“My name is Jim. It’s been several nights since my kidnapping and I’ve yet to discover what the purpose of my capture was. Upon the eve of the second or third night, one of my more dimwitted comrades let his fear known through a disastrously timed yelp, and was eaten through the buttocks by one of the shadow’s slithering serpents.
They’ve yet, however, to discover my digital voice log. I’ve made a comfortable living for myself in this cave – making lemonade out of lemons, as mommy used to urge. So far five of us have been taken into what I’m assuming is their main living quarters – the rest of us (a party of four by now) have been squeezed into a small hallway, a storage unit of some sort, judging by the rest of the mauled bodies of various species.
Of all of the places to end up on a vacation, this is probably the most shite, other than the noodle incident. Shh – one of them is coming.”
*Wake up, darling.
Even when brought to my knees and forced into perpetual labor centuries ago, I refused to believe I was anything but royalty.
Work for your money, whore.
Had I known that the Battle of Queens to become Empress was but an experiment of the Demons to select the strongest of my kind, I would have intentionally died at the hands of my mother.
Life beyond victory was a string of disappointment. This resurrection of the Demon’s hunting game was no different, and was in fact a testament to my failure. Our most recent attempt to escape the clutches of our Demon “masters” resulted in a small victory involving both the murder of their Elder and the loss of our previous Alpha Male.
This was all because of the birth of my current Alpha Male, vermin born from the belly of the Demon Elder. His birth fueled the rage needed to glass the surface of my entire planet, but of course they saved me for further conquests, and in turn I was forced to keep the one born from the flames of the Demons. The only thing I could do was bestow upon him a symbolic title fitting his sin – Firehunter.
For an amount of time that I no longer cared to measure, I was routinely fed certain chemicals to further the mass production of my children for their sick games. Millions of my babies have been murdered
. My babies - my children
- there’s nothing so unforgivable, and not even the eternal raping of my underside has been as torturous as the loss of so many of my younglings while the Firehunter continues to live as a reminder of my most humiliating defeat.
These actions would have my internal flame rise rather than wane - not once have I weakened my will to survive. For as long as I can remember, the Demons have always won because I was never able to protect my children.
But no more.*
“Frequently, my dear audience, I notice my surroundings shift and shift and it’s very curious.
What does this mean, you think?
Nothing in this room has shifted, though I suspect there’s a reason for that. Our hallway was very stationary and vanilla – all of which was kept the same aside from the frequent production of giant leather bags calmly sliding in and out from what looks to be a conveyer belt. We’ve yet to see what’s kept in the bags and where they’re going. Fortunately, some of them make their stop at our hallway, one for each of us. Hopefully the contents of the sacks are useful, though we can’t say for certain, and – Oh! One of my colleagues’ bags is opening, how exciting!”
For an explanation, see page 3
of the OOC thread.