack is heard and echoes across the cold chamber as each tail strikes flesh across the back of Grockadoc, whose face grimaces in pain, but he makes no noise, and instead keeps his eyes focused on the statue of Christ.
The camera moves back behind Grockadoc, revealing the large, red welts already prominent on the back of the Warrior of Christ. The Warrior of Christ swings the whip hard over his shoulder again, and the same smacking sound is heard as leather meets flesh, and the muscles in Grockadoc's back tense up in pain, and his body goes rigid. Even more welts are seen as Grockadoc drives the whip hard over his shoulder a third time. As the third blow strikes, pieces of skin fly off, and leave gashes in the flesh of Grockadoc who again, rather stoic, remains silent, his body taut and stiff.
The fourth, fifth and sixth lashes progress much the same way as the third, but upon each successive lashing, more welts appear and open up, and more skin is flayed off as blood slowly trickles down the spine and ribcage of Grockadoc, and is absorbed by the loincloth, staining it a deep scarlet colour. The seventh lash however,opens up some of the smaller lesions and blood spurts from them increasing the blood flow from it. The eighth lash sends even larger chunks of flesh flying from the torso of Grockadoc, and the blood is freely flowing now, his back a mangled mess of flayed flesh and blood. The ninth lash lands, and, after holding it back for eight lashes, Grockadoc lets out a long groan of pain, and his body begins to spasm from it, as there are no more traces of white in the loincloth, and the blood begins to trickle down his thighs. The tenth and final lash sends a large spray of blood outwards, and the Warrior of Christ lets out a howl of agony this time as his body spasms again and he falls to his knees for several moments, before collapsing to the floor face first, his jaw clenched in pain and groaning as blood continues to seep from the exposed wounds left behind by the whip.
Grockadoc’s body spasms in pain, his muscles taut, and his whole body rigid, laying there near naked on the cold stone floor of the church. Blood from the freshly opened wounds slowly trickles down his ribcage, and there he lay, prone, for several moments as the spasms course through him, and finally, with a few aftershocks from the spasms, his body relaxes and the groaning slowly dies out. The Warrior of Christ gingerly places his hands on the cold stone floor and pushes himself up slowly, struggling, into a kneeling position. His face is a grimace of pain, and his jaw is clenched, and he opens his mouth and the loud, powerful voice begins to speak.
You have done well my son. Amongst this punishment, there is two lessons you have learnt. Firstly, that I do not tolerate failure. Failure to deliver all those who trespass and sin into the light of the Lord and bring them into salvation will be punishable by lashing. Second; that your body can handle everything that is thrown at it, within reason. Lashing is one of the most painful forms of punishment and you endured it stoically. So do not fear in your matches, my son. No-one can hurt you. You must remember this. If no-one can hurt you, you should hold no fear. If you hold no fear, you shall never lose. Trust in my words, my son.
Grockadoc’s face relaxes slightly, but his jaw is still clenched and he is wincing slightly, but he nods slowly, staring at the bronzed figure of Jesus ahead of him.
Yes, Father. I believe and trust in you.
Grockadoc’s face slowly melts from pain to one of adoration. The voice emanating from it the second voice in the conversation
Thank you, my son. Now, with the punishment out of the way, you must focus on your mission of continuing to save those lost souls of the EVPW. This week, you will be up against Agent Shadow of Project Rebirth. It is imperative that you save him from his corrupt heart and soiled mind and send him on his way along the path of light and righteousness so will finally be free from the chains of sin and vice that have infiltrated his every thought. The same goes for his partner, Chris Pyro. I permit you the use of any actions that you deem necessary to ensure that they are made to repent and are brought to absolution, my son. Success will see you rewarded handsomely, failure again, will see you punished. Now go, my loving son. Go forth and continue to spread my word and enact my will and wrath upon all those who defy me, and blaspheme.
With that, Grockadoc’s face transforms one final time, back into the slightly pained expression of the Warrior of Christ.
Yes, my Lord Father. Thy will be done.
Bowing his head in prayer once more, the Hand of God kneels silently for several moments, whispering can be heard but cannot be made out, and after several moments, he raises his head and stares at the bronzed statue of Christ, studying for several intense seconds as the whispering has stopped.
Amen.
With that, Grockadoc gingerly rises to his feet and picks up the robe that sits behind him, and slides it slowly and carefully back on, wincing as the fabric meets the mangled and flayed flesh on his back. He places the whip back into the duffle bag, and zips it back up, standing up straight and fully, jaw clenched in pain as the skin stretches as he does so. Taking another look at the statue for several moments, he strides forwards to the altar, and stares down at the candles, wetting his thumb and forefinger with saliva, and places them around the wick of the candle he lit when he entered the church, extinguishing the flickering flame of it, and obstructing the soft flickering glow of candlelight around the cold, empty chamber, as it darkens. He steps back slightly, and turns on his heels, and slowly strides forwards through the aisles amongst the solid oak pews and reaches the large wooden door at the back of the church. He turns around once more, takes a final, longing look at the bronzed statue of Jesus, he smiles softly, and pulls the door open and disappears through the doorway, closing the door behind him, as the camera slowly fades out.
EoT
(I wanted to play up Grockadoc's Schizophrenia and Dissociative Identity Disorder by having have the personalities of Grockadoc and God, to reaffirm Grockadoc's notion that God is on his side. This should be tying in with a storyline/feud I am in the process of developing at the moment, so I can't wait to see how this all plays out. As usual, comments are welcome and appreciated.)
