Many dark spirits lurked within the cursed woodlands. Cursed creatures of blood and slaughter, cruelty and woe, murder and viciousness.
Thus, Krevster was right at home.
First, he travelled the beaten path. Here was where there was the most travel. Here was where there would be the most scents. A good starting point. Blood and brimstone, scent of power, these were all uncommon scents in travellers. Shipments of the stone that burns would be uncommon between Marn & Shim, and few carts would carry the slain. With a little luck, they would find what they seek.
With less luck, they would know he was not here. Which gave them something to work with.
Pale light shone from above, dappled and muted by the green canopy above, casting a sickly light in the air and ground. Trees loomed menacingly, gnarled faces twisted into wooden grimaces and sneers to warn off the trespassing mortals.
Clad in armour marked with clashes of blood red and iron grey, with joints etched in gold, like the fierce face of a totem statue. His breastplate was predominently grey, cast in shape to mimic the muscles of his chest and shoulders, though in Krevster's case they struggled to fit them all in. On the center of his chest was the symbol of a blood-red teardrop.
Resting on his shoulder as he walked was a great sword of hewn black iron, jagged in edge, with the hilt made of the fused bones of children given in sacrifice. A cruel gleam showed on red glyphs on the blade.
"We march the road and back. Alert me of any scents of value you find." At the very least this would serve to eliminate possibilities.
Bloodseeking
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Shadowsong
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Bloodseeking
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
Re: Bloodseeking
Gia the wolf nodded and sighed, trotting off down the road with her nose to the ground. The wolf wanted to seek and find not a priest, but lunch, and Gia was having another mental argument with the creature when her nose pickied up something much different. She slowed a bit and lifted her snout an inch or so off the ground to better smell, and then tried to classify the scent in her mind,
Blood was certainly present, but the first thning that any werewolf would pick up under any circumstances was blood. She tried to push the bloodscent to the back of the scent field with little success as she searched through the rough trail. She slowed down to a walk as she followed the trail, searching and hunting with entirely her nose, shutting her eyes to better enhance the power of her smell.
There. Rusty-red flitered through the deep-and-yet-bright hue of blood as the smells painted a colorful picture inside her mind. And the slightly tingling and shining sensation of silvery-golden magic was there, not as though it had been used, but as though one with the magic had passed through. The wolf raised her head and looked back at Krevster, pinning her ears back at the sound of his armor.
She wondered if he would pick up what she was trying to say without her changing shape, as Mavarion had sort-of done. Gia decided to give it a shot and whined, scraping at the dirt with her paw. Here, the wolf tried to bark, scent here. Priest. Magic-user. Here. She whined again and nosed at the dirt, and barked a last 'here.'
Blood was certainly present, but the first thning that any werewolf would pick up under any circumstances was blood. She tried to push the bloodscent to the back of the scent field with little success as she searched through the rough trail. She slowed down to a walk as she followed the trail, searching and hunting with entirely her nose, shutting her eyes to better enhance the power of her smell.
There. Rusty-red flitered through the deep-and-yet-bright hue of blood as the smells painted a colorful picture inside her mind. And the slightly tingling and shining sensation of silvery-golden magic was there, not as though it had been used, but as though one with the magic had passed through. The wolf raised her head and looked back at Krevster, pinning her ears back at the sound of his armor.
She wondered if he would pick up what she was trying to say without her changing shape, as Mavarion had sort-of done. Gia decided to give it a shot and whined, scraping at the dirt with her paw. Here, the wolf tried to bark, scent here. Priest. Magic-user. Here. She whined again and nosed at the dirt, and barked a last 'here.'
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Phaloth Arnitel
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Re: Bloodseeking
When the were-creature had lightly raked her paws against the earth, a tussle of leaves and branches heralded the swelling of many birds ascending into the sickeningly nauseating light of the canopy above. Theirs was a panicked flight, indicated not only by the smell of pheromones to lupine noses but by the slightest indication of provocation. An eerie clime suddenly pervaded the area, gracing even the blindest individuals to this sort of metaphysical presence the subliminal insight that something evil was here.
Upon closer inspection, the unassisted eye would reveal blotches of crimson, flecked with the organic bits of what could only be described as gore, smeared across the leaves and the low-lying vegetation that sprung up around the towering trees. A path was laid before them; it was dense, but far from impassable. Even a half-hearted hack from a blade would clear a sizable portion of the obstacle before them. It trickled off into a trail that only grew more noticeable as the path went on. Soon, reddened splotches of semi-dried blood would be found adhered to the forest floor rather than the faintest trickle. Chunks of flesh, reduced to little more than globs of spaghetti-like sinew and cream colored fat, clung sickly to dead stumps and bushes. Even closer still were the bodies that these parts once belonged to.
