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Logged August 17-18, 2000 by Taisch (playing Tomo and the Wall)

Summary: Solarin runs across a madman with a weirdly glowing washer.
He takes the washer, which draws him into the City Wall, where he is
faced with his forgotten past, and he makes a choice between then
and now.

(Note: Solarin requested a TP to modify his stats and regain his memory,
and I meshed that with elements from another TP I was running.)
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THE SCENE:

Prophet and Wormwood - S
 
The black and bitter waters of the River Wormwood wash through the city here,
on their way to the Chasm, but here it becomes polluted with human waste,
humans who have no other source of running water. A flat, chaotic shantytown
lies sprawled on both sides of the river, composed of makeshift shelters of
recycled bricks, aluminum sheets, plastic, crude huts, trailer homes, and
shells from vans or buses. The taint of human misery hangs heavy in the air,
along with the buzzing of flies, and the smell of rotting garbage.

The inhabitants are weak from hunger and sickness, unable or unwilling to work
in the demon-controlled city, their bodies disdained even by the slavers.
Demonic coins are rarely seen here, being only a target for thieving mobs when
spotted. Empty-eyed, hollow-cheeked beggars sit dully by the street, hoping
for pity from the travellers who still hurry through here on their way to and
from the southeast sector, hoping by this route to avoid Citadel patrollers.

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THE PLAYERS:

Solarin
Hair of pure obsidian grace waved down his back, an inhumanly
pale face highlighted this hair. But he wasn't horridly monsterous, in fact,
he was quite attractive. He held sharp features, an totally untouched and
unblemished face. A red robe like trenchcoat was all he wore, falling down to
his well polished boots. He wore rather baggy, but untouched pants of pure
black, so black that it's hard to tell what type of fabric they are made out
of. Following that is his true black shirt, amazingly untouched also. Surely,
this man must have some money, for the mere sight of his cloths gives an
impression.

Tomo
 	A gaunt, shambling wreck of a man, clad in dirty rags. However, it
looks like he's been eating, lately. His cheeks aren't completely skeletal.
His face only twitches half as much as it used to. His eyes are a blood-shot
brown, his nose a crooked beak, his teeth (the ones that are there) stained
yellow and black. His shoes are worn through, just a pair of flapping soles
tied to his feet and ankles. His head sports a crop of close-shaven gray
stubble. Over his rags, he wears what looks like a canvas sack with arm-holes.

Carrying:
Iridescent Washer
 	A flat, circular shape with a hole in the middle. In fact, it's a
normal washer, except that it's this weird iridescent color --- hold it up to
the light and you find streaks of shiny green, blue, red, purple....The washer
is tied to a loop of red silk cord.

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Tomo staggers down the street, his legs moving as if under some foreign
control. He weaves this way and that, his eyes fixed on a small object
he holds in front of his face. His path intersects Solarin...

Tomo seems neither to see nor hear Solarin. He mutters something like,
"Affie, Affie, Affie..." as he crashes right into you.

Solarin immediatly pushes that drunkard away - drunkard.. wait, there is
no beer - lunatic then. "I said back off!"

Tomo gets pushed. His momentum takes him butt over heels --- backwards.
He drops to the ground, THUD! and the washer is jarred out of his hands. It
stops glowing and slips down between his legs, leaving a string of red along
his pants. He blinks, blinks again, then looks up at you in utter confusion.
"What? Huh? Where Tomo? Where Affie? What?"

Solarin turned around, his sharp pale blue eyes glaring at the
intriguing piece of metal. "What do you want, old man?" He said in his usaul,
flat, emotionless tone. Those always cold hands dug into his pockets. "This
is not such a place for you.." This was not such a place for anyone.

Tomo gets his feet back under him, but just rocks back and forth in a
crouch. "Not wanting anymore," he says in relief. He shuts his eyes and flicks
the washer towards you. "Tomo is saved! Are you saved? Have you accepted Him
in your heart?"

"I have no heart for Him to save." He grimly said, those emotionless
orbs glaring at the man inquistivly. He waited if this man was of any danger -
sure, he had this trick pulled on him many times.

Tomo finally figures out how to stand up again. He says earnestly to
Solarin, "Everyone! Repent, repent, He saves everyone! See, He saves Tomo from
evil washer just now!"

