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First Born; Rp Vs Distress
Topic Started: Nov 25 2009, 05:51 AM (116 Views)
"Psycho" Sam Attic
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CZW Elite Role Player
The year was 1749. Not a remarkable year for those that dwelled in the swamps and bayou’s of Louisiana. They had there own problems, survival utmost among them. Yet there were those that provided services to the soles that sought it. What service was this? Voodoo of course.

The curses were always exaggerated and the cures understated. The herbs and animal parts were capable of so many things to those that knew how to use them properly. Still, there were those that wanted love, fame, fortune and yes the death of others that made the dangerous and long trek to the depths of the swamps. Those that made it to the end of the trip were usually rewarded with their wants and desires. Those that didn’t made up the lore of the darkness that swallowed them up for eternity.

A slender canoe with three men approached a shack that sat upon a sand bar that was left barren. An odd sight if there was one, not that the skulls of animals as well as a few human ones, placed on sticks that decorated the front of it.

The canoe silently slid to a stop against the sand and the three stepped out and looked at the place. The boards of the shack weathered badly, the gaps surely not keeping the wind let alone any small animals, out of the place. But oddly, that wasn’t really the main thing that caught ones attention.

The silence was the main attention catcher. All along the swamp there were constant sounds of life and death, yet here there were none of these. This had to be the place.

Motioning to the two men that stood to either side of him, the obvious leader of the trio waited for them to look around the shack and make sure they were alone. Satisfied, the leader approached the half hanging door and pushed it open. The sound of rusty hinges creaked eerily as he stepped inside with his cohorts close behind him.

“Mamma Deaux, je suis venu pour obtenir vos services.”
(Mamma Deaux, I have come to get your services.)


His voice was strong and he didn’t need to shout for the meaning of anything he said to come though loud and clear.

“Pas besoin de crier. Je suis vieille pas sourd. Et je sais ce que vous voulez. Vous ne l'ai ici.” (No need to shout. I'm old not deaf. And I know what you want. You will not have it here.)

The smallish older woman stepped from the small side room. Her eyes sharp and alert, her body crippled by age and time. She pointed her cane towards the leader and shook her head like one that would admonish a small child.

“J'ai voyagé loin et difficile d'être ici. J'ai de l'or et l'argent pour vous payer. Je vais avoir ce que je veux. Est-il si difficile pour vous ce souhait d'accorder une?” (I have traveled far and hard to be here. I have gold and silver to pay you with. I will have what I want. Is it so hard for you to grant this one wish?)

The old woman sat down in a rocking chair and laid her cane across her lap and slowly rocked. Her eyes locked on the man who wanted as badly as she did. Her head wrapped in grey that was nearly silver. She sighed and shook her head as the man moved closer to her.

“Ce que vous demandez car je ne peux pas vous donner. Le destin a joué sa carte pour votre famille et c'est quelque chose que je ne puisse interférer avec. Prenez votre or et d'argent et de quitter cet endroit. Rentrez chez vous et de faire vivre ce que les années que vous avez en paix Joseph Mayhew.” (What you ask for I cannot give you. Fate has played her card for your family and this is something I cannot interfere with. Take your gold and silver and leave this place. Go home and live out what years you have in peace Joseph Mayhew.)

His face reddened in anger, he stepped close to the old woman and stopped with an abruptness that was surprising. A hiss from a large gator caused this. His hand resting quickly on pistol he carried in his belt. The others with him drawing theirs as well as a long knife. They were ready to kill something … … … or someone.

“Vous n'avez pas ce droit. Vous allez me donner ce que je veux vieille femme. Je ne sais pas comment tu sais mon nom, mais vous devez savoir ce dont j'ai besoin. Maintenant, c'est faire ou je te tue si vous êtes assis.” (You dont have that right. You will give me what I want old woman. I dont know how you know my name, but you have to know what I need. Now do it or I will kill you where you sit.)

She let out a light cackle. Shaking her head in mocking movements, she looked him dead in the eyes and smiled with rotten teeth showing. Her eyes narrowed and her voice was cold and hateful as she spoke to him.