Four men and a single woman; some of them looked as they did in life, robes stuck to their flesh like a suture is wrapped tightly around a wound. They were scattered around like an explosion, with no care as to their placement. Those that had some semblance of what they were in life (of which there were three) had their entrails ripped out from where their abdominal cavities were first punctured and then brutally torn into. Small intestines were brutally uncoiled and callously strung out across the leaves and branches close by; the other digestive organs were seemingly left for lent and were in compounded heaps close by to each body. Their chests were haphazardly stripped of the skin, sloppily exposing their bone-white ribcages to the open air. There were gaps in each of their ribcages, each about the size of a fist. Where their hearts should be was nothing but their rest of their pulpy and bloated dead vital organs. There were two other bodies in the clearing as well, with similar work performed on them. However, each of these souls had their faces brutalized beyond anything; the fourth male had his jaw haphazardly cut off from his face, left dangling to the side of his face in what appeared to be the permanent and quite literal smile from ear-to-ear. The woman had her eyes seemingly gouged out; the sockets that surrounded them were caved in and her face was nothing but a seeming bootprint rather than a former person's face.
At the heart of the carnage was Phaloth, who kneeled before a sickly burning flame that reeked of the hearts of each and every single soul there save his own. His whole body was noticeably trembling; even beneath the concealing, gore-covered orange robes the tremors resounded through him like an earthquake. Pure exaltation moved through his veins. His breaths came in ragged, shallow bursts---whenever he breathed at all, of course, when his jubilee preceded the simple function of performing the body's simplest and most autonomous function. Long blades of what could only be described as bone emerged from underneath of his sleeves, each one coated in a thick layer of semi-dried blood.
There was the slightest inclination of his head in the general direction of those coming. Through the haze of joy, he could feel them there; the life that pulsated through their veins, the hearts that beat in their chests. His contact with Anga not only magnified his own happiness, but also the way he perceives the world around him. The crown that was buried and molded around the skin and bone of his skull reflected the light of the fire like a dying, blood-spattered sun. A broad smile was plastered across his face, one clearly seen because one of his former followers had cold-cocked him and tore off a chunk of his black veil; his insane smile was thinly concealed by a couple rows of stringed teeth.
There were more.
There would always be more for his Goddess.
Fatigued as he was from the killing, Phaloth lurched to his feet unsteadily and bent over. He laughed a little bit at the irony of his faith, and how it burned within his veins even now when his body was at the peak of its performance. Fingers clenched and unclenched; unconsciously, his ability to shape his own flesh kicked in and each movement harmlessly peeled back the skin and muscle to reveal the sharp bone underneath. The Bodycrafter took a couple of swerving steps forward, heading in the general direction of those who would dare find him.
Upon closer inspection, the unassisted eye would reveal blotches of crimson, flecked with the organic bits of what could only be described as gore, smeared across the leaves and the low-lying vegetation that sprung up around the towering trees. A path was laid before them; it was dense, but far from impassable. Even a half-hearted hack from a blade would clear a sizable portion of the obstacle before them. It trickled off into a trail that only grew more noticeable as the path went on. Soon, reddened splotches of semi-dried blood would be found adhered to the forest floor rather than the faintest trickle. Chunks of flesh, reduced to little more than globs of spaghetti-like sinew and cream colored fat, clung sickly to dead stumps and bushes. Even closer still were the bodies that these parts once belonged to.
Four men and a single woman; some of them looked as they did in life, robes stuck to their flesh like a suture is wrapped tightly around a wound. They were scattered around like an explosion, with no care as to their placement. Those that had some semblance of what they were in life (of which there were three) had their entrails ripped out from where their abdominal cavities were first punctured and then brutally torn into. Small intestines were brutally uncoiled and callously strung out across the leaves and branches close by; the other digestive organs were seemingly left for lent and were in compounded heaps close by to each body. Their chests were haphazardly stripped of the skin, sloppily exposing their bone-white ribcages to the open air. There were gaps in each of their ribcages, each about the size of a fist. Where their hearts should be was nothing but their rest of their pulpy and bloated dead vital organs. There were two other bodies in the clearing as well, with similar work performed on them. However, each of these souls had their faces brutalized beyond anything; the fourth male had his jaw haphazardly cut off from his face, left dangling to the side of his face in what appeared to be the permanent and quite literal smile from ear-to-ear. The woman had her eyes seemingly gouged out; the sockets that surrounded them were caved in and her face was nothing but a seeming bootprint rather than a former person's face.