Solarin kneels slowly, his attention diverted to the 'mysterios' washer.
A hand reached to lift it from the ground by the string, eyeing it
questioningly. "This piece of metal - evil?"

Tomo cries out and flings an arm over his eyes, averting his head at the
same time. "Don't look! Evil! Evil washer!"

As you pick up the washer, it begins to glow, ever so faintly.

Those crystal eyes suddenly become mesmorized with that soft glow -
beauty in mystery. "What is this..?" He asked, those eyes holding now holding
that same glow..

The washer is definitely glowing now. Bright green and blue flash
mesmerizingly.

Solarin picked up that washer, grasping it firmly. He had never felt
urges - he was an emotionless mind in isolation. And so, when he did feel an
urge, it becomes a want. He walked southward.

Solarin heads south along Prophet's Way.

You head south, following the ever-widening Chasm.
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Citadel and Prophet - SE
 
Here in the lower-income housing district, apartment buildings are driven up
against each other: low, brick, stone, and concrete. All the wood has long
since burned, and no trees have grown here since the End. The tall tenements
were leveled after the City was shaken by multiple earthquakes, replaced by
low, patched-up dwellings, hooked up with old leaky pipes and power from the
hydroelectric plant to the northwest. Sanitation services are rudimentary. The
water is black and bitter anyway, even after filtering.

The inhabitants tend to be loud and angry: prone to furious, pointless
battles, which are cheered on by the neighbors as better entertainment than
Citadel propaganda TV or any number of banned religious pirate radio shows.
The folk here count themselves lucky to have income: demonic coins or no, it
pays the rent, and at least the landlord is a familiar demon.
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Tomo follows, his hand still over his eyes. He calls out, voice muffled
by his arm, "Pray! Pray, even now He can save you, yes yes, save you!"

Solarin continued south, his form now like a walking mummy. Those eyes
scattered in every direction - this urge.. grows stronger. With Tomo following
him, he could still grasp his surrondings. He threw the washer on the ground -
still intrigued by this power.

Tomo peeks out from behind his arm. The washer pulses once, then stops
glowing again. "Yes, receive the Lord into your heart! He saves even bad
people in black..."

Solarin turned to seek out Tomo, wanting answers. "Where did you get
this washer?" He said in a cold stare - his voice like ice.

Tomo shifts from foot to foot and wriggles uncomfortably, his arm still
in front of his face. "Lo, Tomo was held in slavery for many turnings of the
earth, but the Lord, yea, the Lord, He deliverethes Tomo from his bondage!
Rejoice, rejoice!"

A long exhale was all that was in return, and he turned his gaze to that
menancing washer. "Where does this piece of metal want to lead me? Do you
know?"

Tomo dances around a bit, giving the washer suspicious looks from under
his arm before looking away again. Finally, he says, "It pulled Tomo away.
Crawling away, underground, through the rocks, through the dust, all the dark
places on the underside. All the other washers normal, nothings, clean. This
one...this one is evil! This one was not purified!" He emits a sudden squeal
of fear and spins around so his back is to the innocuous bit of metal.

"I will find this.. evil, Tomo.." And he immediatly picked it up -
feeling this urge again. Why he did it? Because the world is too hopeless
already.. death is the only answer, at least in dying - he will have found out
this mystery. He obeyed the magical washer.

Tomo does not look. But the washer begins glowing again and tugging at
Solarin.

Solarin heads west along Citadel.

Tomo stops following, but shouts, "Pray! Pray the Lord to save you!"

Solarin heads south along the bone path, crisp crunching noises
echoing against the chasm walls as brittle bones snap.

Solarin follows the city wall west and north.

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City Wall - SW

A road littered with debris and refuse winds from the north and then turns
east when the wall surrounding the city lets it go no further. Bordering the
road on the city side are huge piles of useless and unwanted machines and
buildings as well as the husks of the truly dead.

