First Reply A Lady

[P O D]

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A Lady
I know a lady, good and evil
Showed me that I was a gentleman
Wait for the girl to blossom into
Colors that grow where you can​

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LOCATION: unknown
DATE & TIME: unknown
HEALTH: very low, weak
MENTAL STATE: compromised, cloudy
SONG: A Lady
As I am drawing inspiration from the song, I would prefer a female character that is maybe more sith/evil darkness leaning to reply to this post. I have yet to have Pod interact with any sith character, so hopefully this is a good set up for something along those lines. Otherwise, have fun with it. I look forward to where this ends up. Ready to write something dark and twisted
OPEN ​

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The stage is set. Where are we? In silence. Darkness. An impatient one, turbulent. Like a volcano or a teenage boy. It struggled with it's agnst, looming precariously. Mysteriously, unnervingly, urgently. A blend of sharp angles and soft curves, delicately balancing between rawness and polish. It's stillness seemed shy, bashful. What was it hiding?

A beam would appear, light sifting softly through the sharp contrast of black. A goodness against an evilness, which was which? It came down almost in a cloud-like form, rolling and billowing. The surface was dynamic, creamy. The form of the cloud was strange, as if it was being shaped by unseen hands. Filtering through fluid fingers as they pointed into the endless blackness - directing the beacon towards their target. Some parts of the illuminated cloud would dissolve into the dark air as they strayed too far from the larger wisps. It seemed to be intelligent, moving with a vibrant pulse. Quivering and flickering, sniffing. A hound dog searching for a sign of life, or perhaps for the stench of death.

And a stench it found - Pod.

Once identified by the misty radiance it pooled around him, circling and highlighting his shrunken and kneeling form. It almost seemed to mock him with it's undisturbed illumination, it's glow and light an insulting contrast to his dull and dim. It would remain upon him now, highlighting the crippled husk of man. Laughing, pointing. There were no shadows that lay across his flesh, the light seemed to come from all directions. Above and below, making sure no nook or crany was lost to the dark.

With the luster about the man now, we can see blood. Old and new, seeping and drying. A crimson crust that seemed to cake him like mud, as if he had just spent some time rolling about in the soaked soil. It was difficult for your eye to be deceived now, and you could see his subdued body in all it's glory, or perhaps lack thereof.

Coming from the sickening blackness behind him emerged a set of chains. They were commanding, dark and heavy. They stretched from the nothingness, and seemed to attach to Pod via a handful of hooks. Hooks that were forced roughly through the flesh of his back, anchored in the deep muscle and shifting matter. They were well inserted, placed strategically to target the parts of him with the thickest, meatiest clumps of shifting matter. Surely to disrupt his attempts to shapeshift, should he even be strong enough to try anything. They were all tight enough so that there was some drape to the chains, some weight that would drag down on his thick hide. Every hook looked rusty and old, well used and well loved. They all came to sharpened points, some pierced fully through the flesh while others were dug in too deep to see the other side. The ones that you could see were coated with red. There were even open wounds that appeared like an unsuccessful skewer, whoever applied these likely didnt anticipate the unnatural thickness of the alien's skin, and ended up making a hasty job of it. His back dripped in crimson, as if he had taken a shower in it. It streamed like tears from the wounds. Dribbling onto the floor, swirling down a drain that had been placed conveniently beneath him. Now it was simply dried in place, in a frozen look of agony.


His arms had been hoisted up in a permanent position by shackled wrists, the chains to those angling upwards so he knelt in a somewhat suspended pose, ready for his crucifiction. The shackles seemed to pierce him as well, blood draining down from his wrist to his elbow in an almost elegantly beaded bracelet. His head wanted to hang low, limp and beaten like the rest of him, but was opposed by 4 hooks - 2 on either side - that pierced through his soft cheek meat. Like a fish on the end of a rod, they ensared him. Because of the four apparent piercings, the man's head hung awkwardly, and his jaw was slack. Hanging freely so as to not disturb the wound in his maw, exposing his rows of monster teeth. He drooled, pink stained saliva trickling through the maze of sharpened fangs to find their place on the floor. An audible 'splat!' could be heard each time the wetness hit the cold floor, a hauntingly rhythmic song. As you continue to take him in, you might take note of the peacefulness that surrounded this ragged scene. The destruction and horror that wracked his body was juxtaposed by the serenity and tranquility that was held by his unconcious features. His facial expression - despite the enslavement of hooks and chains - seemed at ease. He rest contently now, eyes closed. Perhaps he was relieved to be escaping the horrific reality he had found himself in.

So knowing all of this, what do you make of his story? Do you wonder how get here? Who did this to him? What could he have done to deserve it?

Well, enter our catalyst.

A protagonist or antagonist it is too soon to tell…

Before the subdued and shackled beast, a door would creak open. Footsteps would echo down the dank hall as they approached him. Feminine finger tips briefly traced his cheek where the hooks perforated, inspecting or perhaps admiring the handiwork. Her hand would wrap around his lower jaw, gently pushing up on it to close his mouth and then adjust his head upwards to face her. Only now he would stir, letting out a very faint groan of ache. His eyelids would peel themselves weakly apart, letting him peer at his captor through swollen countenance