At the heart of the carnage was Phaloth, who kneeled before a sickly burning flame that reeked of the hearts of each and every single soul there save his own. His whole body was noticeably trembling; even beneath the concealing, gore-covered orange robes the tremors resounded through him like an earthquake. Pure exaltation moved through his veins. His breaths came in ragged, shallow bursts---whenever he breathed at all, of course, when his jubilee preceded the simple function of performing the body's simplest and most autonomous function. Long blades of what could only be described as bone emerged from underneath of his sleeves, each one coated in a thick layer of semi-dried blood.
There was the slightest inclination of his head in the general direction of those coming. Through the haze of joy, he could feel them there; the life that pulsated through their veins, the hearts that beat in their chests. His contact with Anga not only magnified his own happiness, but also the way he perceives the world around him. The crown that was buried and molded around the skin and bone of his skull reflected the light of the fire like a dying, blood-spattered sun. A broad smile was plastered across his face, one clearly seen because one of his former followers had cold-cocked him and tore off a chunk of his black veil; his insane smile was thinly concealed by a couple rows of stringed teeth.
There were more.
There would always be more for his Goddess.
Fatigued as he was from the killing, Phaloth lurched to his feet unsteadily and bent over. He laughed a little bit at the irony of his faith, and how it burned within his veins even now when his body was at the peak of its performance. Fingers clenched and unclenched; unconsciously, his ability to shape his own flesh kicked in and each movement harmlessly peeled back the skin and muscle to reveal the sharp bone underneath. The Bodycrafter took a couple of swerving steps forward, heading in the general direction of those who would dare find him.
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Shadowsong
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Re: Bloodseeking
All Krevster saw was the antics of a canine seeking attention for something. While he had no inner sense of what the werewolf was trying to say, he knew it was trying to communicate something of interest. Which was all he needed to know.
Nod.
The great black iron sword was shifted into a more cautious, guard-like position as he advanced to what the wolf had found. A feeling settled upon him, an instinct, something he could not quite identify with his conscious mind but was aware of all the same.
Which was why the carnage ahead came as no surprise. Flecks of blood on the ground, trusting Gia to observe the trail, Krevster kept his flambard ready and focused his attention on the potential threat present. She could lead him. The thought running through his mind was that it was entirely possible to be too successful in the search for primal evil.
Rather than a hack with the blade, he simply siezed a handful of brush in a gauntleted fist and wrenched the obstruction from his path.
Something was ahead.
"Fire." whispered Krevster, guessing that wolf ears would be an advantage in this.
Finally, blood and viscera were strewn around corpses found in a scene which donned the guise of random savagery. Dark, hissing voices drifted through his mind. Sacrifice.
He smiled.
So the advancing figure was now an iron-clad colossus topped with a ram-skull helm, vast horns curled over the sides of his head to flank his bestial mask.
The smile remained.
"Well done." he congratulated the werewolf, "Now for the priest's task." This was intended to be heard, and to intrigue a hidden listener. Or, the site of this glorious havoc would have a more definite trail to follow.
Nod.
The great black iron sword was shifted into a more cautious, guard-like position as he advanced to what the wolf had found. A feeling settled upon him, an instinct, something he could not quite identify with his conscious mind but was aware of all the same.
Which was why the carnage ahead came as no surprise. Flecks of blood on the ground, trusting Gia to observe the trail, Krevster kept his flambard ready and focused his attention on the potential threat present. She could lead him. The thought running through his mind was that it was entirely possible to be too successful in the search for primal evil.
Rather than a hack with the blade, he simply siezed a handful of brush in a gauntleted fist and wrenched the obstruction from his path.
Something was ahead.
"Fire." whispered Krevster, guessing that wolf ears would be an advantage in this.
Finally, blood and viscera were strewn around corpses found in a scene which donned the guise of random savagery. Dark, hissing voices drifted through his mind. Sacrifice.
He smiled.
So the advancing figure was now an iron-clad colossus topped with a ram-skull helm, vast horns curled over the sides of his head to flank his bestial mask.
The smile remained.
"Well done." he congratulated the werewolf, "Now for the priest's task." This was intended to be heard, and to intrigue a hidden listener. Or, the site of this glorious havoc would have a more definite trail to follow.
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
Re: Bloodseeking
Gia whined, not inclined to give up the wolf shape. The wolf could run farther and faster then the human, and could fight better, but she had the disadvantage of extremely acute hearing. She knew that she was helping Krevster, which was all she wished to do, but... the smells wracked at her nose, and she let a quiet whine escape.
They were now in a clearing, and the smell of reeking dead bodies surrounded the wolf, who didn't appriciate it. Also, it gave the creature a sense of bloodlust, which she felt was the general feeling in the clearing. And there was that other smell also, coming and drifting lightly through the heady scent of blood...
