Fantasy Let Me Sustain You

[Malhyanth]

This roleplay is for Malhyanth and unais
Please do not enter this RP unless expressly invited.
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This roleplay is a fantasy roleplay based around a medieval styled world. Within it there are a multitude of races, magics, and roles to be fulfilled.
Religions, cults, tribes, civilisations are all broad and varied, much like the types of people that live in this world.
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The night was thick with fog, saturating everything it touched with a fine dusting of water droplets, which gathered, wetting further the pelts of animals that walked through the sodden forest, avoiding the boggy areas, and within, the glow which lit up the fog like a beacon, a gold-red glow which seemed impossible in this wet. The flames were protected in a built up wall of rock and stone, mud built up around the wall, to stop water vapours putting out what little warmth was being eked from the small flames. It was fed by dried fungus, the only kindling that had lit in this dampness, and a few rolls of thick bark; enough energy to heat through the bowl of water and herbage that sat upon the wet through slats of wood, and created a soothing tea.

Using fingers calloused with time and wear, the man at the fire picked up the bowl being used to heat the tea without so much as a flinch. Across his shoulders, and over his head, the pelt of some large carnivore resided, the pelt attached to a skull which was situated over his face, obscuring his appearance, making him appear like a beast. As he moved, his wrists and neck made hollowing clanking and clocking sounds; reams of bracelets and necklaces of various little bones shifting about, and rattling. Large hands tugged the pelt leather closer, water rolling off his back. Sipping the bowl, pale skin flashed for a moment; cleaner than the arms of feet that were revealed, covered in the muck of the loamy earth around him.

The tea was warming, and sharp teeth clacked for a moment, as he chomped on a sprig of herb, a wild mint with woody stem, and broad leaves, withered somewhat by the boil. Mottled eyes of ice blue and dusky pink peered from beneath the skull of the animal whose pelt he wore as a shield to the weather. Behind the hunched shape, a thrown together teepee type tent rocked gently in the winds that whipped through the trees, the large branches and trunks bent to shape to create it, holding within an over the shoulder sack, with items needed for a meal and the tea strawn around within easy reach. Within the wall of rocks and mud, the sizzle of meat rendering could be heard, wrapped within thick leaves that were too wet to catch, but was heating through wonderfully for his meal to cook. He would have usually eaten fish like this raw, but with the cold and wet seeping into his very bones, he couldn't resist using the fire for more than just tea.

The fog around him made viewing the surroundings difficult, and dampened all sound. Beside him, on the ground, a long machete of bone lay, within even easier grasp than the food items behind in the tent. He sipped his tea again, drinking deeper when he realised it was chilling quicker than anticipated. Reaching back, he grabbed a skewer of bone, reaching into the built up fire pit, moving the wrapped leaf around, listening to the way it sizzled, and withdrew, redness from the heat showing through the mud. The large man huffed, rolling his shoulders and causing water to shift from the pelt again, pooling around him. The tent behind kept some of the fog off him, but the whole area was damp, and the feral man had to admit he was not happy about being so sodden. Bored of waiting for his meal, he reached in and brought the packaged meal up to his waiting lap, snatching at it as steam forced its way through, and singed his fingertips. Leaving it open for a moment, he started to dig in with his fingers, the fillets of fish he'd pared off succulent and juicy. He was completely unaware of the danger he could be in here.

 

[unais]

Bottles dropped softly onto the peat and slopped under the black murky water. A hand touched along the trees in stumbled steps, black marks curling down the bark into the wood and seeping away into the thick, wet air.

This body had been dragged from where it lay, alone, in the fog; and it had walked. But it was not whole. The legs pulled up through the black murk, just freeing it from the grasp that sucked it in. It left strings of black water running down the calves. Both shoes pulled from her feet, torn, dragged down by mud. The body stopped in the mud for a moment, having trouble. These legs had no strength. The front of the legs missed their flesh. A leg jittered and dragged forward.