The wall to the other side is an even larger vision of decay and corruption,
being built from the huge skyscrapers that once reigned here, as well as those
who must have been in the towers at the time, now inexorably fused with steel
and glass. The whole length of wall is charged by some other-worldly force,
electrifying those who graze its surface to long.
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Solarin felt the strong tugging, as if the washer itself was his
leader. When he reached the wall, he looked around in confusion.. why would it
lead me here? His pale hands felt the wall, as if looking for some trap
switch. Maybe it wants me to go to the plains?

As you touch the wall, it flares up, sparks flying. You feel a sharp
sting. At the same time, the washer jumps forward at the wall, right out of
your grasp if you are not holding it tightly. It's flickering a bright green
now.

Solarin pulls his hand away at the sudden pain, furrowing his
eyebrows in frustration and anger. "What is this?!" He yelled, almost waiting
for someone to answer him. Again he tried - but letting the washer make it's
move first.

The washer slides right into the wall, almost like a key. A low,
pained moan sounds along the length of the wall where you are, echoes faintly
audible as they come back from hundreds of feet away. Fused steel and glass
seem to melt. You see before you a swirling blue-green haze. Something inside
seems to be calling to you, something immensely desirable.

Solarin glared at as he had found the 'key'. Standing like a statue
as this wonder opened before him. His curiosity took over, and his liking of
danger. He could feel this desire, this lust, for whatever was in there.. but
what was it? He stepped in to find out.

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Trapped inside the Wall

At first this seems like a standard office room from the late 20th century:
white walls decorated with a few bland watercolors of landscapes, a desk with
a workstation on it, papers, pens, paperclips, Dilbert desktop calendar, etc.
The black office chair swivels comfortably. The plant in the corner seems
healthy enough. The wastebasket holds a crumpled paper or two.

But the window...the window shows nothing natural. It flickers from scene to
scene, all plucked from the darkest parts of your memory. And the computer is
no better. At first you think it's just a psychotic screen-saver, but no. It
plays horror stories from some demented imagination. And the operating system
is all point and click... with options like "Kill file", "Pain", "Sorrow", and
"Despair".
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You experience a moment of blinding dizziness, then the wall seems to close
around you, and you find yourself... here...

The washer appears in your hand, but now the glow has faded. It's just
iridescent, and apparently content to rest there like an inert bit of metal.

A look of dread came over his pale face. Where the hell was
he? He immediatly say the eeriely 'perfect' office, that window too. He looked
as if he were carved out of stone - his body not moving. He held that washer
incredibly tight in that soft hand.. the washer, this is what caused this. If
he only could control himself! He stood there for a moment, those fearing eyes
set on the menancing computer screen. This was familiar, somehow..

Yes, those memories are beginning to stir in the depths of your being. Someone
you once were struggles to emerge...

Like an old obessesion re-emerging, he reached - no, CAME to
the comfy chairs calling. It was like begging him, 'Pleassee..sssitt..", and
he obeyed that calling. And that hand shot out - not by his will - to reach
for that mouse.. yes, he remembered this device, too..

The computer hums that hypnotizing hum. The light from the monitor strikes
your eyes, waking a past life.

Faces appear on the screen...faces that seem somehow familiar.

He was at the office. Work. His life. How could he forget?
But he wanted to forget.. as he felt that sting in his forehead. Painful
memorys of work - and his past life. He shook those memorys out of his head -
before that sting got worse. But no.. they wouldn't go away - faces? His eyes
stared in horror at the pictures he was seeing.

Then the whispers begin. Are there speakers by this computer? Indeed there
are. A little red light glows wickedly, in stereo. Voices, voices you have not
heard for over fifty years, whisper to you. "You are here at last. This is
where you belong. This is your life. Everything else was a mistake."

In an enraged state, he picked up and threw one speaker. "No!
Argh!" He yelled, his arms clenching with tension and fear. "Be quiet!"

The speaker hits the far wall, its power cord trailing limply along the floor.
But instead of going silent, it starts sobbing quietly. Mixed in with the
crying are garbled syllables that you can't quite make out. The other speaker
continues whispering, "Accept it. We are all here. We are all waiting for
you...this is where you should have been, all along."

The building? Where it had all began? Eternity in complete
isolation.. eternity in agony. He didn't want this, he didn't want this at
all. His usaully cold face contorted in angish, throwing that washer across
the room! He stormed out of that chair - his eyes set on finding an escape!
"Let me out of this hellhole!"