The scent of Mavarion. Or, not really his scent, but one who was like Mavarion would be nice to her, right? She quickened her pace as she drew near to the priest, resisting the urge to greet him as the wolf-kind does, with a lick on the face and a happy whimper. She restrained herself, sensing that something was different about this priest, but she couldn't hold back the slight tail wag that the wolf was prone to do.
The clearing was filled with the silver-gold magic scent, and it made Gia happy. She held onto the dignified wolf, but being in the presence of other magic-users was always exciting for the werewolf. She stopped about eight feet in front of the priest and eyed him, wondering how he would greet her. Although, he didn't look all that welcoming... She tossed a glance at Krevster and then looked back at the priest.
They were now in a clearing, and the smell of reeking dead bodies surrounded the wolf, who didn't appriciate it. Also, it gave the creature a sense of bloodlust, which she felt was the general feeling in the clearing. And there was that other smell also, coming and drifting lightly through the heady scent of blood...
The scent of Mavarion. Or, not really his scent, but one who was like Mavarion would be nice to her, right? She quickened her pace as she drew near to the priest, resisting the urge to greet him as the wolf-kind does, with a lick on the face and a happy whimper. She restrained herself, sensing that something was different about this priest, but she couldn't hold back the slight tail wag that the wolf was prone to do.
The clearing was filled with the silver-gold magic scent, and it made Gia happy. She held onto the dignified wolf, but being in the presence of other magic-users was always exciting for the werewolf. She stopped about eight feet in front of the priest and eyed him, wondering how he would greet her. Although, he didn't look all that welcoming... She tossed a glance at Krevster and then looked back at the priest.
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Phaloth Arnitel
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Re: Bloodseeking
Phaloth suddenly stopped when he saw the wolf emerge from the brush. A creature from the woods, coming out to survey his handiwork? No, no; Phaloth looked at the creature more closely, tried to discern it with the heightened senses that were rapidly fading away with the ebb and tide of his calm, that thin veneer of sanity returning. There was something coldly intelligent about the creature; the way it stopped and observed him and the work that he had done. It didn't growl, scamper off, or seem otherwise bothered by the magic that he knew clung in the air like molasses. It appeared excited, like some derelict stray getting attention. The Bodycrafter's head lilted off to the side very slowly. It was hard to pin anything on the strange creature's activities when his mind was so deliciously alive from Anga's touch.
As he stared at the creature and tried to make sense of it, his breathing slowed to a shuddering half-normalcy. A contrail of grime-laced sweat trickled down his half-exposed cheek. From his unconscious movement of his fingers rubbing up against each other, skeletal claws had emerged; absently, he clenched them at the joints. He stalked towards the creature carefully, cautiously. Phaloth held an arm out to the side, his blood soaked bone-blade pointing at the ground like an accusation. The wolf's tail was half-wagging and its lupine face remained soft with that canine excitement that animals have when they are docile. The intent to kill was raw and palpable, clinging to his skin and his body language.
Just when Phaloth had closed the gap, a large demon clad in the malefic armor emerged from the brush; he was the second presence that Phaloth was aware of just moments ago. Phaloth doubled back immediately, raising the arm that he had poised to strike down the wolf with in front of him defensively.
As he stared at the creature and tried to make sense of it, his breathing slowed to a shuddering half-normalcy. A contrail of grime-laced sweat trickled down his half-exposed cheek. From his unconscious movement of his fingers rubbing up against each other, skeletal claws had emerged; absently, he clenched them at the joints. He stalked towards the creature carefully, cautiously. Phaloth held an arm out to the side, his blood soaked bone-blade pointing at the ground like an accusation. The wolf's tail was half-wagging and its lupine face remained soft with that canine excitement that animals have when they are docile. The intent to kill was raw and palpable, clinging to his skin and his body language.
Just when Phaloth had closed the gap, a large demon clad in the malefic armor emerged from the brush; he was the second presence that Phaloth was aware of just moments ago. Phaloth doubled back immediately, raising the arm that he had poised to strike down the wolf with in front of him defensively.
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Shadowsong
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- Race: Human
Re: Bloodseeking
Quailing was very useful. Very useful indeed.
Before, he had planned to approach the priest in a suitably respectful manner, seeking favour and making offers. But a simple flinch had changed that in an instant. Krevster had control. Control! Control through fear. While limited in his knowledge of dark gods, Krevster felt sure an emissary of the infernal powers would easily start ordering the priest around.
Why not? Such fun.
An incline of the helm gazed clearly from wolf to priest, once and then twice. The black sword with crimson glyphs levelled ready until the stranger was no longer a threat to Gia. "Better, priest." The mighty sword lifted to rest on his shoulder again. "Now for an altar. You will make what preparations are needed." The demonic figure glowered from within the face-concealing rams-helm.