“Je n'ai pas peur de mourir. J'attends avec impatience. Vos menaces sont vides pour moi. Tuez-moi si vous le souhaitez. Sachez-le bien Mayhew Joseph. Je vous maudis avec mon dernier souffle. Et cette malédiction sera si simple et direct qui ne sera jamais brisé.” (I fear not to die. I look forward to it. Your threats are empty to me. Kill me if you wish. But know this Joseph Mayhew. I will curse you with my dying breath. And that curse will be so simple and direct that it will never be broken.)

His rage was like a living cloak around him. He pulled his pistol out and pointed it at her and fired. The ball hit her square in the chest and blood began to spurt from the open wound. Her face started to turn pale and her eyes began to lose their spark. Yet her hands didn’t go to the wound, they began to make symbols in the air before her, her lips moving as if she were talking silently to herself.

Joseph Mayhew motioned to the two henchmen he had with him. They began to destroy anything they could. But amid the sounds of their handywork, her voice rose high enough to be heard.

“A partir de maintenant à l'éternité, tous les fils que vous aurez ne connaîtra jamais la paix. Tu voulais que je vous donne des fils et maintenant vous allez en avoir. Il est de votre seule Mayhew Joseph que votre future ligne ne sera jamais en paix. L'obscurité les mangera de l'intérieur. Jamais, dans la lumière, jamais content, jamais avec la paix. Forever sera leur vie serait rien si elle n'est pas grabuge.” (From now to eternity, all sons that you will have will never know peace. You wanted me to give you sons and now you will have them. It is on your sole Joseph Mayhew that your future line will never be at peace. The darkness will eat them from the inside. Never in the light, never happy, never with peace. Forever will their lives be nothing if not mayhem.)

With that she died. The shack seemed to get dark and the three looked scared. Slowly they backed out and as a final gesture of defiance of an old woman’s curse, they set the shack on fire. As they rowed away, the swamp seemed to know what had happened and fell deadly silent. The smoke wafted high into the tree tops and acted as if it were alive.

The oars made rapid splashing sounds as the two henchmen rowed in panic. Both men’s eyes were as round as saucers as they tried to look around as they continued onward. Slowly they made their way to the end of the swamp to find their horses dead. No signs of blood, they were just simply dead.

Fear driving them, they ran long and hard for as long as they could. Not daring to look behind them as they did. And soon enough they would know why they were smart not to look back. In the trees, the smoke had gathered and a face looked at them with a smile so cold that blood would stop flowing. A set of eyes that the devil himself would have envied.

With the breath coming in hard harsh rasps, they finally stopped. One not being smart enough did look back, the face waiting for him and with a look of glee on its face, it took his life. A life taken with its owners own fear.

Joseph Mayhew didn’t look back, he wouldn’t fall to such things. Yet it was never known what had happened to the other man when he was found days later, nearly dead, on the road to his home.

He never spoke of what happened that day. He lived a handful of years longer and was given his wish, he had two sons to add to the ten daughters he already had. One from his wife and the other son from his mistress. He thought at last he would beat the curse. He was wrong. As they grew to manhood, it was his first son that ended his life when his son decided to be the man of the family and the plantation.

As time passed, each son became a father and each first son slew his father. The family grew darker and more lethal with each generation that at one point during the western migration that the native Americans called them demons, warriors that were from hell. The destruction that they did to each village or anyone that crossed them, became known as the alboroto. A Spanish word for violence as well as mayhem. Others called them riders of death. They eventually adopted the name the Spanish gave them. They were the Mayhem Clan and they were evil.


(Present day)


Cyrus sat with his mind running over recent events in the lives of his charges. Not that anyone would ever mistake who they were, but the brothers Mayhem could be hell to deal with.

His face partially hidden by the hood he liked to wear, he watched them intently. They were intelligent men, when they so choose. However, how do you make them care when they are content to be lost in the mindlessness of nothing but sadistic pleasures of the life they want to lead?

Their eyes often glazed, jaws slack with little drips of saliva trickling from their lips. Their skin paled from lack of sun and yes, their hair matted from lack of bothering to wash it. These men were in a world of their own.

He stared longer and eventually found himself entranced. Why did they act like this? Was it medical? Was it lack of will? Perhaps it was a want to be left outside what was acceptable to the norms of society.

Or were it possible to travel the dark halls of their minds, would one find broken doors that were ripped from their anchors like so much kindling? Would there be a path riddled with bones of long dead monsters that have haunted them? Yet still would there me the total opposite? A path with warm flowers and nothing but sunshine and happiness to make anyone that walked along it sing in glorious delight?