The room molds itself to your memories, as those become clearer. Everything is
just as it was... 

If you glance out the window... you see office workers, typing away at their
computers. But then the floor begins to shake... bits of plaster drop from the
ceiling... the workers begin to react, but it is too late. The End is upon
them.

The End. How dreadful. He couldn't make it out the door - his
hands gripping the walls. "No! This isn't real!" He was on the verge of
dropping that last strand of humanity he had left. To relive his isolation -
that would be his Hell. To remember feeding off of his workers bones - his
friends bones. To spend days reading out of the same books only to wait
neverendigly for someone to rescue him. "Stop this!" He returned to the room,
slamming that door shut furiously.

But it doesn't stop...the scenes continue relentlessly. You can close your
eyes, but you can still hear the screams as the building collapses on you. The
perfect office shatters, becoming falling rubble, showering blood, bodies...
the window is no more. This is all there is. Except this time you know what's
going to happen next.

A hand - already knowing his fate - clutched something..  anything, that door
handle. His other hand held tight to the walls. His eyes closed tight in a
horror he had never experienced. His yells were unheard, but were
burning his lungs. He yelled only to keep the voices away.

Time distorts, as images and memories and illusions press painfully against
your mind. Have a hundred years gone by? Or only a few seconds? Voices babble,
a woman's voice, a child's voice, pleading, "Harold. Harold. Daddy...where are
you? Help us...help...where are you?"

Solarin seeps down onto the floor, like a statue crumbling to
it's stone feet. His face was a battlefield for his enraged and saddend
emotions - one moment his brows furrowed, one moment his pale lips contorted
into a frown. "I'm sorry.. Baby, I didn't mean to.." And he broke. Simple as
that. Along his untouched face lay rivers of tears that had been dying to
break out for so long. He weeped.. "I'm sorry honey, I'm sorry.."

The voices multiply, relentless, merciless, cutting at your re-awakened soul.
"Where are you, Daddy?" "You never came home." "You belong here." "We waited
and waited..." "Now we have you, Smithens." "Please don't leave us again."
"Everyone's here." "This is your home now." "We've been waiting so long." "All
together at last." Sometimes close, sometimes far away, sometimes just below
conscious hearing, but never stopping...the voices.

"I'm sorry! Please!" His hands reached to his ears while his
lungs screamed at full capacity, the voice of the ones he loved - the voice of
the ones he had lost. "Leave! Leave me!" He yelled now, in fury and in fear.

For one blessed, brief, moment, your screaming drives the voices away into
soft incoherance, but then slowly, they return, more insistent than ever,
eating away at your will. "We are never leaving. This is forever. Forever."
"Don't you understand? This is where you belong. This is our destiny."
"Smithens, think of it as a corporate merger. We have all been...acquired. We
are assets now."

He rose quickly, his hands now still clawing at his ears.
Opening the door - he ran. He ran as if he was running from the voices that
followed. He didn't want to remember. He even wished he was back at Babylon..
but death was much nicer.

You find a door opening under the strength of your need to escape. But there
is no escape. Each door opens into another room of your memory. Your bedroom.
Your living room. Your bathroom. Your boss's office. A supermarket you used to
visit. Everywhere, the faces, the voices, the horror. Each room in turn
crumbles and collapses, into fire, smoke, devastation, death, horror.

Solarin continued to run. Just to get away from the voices
that removed the painful bandages from his mind. His eyes trying to keep away
from more memorys spilling into his mind. Continuing to run from that which he
spawns along the way. "Leave me! I don't want this!" He yelled in his flight
from remembrance.. oh the horror!

Solarin maintained his running - his heart being teared with
anger and sorrow. His eyes closed - but unwillingly opening by some outer
force to look. Look at his past, and weep. To mourn, to regain that lost skill
of crying.

You run and run, but wherever you run, you find only horror before you. As
exhaustion builds in you, both physical and spiritual, you find it more and
more difficult to shut out the visions, the voices, the past. Your heart, your
eyes, both are worn down with grief and regret. Your steps fall heavier and
heavier, your legs turning to dead weights under you.

Eventually you run out of energy and just collapse... trapped, trapped,
trapped...