Before, he had planned to approach the priest in a suitably respectful manner, seeking favour and making offers. But a simple flinch had changed that in an instant. Krevster had control. Control! Control through fear. While limited in his knowledge of dark gods, Krevster felt sure an emissary of the infernal powers would easily start ordering the priest around.
Why not? Such fun.
An incline of the helm gazed clearly from wolf to priest, once and then twice. The black sword with crimson glyphs levelled ready until the stranger was no longer a threat to Gia. "Better, priest." The mighty sword lifted to rest on his shoulder again. "Now for an altar. You will make what preparations are needed." The demonic figure glowered from within the face-concealing rams-helm.
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
Re: Bloodseeking
Gia yelped and threw herself backwards when Krev jumped out in front of her. She had started backing away slightly (well, she had thought about it) when the priest moved towards her with a not-friendly and not-Mavarion expression on his face, but she hadn't expected him to actually do anything to her. She was a wolf, right? She was a feared beast!
Gia stifled a barking laugh at herself. Feared beast? Where was she coming up with that. She was just a simple werewolf, when all was said and done. She turned her attention back to the scene in front of her, and walked closer to Krevster's side, placing herself behind him on his left, ears forward and alert at the priest, a slight raising of her upper lip warning him that she didn't trust him.
She had learned something. It was bad to think that just because he smelled like Mavarion that he would be nice to her. And he smelled like he was in control, at least until Krevster had come to her defense. Now her master was in control! Gia was happy about that, because it was how it should be. She served the best leader, and that was Krevster.
Also, Krev had come to her defense, another thing that good leaders did when they could see a threat to their subordinants. Gia was proud to serve under Krevster, and she stood at his side with her small snarl beginning with a deep growl in her throat directed at the priest who was not Mavarion.
Gia stifled a barking laugh at herself. Feared beast? Where was she coming up with that. She was just a simple werewolf, when all was said and done. She turned her attention back to the scene in front of her, and walked closer to Krevster's side, placing herself behind him on his left, ears forward and alert at the priest, a slight raising of her upper lip warning him that she didn't trust him.
She had learned something. It was bad to think that just because he smelled like Mavarion that he would be nice to her. And he smelled like he was in control, at least until Krevster had come to her defense. Now her master was in control! Gia was happy about that, because it was how it should be. She served the best leader, and that was Krevster.
Also, Krev had come to her defense, another thing that good leaders did when they could see a threat to their subordinants. Gia was proud to serve under Krevster, and she stood at his side with her small snarl beginning with a deep growl in her throat directed at the priest who was not Mavarion.
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Phaloth Arnitel
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Re: Bloodseeking
At that, Phaloth's head lowered. Through what was left of the opaque veil dangling from the nook of his crown, the Bodycrafter's face had noticeably tightened into an angry pinch. The one in the helm did little more than startle him when he emerged from the brush; judging from the tone of his voice and the syntax of his phrasing, he must've thought that there was fear in instilled wholly in the priest of Anga. To think that this...man and his little pet could cow him into submission and build of them an altar for which suited their purposes. Unconsciously, the exposed bones on his fingers seemed to what could be best described as melting. It looked waxen, like a candle without a wick burning and retaining it's mass.
Then, Phaloth thought for a moment. An altar? Yes, he had seen an altar within the planes of his mind. Anga had blessed him with this glorious task soon after her influence had subsided. Could they have possibly been visited by the same, wonderful Goddess as he? Slowly, his face softened into a measure of consideration.
"You," Phaloth began, lowering his arm down to the side and noticeably relaxing, "Presume much of me, my lord." The icy cold demeanor that he had retained in the sacrifices washed over him with the rapid celerity of a waterfall splashing over his skin.
"You speak of an altar?" he asked.
Then, Phaloth thought for a moment. An altar? Yes, he had seen an altar within the planes of his mind. Anga had blessed him with this glorious task soon after her influence had subsided. Could they have possibly been visited by the same, wonderful Goddess as he? Slowly, his face softened into a measure of consideration.
"You," Phaloth began, lowering his arm down to the side and noticeably relaxing, "Presume much of me, my lord." The icy cold demeanor that he had retained in the sacrifices washed over him with the rapid celerity of a waterfall splashing over his skin.
"You speak of an altar?" he asked.
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Shadowsong
- Citizen
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- Race: Human
Re: Bloodseeking
Beneath his helm, the smile spread, his usual reaction to a challenge. Rather than be offended, he looked upon intimidation as a sport, enjoying the challenge of frightening people. Normally, 'challenge' was an inaccurate word on the subject of Krevster intimidating people. Still, this priest showed spine, which perhaps was good. Snivelling invertebrates would be of no use to him or the dark powers.