No. That was simply too easy. There had to be something more than that. Surely there was.

Shaking his head, he turned slightly to see the shape of the one known as Asmodeus trundle through the doorway. His body showing the signs of his age. Yet his eyes were as sharp as hawk’s talons.

Slowly he settled into a small chair next to Cyrus and looked at him then to the brothers. A faint smile crossed his face and left it just as quick.

Asmodeus: “They are lost my friend. Have you done this?”

The question was simple and to the point. No accusation, merely speculation.

Cyrus: “No. This condition they are in is of their own doings. And I have no resolute way to bring them out of it.”

The sounds of frustration tinged his words.

Asmodeus: “I have learned over the many years that anyone who is lost like that cannot be retrieved when others deem it fit to do so.”

Cyrus: “So you are saying leave it alone? I know they hear and understand, all I have to do is tell them what to do and they do it without question. But I need them to be able to tell me what theywant to do. "

Asmodeus merely shrugged as he listened.

Asmodeus: “Unless you can climb inside their heads and see what it is that they see, then there is nothing you can do.”

The brothers sat with their eyes fixed on space. Not seeming to care, yet they heard all. They were aware, yet not aware. They were here and were not here. Catatonic? No. Lost? Most assuredly.

Jakob was the most lost, well he was the one acting most lost. His inner mind was awash in a constant barrage of images and feelings. None of them good.

One image kept reverberating across his mind.


20 Years ago

His coming home was not new, he did this same routine each day. Get up, get to his work, then come home to hell. This was the pattern his dear old dad followed day in day out. The so called mother was sprawled out on the couch, boozed into her own sodden world.

His little sister, Sara, was sitting in the corner of the kitchen next to the cabinets and was trembling. She looked up at her big brother and smiled, tears had left their trail down her face and Jakob, knowing what had happened, knelt and caressed her hair softly.

Slowly and with eyes that knew would leak if he let them, he looked down at her body, she was bruised and her panties were red.

He could feel the rage rise in his chest, his fists clenched and his teeth ground together. He was tired of this, she was just a baby, well 10 is a baby to most, and she didn’t deserve this. It was one thing to take a beating and not fight back so there wouldn’t be this degree of terror in her young life. Yet there was the proof. Her innocence was gone and now there was one thing to do.

Slowly he started to rise to his feet when her small hand reached out to him, he took hers in his and smiled at her when he felt the pain. As if a flash of lightening had went off, he went out.

When you are unconscious, time has no meaning, and neither does pain. He reached up to his head and felt the dried blood and the knot. He was half against the cabinet and half in the floor.

What was he doing when it went dark? Sara! He was with Sara. He slowly sat up with that sick feeling that comes to the stomach when your head hurts real badly. He looked and found her, naked and beaten in the middle of the floor. Slowly he moved to her side and lifted her head up and placed it carefully on his lap. She was so peaceful looking, she didn’t stir as he stroked her head.

He knew, like it was part of him, that she was beyond caring now. The sick son of a bitch had done it. He went too far, he did the sickest thing a man can do to a child. He took her innocence and killed her. He had the balls to do this and why? To prove to himself he was all big and bad? That he was a man? What was his reason other than he was beyond reason in a way that no one, not even himself, could hope to reasonably explain.

His eyes did something they hadn’t done no matter the beatings he had taken, no matter the sadness he endured, they leaked. He cried softly as he covered her nakedness and lay her head down so softly that the move almost seemed painful.

He let all the pain, the emotion, the sheer rage rise in him as he stood up. Had anyone seen the expression, they would have known that he had died inside. He wasn’t the kid that would be helpful, he wasn’t the son that did what he was told, he wasn’t the brother his little sister could count on. He had failed her and there was only one way he could make that up to her. His death or his bastard of a father’s death. One of them would not survive this day.

He looked in the living room, mother still dead to the world, empty Jim beam bottle at her side on the floor. He turned to look down the hall and began to pass the doorways. Past his room, empty as he heart was. Past Sara’s room, it would forever be empty of everything but the fading memories he had held so dear. Slowly he passed the bathroom and it too was as lifeless as his soul. Then he stopped at the door to the bedroom his father and drunk bitch mother shared. The sounds were unmistakable. He wasn’t alone and for some reason that didn’t bother him at all.