Untarnished flesh popped through the opened seam of the sleeve wrapped around the shoulder, and held the arm to the body as the strings slowly snapped, freeing its movement. The linens gaped open; gray, wet with dew and dirty water, stained with black dirt and darkened with blood. The tunic hung in twain, held only to the body by the belt wrapped across it. The thick leather hide seeped through with blood, and a heavy bag dangled; straps snapped and teetering with its contents slipping through the cracks. A cold warm blood followed drop for step. It pumped steadily through the opened side of this body; raw ribs exposed beside skin with deep mottled bruises that spread from neck to legs. It pumped slowly. And the body moved slowly. There was nothing aware. A dull felt sensation of floating. Cold was somewhere, an unperturbed, immutable part of the world itself.

There was a woman inhabiting. This body was hers. But her mind was muted, as if asleep. Buried like the legs that slogged through the deep mud. But something else was stirring these thoughts, puppeting these movements. Looking for something else.

A stumble, just a pause.

The wind rattled the trees over them. The footsteps unheard in this living noise, softened by the fog that isolated everything to a world beheld every two steps. A smell came, warm. It held this nose. It was not what was being searched for, but steps padded toward it; as it caught the attention of the mind that walked now. It brought attention to a light.

The body approached. Step by step. Piece by piece. One shoe tore soundlessly free of its bearer, left behind hulled and sodden with mud. Something dark swirled around the light it ambled towards. Something heavy. More powerful. But the mind that walked now knew desperation and pressed onward. This body was dying. The toes and hands touched something and halted.

The eyes began to see what was in front of it. A wet, smooth tarp of leather held fixedly against the aching fog. The hands eked upward, crawling slowly over the surface. They shed no more wet blood from the exposed fingers, but left faint crusted trails over the wet grit of leather. The light was right behind this. The tarp pulsed against the hands, pressed, and it felt against it slowly, understanding it as real. Thoughts were ticking. Voiceless, thoughts picking at the body like twitches and instincts. The wind blew. The tent pushed against its palms, and the mind felt a drop as the flesh slipped through the surface as if it had parted open. The body stumbled, soundless steps floating over the brambled ground. The next flap was the same. Moved through, the open tarp shuddering as if for a slight wind.

A pelt. A dead creature in front of her. The mind tick-tocked. The light was right behind it; glowing, effervescent in its glory. The body walked forward. The other shoe caught, rematerialized, and the body fell into the cloak and lay halfway into it as if the cloak had fallen and sliced this body in two. The white light was beside this body, blinding in its intensity and vicinity. The hand of fingers with flesh ripped away traced up, barely felt the wet, cold leg it witnessed. The body lifted towards it to take ahold of what was there. By ant means. The teeth found purchase, and something spoke like an instinct. Bite down.

Teeth raked down the leg that kicked back from her body. It had pulled it from him. The white light was hot, wet, warm and alive in her mouth. The other mind that swam in a distant scape wanted to let go; but the body balked and swallowed. The blood was warm, the taste sharp and distant. A warmth chased through the neck into the veins, beating with new blood, pulsing with something else. It was... alive.

It lashed. Faster than he. Another bite into the open wound from which poured a hot, fading light. It dragged itself up, pulling down the cloak that surrounded him, blinding him, disconnecting the worn skull. An arm that groped for vision appeared close and a rack of teeth gnashed down what it could, taking a mouthful; trying for another. He wrenched her from him easily. It was a woman. Her grip weak as one. Her body light as one. But it beat with his blood and its fingers ripped into his arm, a gray scaled flesh wrapping around her bones and making them whole. They punctured him with a familiar strength that was his own.

The other hand pushed his throat away from his arm it claimed for itself. It dragged this tongue up the arm, desperate for the blood that poured freely. Sapping that aliveness, taking it for itself. Its pulse beat faster. The side of the body knitted with a gray flesh forming over the bones. It melded with the pale white and pink flesh that started to beat with new blood; began to awaken with the glow of life.

It halted, stilted, and looked down as something was felt. A blade dragged under it, Its weight on it. He pulled the machete free, separating new and old flesh again.

It looked at it. The blood dripped from the wound, dark, collecting, and stopping. And then it looked up at him. Its eyes were amber; clotted with a white, gray film. It blinked, the blade drew away and it came at him again bodily. The strength was inhuman now, taken from his, grown from it--surpassing him and biting as deeply into his chest as it could manage.