The ram-like helm swivelled to survey the beautiful carnage which had been wrought. They were all wearing robes. Robes similar enough to the priests to suggest they were once follower cultists. By the manner of their deaths, he knew which hand had caused them.
So they had been sacrificed. His own cult. This was more reason to be wary, because the priest had slain his own followers, so would easily do the same to allies. The question was, why?
On a guess, any priest so shortsighted would struggle to gather his cult in the first place. So...
"I presume," he stated, his voice like the grinding of stone jaws, a living sacrificial totem statue speaking, "... you have a way to serve Goddess Angatdan besides to die screaming as tribute for her pleasure." Of course, the priest could always correct him...
Slowly, he continued. "Preparing and tending to an altar for her would be one such way. We have a site suitable." Crouching beside Gia, he petted the Child of Fenris with the leather palm of his iron gauntlet while keeping his eyes fixed on the cleric. "Attacking one of the Fury of Blood is not." The gentle motion contrasted with his otherwise murderous and menacing demeanor.
The ram-like helm swivelled to survey the beautiful carnage which had been wrought. They were all wearing robes. Robes similar enough to the priests to suggest they were once follower cultists. By the manner of their deaths, he knew which hand had caused them.
So they had been sacrificed. His own cult. This was more reason to be wary, because the priest had slain his own followers, so would easily do the same to allies. The question was, why?
On a guess, any priest so shortsighted would struggle to gather his cult in the first place. So...
"I presume," he stated, his voice like the grinding of stone jaws, a living sacrificial totem statue speaking, "... you have a way to serve Goddess Angatdan besides to die screaming as tribute for her pleasure." Of course, the priest could always correct him...
Slowly, he continued. "Preparing and tending to an altar for her would be one such way. We have a site suitable." Crouching beside Gia, he petted the Child of Fenris with the leather palm of his iron gauntlet while keeping his eyes fixed on the cleric. "Attacking one of the Fury of Blood is not." The gentle motion contrasted with his otherwise murderous and menacing demeanor.
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
Re: Bloodseeking
Gia leaned happily into Krevster's leather-clad palm, glad that she could be of service. And she was being rewarded, when the priest was getting told off! Gia was very proud of herself. She was surprised by the lofty titles that Krevster seemed to like bestowing on her... 'Child of Fenris' he had called her back in the temple, and now it was 'one of the Fury of Blood.' She wasn't sure she deserved those names, but she took them anyway. The wolf liked them.
She trained her eyes on the priest. His hands were strange, especially since he smelled somewhat human, and humans didn't typically have shards of exposed bone as their paws... hands. Gia knew that she needed to get out of wolf shape soon, but thought that it would be a little awkward right then, and decided to hold onto the lupine body for a while yet.
The wolf didn't like this priest. He smelled wrong... well, Mavarion had smelled wrong as well, but this priest smelled wrong-er. The wolf bared her teeth at the priest, and then Gia smoothed the shared face out again. She wanted to at least pretend to play nice.
More importantly to the wolf, this man had killed his own cult, which was like his pack. A wolf only turned on its own when there was a madness in its blood, and so this man was obviously insane. Maybe he had rabies... she took a sniff, but he didn't smell like rabies. Some other madness, then. Gia wracked her brain for illnesses as she listened to the exchange of talk between the two men.
She trained her eyes on the priest. His hands were strange, especially since he smelled somewhat human, and humans didn't typically have shards of exposed bone as their paws... hands. Gia knew that she needed to get out of wolf shape soon, but thought that it would be a little awkward right then, and decided to hold onto the lupine body for a while yet.
The wolf didn't like this priest. He smelled wrong... well, Mavarion had smelled wrong as well, but this priest smelled wrong-er. The wolf bared her teeth at the priest, and then Gia smoothed the shared face out again. She wanted to at least pretend to play nice.
More importantly to the wolf, this man had killed his own cult, which was like his pack. A wolf only turned on its own when there was a madness in its blood, and so this man was obviously insane. Maybe he had rabies... she took a sniff, but he didn't smell like rabies. Some other madness, then. Gia wracked her brain for illnesses as she listened to the exchange of talk between the two men.
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Phaloth Arnitel
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- Joined: Wed Feb 06, 2008 2:34 am
Re: Bloodseeking
Phaloth regarded both of the individuals in front of him. Underneath of that thin veneer of black, his expression was as blank and as empty as the eyes of those that he had slain. The dual ecstasies of his all-too human adrenaline and the primordial touch of the Goddess drained out of him with the slowness of a shallow cut's blood. The skin on his hand stopped "melting" and dangled there, limply and uselessly, in the air; control had returned there. They were going to kill him? On what basis did they have to do this? What right do they have to stay his hand and keep him away from the glorious destiny that had been ordained for him by the very Goddess that had told him to kill these people? This man and his dog, they were fools.