Kicking the door open, simply because he was beyond caring about niceties, he stormed into the room. His father as laying on the bed and some red headed whore was riding him like she was on a roller coaster of dick. He didn’t care. HE lunged and hit her so hard she flew off the bed and slammed into the base of the dresser. His father, bare assed and apparently to out of his sex delirium that he didn’t care he was pointing to the sky with his dick, never knew what happened. Neither did Jakob.

When he became aware, he was standing against the wall with blood on his hands, shirt, pants and shoes. His father was a bloody pulp and his dick had been ripped literally off his body, its base was literally protruding from his dead lips.

Looking at his hands, he began to tremble, he threw up and slowly slid down the wall where he was when he felt hands on his arms pulling at him.

Slowly his awareness allowed him to see his brother Ezra before him as well as the man he would come to know as their eventual teacher/mentor Asmodeus.

Together they helped him to his feet and back down the hall. It was dark outside and perhaps that was an omen, for he was dark inside, he didn’t care he had killed his father. He didn’t care that his mother lay on the couch, her body the same and he didn’t care later that she was dead before his sister had died. So the plea’s she may have called to her had fallen on deaf ears. He just didn’t care.

Ezra had been his younger brother, Jakob being the oldest, first born, had left home in the middle of the night and hadn’t returned till now. So he came when he was needed, had crossed Jakob’s mind. Then it didn’t matter. He had done something he had never thought himself capable of. Now he had to deal with it or let it take him over. He hadn’t dealt well.


Back to today

Cyrus sat lost in thought. He slowly turned toward Asmodeus with a slight tilt of the head.

Cyrus: “You sure you don’t know what set them off like this?”

Asmodeus merely shrugged.

Asmodeus: “I assure you, I have no idea.”

Asmodeus smiled slightly, the kind Jakob seemed to use, the snake smile right before he struck.

Cyrus had his doubts, but then he always doubted anything and everything that was associated with Asmodeus.

Cyrus: “ You do realize I have to get through to them, especially Jakob. After BoM had attacked them and we got back at them, he has a singles match with one of them.”

Asmodeus nodded softly.

Asmodeus: “I am aware of that. He faces the one named Distress, a formidable foe."

Cyrus: “Asmodeus, don’t blow smoke up my ass. I know more about this Distress than you do. I know what this creature is capable of. I also know that thanks to you that I have to pull a miracle out of my ass and get Jakob to realize he is in danger. So tell me obi wanna be Kenobi, how could you let them be lead to their own path of destruction? And don’t play innocent with me, I am no fool. I know you had your hands all over their mental anguish. So tell me yoda of the idiot moves, what is it you did to them?"

Asmodeus let anger seep into his features and managed to help hold it in check.

Asmodeus: “Before you accuse me of things you have no idea of, perhaps you should do your homework on where they came from. Then and only then will you have your answers."

He stood and began to leave through the doorway he had entered earlier.

Cyrus: “ And where do I find these answers?”

Asmodeus never turned to face him as he spoke exiting the room.

Asmodeus: “ Why don’t you try ancestry dot com?”

Cyrus leapt from his chair and grabbed a bottle that was on the small table to the side and threw it at the now empty doorway. He was livid.

Turning to Jakob, who still sat glassy eyed and oblivious, he grabbed his hair and jerked his head back.

Cyrus: “Wake the f**k up!! I don’t know what’s happening in there, but you need to come around. Distress will kill you Jakob. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!?!?!? IS IT??!!??"

He let loose of his hair and watched open mouthed as Jakobs head settled down to where it had been. Had Cyrus been able to climb inside and look at what Jakob saw, he would know he was already working his way to Distress, after all didn’t Distress look just like his father?


Cyrus let out a long breath and went back to his seat and plopped down out of frustration and weariness.

Cyrus: “Distress, hide, run away, do what ever you have to do to live another day. Jakob will be ready, but the real question is, will you be able to live with being a cripple the rest of your life?”

Slowly he watched them and he fell asleep. The brothers still sitting there lost in their own little worlds.





Edited by "Psycho" Sam Attic, Nov 25 2009, 07:16 AM.
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