His lungs screamed out their last breath, while he slumped to
his knees in complete and utter loss. "I do not want to remember!"

His lungs screamed out their last breath, while he slumped to
his knees in complete and utter loss. "I do not want to remember!" He yelled -
his voice scarred with a burning heat that he had caused. His legs felt
unnaturally sore. "Leave..leave me alone.." Tears streamed down - without
crying sounds - to his lap, where they felt cold.. cold as himself.

The room seems to close in on you inexorably. Perhaps you begin to realize
that you have no choice but to remember. Your body will not obey any more
attempts to flee the un-fleeable. The voices become full phantoms, people once
known to you, now caught forever in the moment of their deaths.

Solarin covered his ears in desperation, only the sounds of whimpering
escaping his lips - like a tortured puppy. "Please..just.. leave me.."
His knees were held close to his chest, and he was almost rocking back in
forth.. in complete insanity.

The phantom crowd presses in closer and closer. "Look at us. Listen. You are
one of us...remember us...this is where you should have been. Join us. Be at
peace at last."

"It is not my time!" He yelled furiously - his voice throaty and sore..
he continued to duck his head in his lap, trying to just escape the noise.

The phantoms surround you. The shade of your wife steps forward, looks at you
sorrowfully while the others fall silent. "Darling...can't you even bear to
face me anymore?"

"Sharla..? No! Leave!" His eyes peeked from that hiding spot - expecting to
see that one he had loved so long ago.. and lost so bitterly.

It is indeed Sharla, but a Sharla pale, hollow-eyed, and marked with the black
tumors of the Pestilence that claimed so many in the End Days. She whispers,
"We need you, Harold."

Solarin wailed with his fears renewed. His sadness growing -
his anger feeding. "I'm sorry.." He yelled, tears stinging his eyes in
frustration, "I'm sorry.."

The phantom weeps. "Please, darling, don't fight it anymore..." The others
continue standing around like a silent chorus. The shade of your long-lost
daughter appears at Sharla's side, similarly plague-marked, eyes turned to you
in pleading.

And in the love of his family, and in the horror of his life.
He stopped his unwillingness. He let go off his sadness and rage. He relaxed -
no, his muscles didn't relax. That was his only bearing on the real world.
That burning feel in his bicep.

The phantoms smile at you sadly, as you seem to move towards accepting them.
"It's time to come home, dear. Time to put away this delusion that you've made
into your life for so long. Join us. We are all together, we are strong again."

"But.. I am not dead." He said, his eyes peering up to the horror that was
his family. Tears stroking his pale cheeks in agonizing pain.

The shades look back, pain and love mingled in their own eyes. "But you had
forgotten us... what kind of life did you make for yourself? What was left of
you?"

"Very little. I had no choice. I didn't want to remember. It was the End.
Who realizes that these days?" He said, not bearing that horrid vision..
he placed his eyes on the floor.

"But you remember now. And you know now. The End. And it is time for you to
choose." Your wife's voice grows stronger, but it is as if some greater force
is speaking through her. "It is time..."

What seems to be your wife sighs. "Beloved, it is time to choose who you
really are. Are you who you were...the man I loved, the father of my child,
Harold Smithens? Or are you... are you this 'Solarin', cold, remorseless,
silent, heartless?"

"I'm.. neither.. I lost.. both of them." And it was true - his
'personalty's were switching off. One moment his speech was soft.. like a
caring father, the next cold - like a unmerciful killer.

The other voices now join in. You feel that same power moving all of them,
pressing on your soul. "Who are you? You must choose...which is your reality?"

"I do not know any Harold.." He said grimly, his head descending onto his lap.

The phantoms all cry out, and seem even more sorrowful than before. The chorus
whispers, "So be it...you are nothing to me." Then the individuals may be
heard again. Your wife, your daughter, your friends, co-workers, all mourning
your choice. "Nooo...."

But the power withdraws, and with it, the phantoms themselves fade. You are
again in the room you started in, but quickly even that begins to
disintegrate...

Then something seems to grab you, mind and body alike... you black out... when
you wake up again, you are lying on the ground near the City Wall, the strange
washer in your hand. However, it now seems inert, whatever power it had spent.

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