In fact, they were so foolish, that it made the Bodycrafter laugh. It wasn't a hearty laugh, tinged gaily with the trappings of all that is nice and pure. The laughing was loud, hoarse, strained at the top of his lungs. In other people, it would've sounded almost as if it were forced. But to Phaloth, it was as close to sincere and as close to human as one could get. When it became too much to bear on his tired body, he doubled over and fell to his knees. Tears were streaming down his face and pain flared across his features, it almost becoming to much to bear on his lungs.
Finally, the priest of Anga stopped laughing and he began to speak back. "Die screaming in the name of Anga?" He snorted and shook his head, taking a deep and shuddering breath. Wet, dirt-streaked trails could be seen on his half-covered face. "My lord, with all due respect, I prefer to have others do it in my stead.
"Actions speak much louder than words; those who follow me believe wholeheartedly in this, for it is the will of Angatdan to reward those that act in her name rather than speak of it. I am a man of action; I wonder, which are you...?" He left the sentence dangling and he turned his back to them. The inflection in his voice, the tone of each word, slowly died a strangling death as calmness returned to him. Once again, it became as cold and as detached as it had before with the man and the slab.
He knelt in front of the female that he had utterly devastated, staring intently at her.
In fact, they were so foolish, that it made the Bodycrafter laugh. It wasn't a hearty laugh, tinged gaily with the trappings of all that is nice and pure. The laughing was loud, hoarse, strained at the top of his lungs. In other people, it would've sounded almost as if it were forced. But to Phaloth, it was as close to sincere and as close to human as one could get. When it became too much to bear on his tired body, he doubled over and fell to his knees. Tears were streaming down his face and pain flared across his features, it almost becoming to much to bear on his lungs.
Finally, the priest of Anga stopped laughing and he began to speak back. "Die screaming in the name of Anga?" He snorted and shook his head, taking a deep and shuddering breath. Wet, dirt-streaked trails could be seen on his half-covered face. "My lord, with all due respect, I prefer to have others do it in my stead.
"Actions speak much louder than words; those who follow me believe wholeheartedly in this, for it is the will of Angatdan to reward those that act in her name rather than speak of it. I am a man of action; I wonder, which are you...?" He left the sentence dangling and he turned his back to them. The inflection in his voice, the tone of each word, slowly died a strangling death as calmness returned to him. Once again, it became as cold and as detached as it had before with the man and the slab.
He knelt in front of the female that he had utterly devastated, staring intently at her.
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Shadowsong
- Citizen
- Posts: 193
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 3:28 am
- Race: Human
Re: Bloodseeking
Insanity. Oh joy. This kept getting better and better.
His madness was a concern to him because the guy had killed his own followers. Were a sane man to turn on his allies there would be reason, which Krevster could accept, and plan around the reasons. But this man was one who could turn against them for no particular reason. That made him dangerous.
"Action. I am working to provide the goddess with an altar." By now, Krevster was getting angry, and it was showing in the sound of his voice. "You can either act in her name by beginning on the altar, or you can speak of it by continuing to whine at me!" What started as merely a firm statement grew into a yell.
The immense sword was now held in both fists, black blade gleaming with red sigils. This was not a deliberate threat, instead being an outlet for his anger and a preparation in case the lunatic priest decided to attack.
Then he spoke to Gia, having only left her out of the conversation because a wolf had limited capacity to participate. "We can start again if this priest is liability, my friend." This was one assurance he could offer. Significance to Anga or not, he actually liked the werewolf.
His madness was a concern to him because the guy had killed his own followers. Were a sane man to turn on his allies there would be reason, which Krevster could accept, and plan around the reasons. But this man was one who could turn against them for no particular reason. That made him dangerous.
"Action. I am working to provide the goddess with an altar." By now, Krevster was getting angry, and it was showing in the sound of his voice. "You can either act in her name by beginning on the altar, or you can speak of it by continuing to whine at me!" What started as merely a firm statement grew into a yell.
The immense sword was now held in both fists, black blade gleaming with red sigils. This was not a deliberate threat, instead being an outlet for his anger and a preparation in case the lunatic priest decided to attack.
Then he spoke to Gia, having only left her out of the conversation because a wolf had limited capacity to participate. "We can start again if this priest is liability, my friend." This was one assurance he could offer. Significance to Anga or not, he actually liked the werewolf.
If violence is not the answer, you have asked me the wrong question.
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Phaloth Arnitel
- Outsider
- Posts: 16
- Joined: Wed Feb 06, 2008 2:34 am
Re: Bloodseeking
"These fools won't do," Phaloth murmured, staring vacantly into the butchered face of the woman he had slain. Bony fingertips touched the battered indentation that was left in her face, made possible only by the sole of his boot. They moved right along, bumping across the ridges, the broken bones, and the lacerations, all the way to where her eyes once were. Little insects were already clambering to and fro across the body, an alien mass, an obstacle, and a nesting ground all rolled into one meaty and devastated package.
"No. They were merely a test of my worth. Angatdan asked of me if I were her agent; when I said 'yes,' she told me to slay each and every one of these..." He stopped for a minute and laughed as he looked upon his own hands. Skin dangled useless off of them, like wet and elasticated clay. "Followers, as she so delicately put it. But they're trash. All of them, worthless."
The priest suddenly spit voraciously on the dead woman's corpse and then stood up to give it a snap kick to the side of the head. There was a sickening "crack!" and the body flopping off indignantly on to its side. Phaloth turned around in time just to see the man in the armor grip his blade and make it glow with an infernal light.
It was in his lucidity that Phaloth truly wondered: Could the man in the armor truly be the warrior he seeks?
"Have you seen Her, my lord?" the priest asked, simply. "Felt her inching through every pore and every fiber of your being? Has she spoken to you?"
"No. They were merely a test of my worth. Angatdan asked of me if I were her agent; when I said 'yes,' she told me to slay each and every one of these..." He stopped for a minute and laughed as he looked upon his own hands. Skin dangled useless off of them, like wet and elasticated clay. "Followers, as she so delicately put it. But they're trash. All of them, worthless."
The priest suddenly spit voraciously on the dead woman's corpse and then stood up to give it a snap kick to the side of the head. There was a sickening "crack!" and the body flopping off indignantly on to its side. Phaloth turned around in time just to see the man in the armor grip his blade and make it glow with an infernal light.
It was in his lucidity that Phaloth truly wondered: Could the man in the armor truly be the warrior he seeks?
"Have you seen Her, my lord?" the priest asked, simply. "Felt her inching through every pore and every fiber of your being? Has she spoken to you?"
Re: Bloodseeking
Gia was still trying to decide what kind of mental illness the priest was suffering under. She'd run through most of them in her mind, and had ruled out many of them like rabies and toxoplasmosis, which would both cause mental instabilities. Canine distemper seemed rather unlikely, but it messed with the nervous system of the infected being, so that would explain the melting-hands thing, which humans didn't usually do.
But when he had let loose with that laugh thing, Gia realized that maybe he'd had kennel cough or bordatella, the lesser form of kennel cough. She pinned her ears back and tried to breathe lightly, to prevent him from infecting her with his multitude of diseases. Or maybe he had parainfluenza...
Gia backed up a little and stifled a whine. She shook her head when Krev addressed her about finding a different priest. She was starting to not like the breed of the priest. They seemed to have problems, like the kind that would get a dog put into an isolation kennel. Gia didn't want to bother finding another one, possibly one who had even more issues than did this crazed creature.
She began to wonder about holding her breath when he started touching the bodies lying around him. They smelled really horrible, and Fenris knew what kind of diseases they carried. She couldn't pick out specific illnesses, but she knew that if they'd had anything, this mad priest would certainly be infected with them. Rabies spread like wildfire in most situations, so she began to think about his diseases again and went and sat upwind of the stench. Or tried to. She looked briefly at Krev for instructions and then pinned her ears back as tightly as they would go in case he laughed again and narrowed her eyes.
But when he had let loose with that laugh thing, Gia realized that maybe he'd had kennel cough or bordatella, the lesser form of kennel cough. She pinned her ears back and tried to breathe lightly, to prevent him from infecting her with his multitude of diseases. Or maybe he had parainfluenza...
Gia backed up a little and stifled a whine. She shook her head when Krev addressed her about finding a different priest. She was starting to not like the breed of the priest. They seemed to have problems, like the kind that would get a dog put into an isolation kennel. Gia didn't want to bother finding another one, possibly one who had even more issues than did this crazed creature.
She began to wonder about holding her breath when he started touching the bodies lying around him. They smelled really horrible, and Fenris knew what kind of diseases they carried. She couldn't pick out specific illnesses, but she knew that if they'd had anything, this mad priest would certainly be infected with them. Rabies spread like wildfire in most situations, so she began to think about his diseases again and went and sat upwind of the stench. Or tried to. She looked briefly at Krev for instructions and then pinned her ears back as tightly as they would go in case he laughed again and narrowed her eyes.
rent-a-werewolf