Fantasy PRIVATE: Therefore, Him.

[koldun-noir]

(DAMN BITCH IT'S HERE)

 

[koldun-noir]

(I hope this is alright, I sorta had to rush at the end. I also hope I didn’t include too much unnecessary detail. Excuse any typos.)


The ink shade of the evening plastered over the spirit’s anemic features as he eyed the village from afar, shifting somewhat from the edged solid upon the roof of a boxy home poking at his rump. Limbs sway boyishly with hues of navy carried over to a frail feline, it’s tone of ashy gray darkened by the above. Ascending an appendage with leisure to stroke the fur above said animal’s rectangular snout, “Good evening, Mr. Cat. Are you lonely?” the fair lad breathes, the audio of rumbling protruding from the tom. He was on night watch, or so he'd claim. Insuring all is well, a frequent hope often lost with terror.


Starlight orbs centered on the taller being, paws settling upon thighs, content kneading deepening into the gent's mush flesh. Obeous was but a petite land, yet it was far from sleepy. The streets were stained with grime and that of dried gore, it is rumored cults were behind such acts, out to destruct any following of the Catholic church. It.. is but a shell of what it once was. Labelled Havre some time ago, it was an establishment of aspiration, independence, and employment to many and was actually- not a village once. That ceases to exist now.


Song, song speaking of the heavens would flow out as if flora carelessly and with such grace danced throughout a fine spring noon. Cat’s lugs flicker to the chant, the undead's sunken features pointed sluggishly at a choir, their presence known to many. They'd often bless the streets before rest in hopes to heal some wounds. Alas, only so much is provided with just faith. He'd listen, occasionally humming to a gather of harmonies, failing to clash- but to unite with such bliss it was like bathing in savory chocolate or enveloped by that of divine illumination of sweet vibrato and echoing bells, hugged and welcomed by it.


He figured he’d encountered such chimes before, but from where?


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Vocalization fades, an abrupt strike is perceivable from afar, terrorized yelping pulsating from the dim streets. The feline pal bounds with fret and scurries away, protruding a unsettling and irking growl. Stagnant, and alarmed, the spirit peers into the caliginous slums, street lights providing few luster. “Why isn’t it brighter, the lights are always bright!” the male ponders to himself with hues dancing in wonder and pure dismay. No, no. This isn’t how he wanted it, he thought everyone would be safe, he failed to grasp simply his presence provides little aid.


Pastor James, served as the village’s well- you guessed it, however- he also assisted in choir by directing members in song. He is a highly regarded individual to the failing community, he brought.. security and compassion to the population, the phantom indeed enjoyed him. He recalls assisting him or providing pleasurable things for the pastor when he wasn’t attentive, having the ability to fade off into the bitter realm of the undead proved useful in such acts, even if just applying some more sugar into his tea. He doesn’t like being caught, but felt as if he was close to James like a close friend from long ago however- he never spoke to him. Traumatization strikes the walking corpse as he witnesses scampering citizens crying for their lives he hears their thoughts pounding like a everlasting and treacherous headache, “Help! Help! God, my children!” would pass through, “Please, not me!” Dead hues shift to an open area, a bitter realization comes to play as Pastor James fall to the filth of the streets, an arrow pierced into his abdomen.


How could he be so foolish? How did he not see- FEEL this occurrence? He wouldn’t let this happen again, he must protect him. He believes he’s nothing, a failure if not. Practically toppling over himself, he shifts himself with direction reaching end of the barrier above. Expanding a limb, trotter pokes at a heap of hoarded crates to which the male hops with less than grace, objects teetering over with haste as the spirit dashed with fierce dedication although his fear wringed his neck. Audile gust of fine, midnight air fluttered into his sunny locks although it proved far from refreshing this evening, haunting and gut wrench is only provided.


Patter of tattered boots was disheartening buzz at the time for Pastor James, weary and bagged hues bolted onto a figure approaching him with such speed, was this truly his fall? “Pastor James!” an apprehensive call would soothe the other man’s aching bones as eyes of kelly settled on bleached, soft features. “I- I’m here to help you!” he states, trembling and fumbling to assist his idol, “It’s going to be okay.” he would assure, although truth be told, he failed to be aware of the truth. An alarming shriek would exit the Pastor as a harsh, scorching agony crept into his wound. At this time he was bleeding out, the chances of him surviving were low, but the shade refused to accept such a claim. His stubbornness at times clashed with his grasp of reality and better judgement.


Dazed, yet somewhat comforted, James sways his head over to the seemingly young man with arms holding him close. “W- Who are you?” this question striked the being with panic, dead blues dancing about. “No, there is no time.” he hesitates firmly, strolling with the man with groans of strain influenced discomfort in even the spirit. “Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed. Save me and I will be saved, for you are the one I praise..” whispers of the holy breathe from the wounded, his faith mighty although, a sense of regret and dread are suffocating him. “You have done some great things, sir. I swear you will not fall, I will save you.” such determination, yet no real truth.


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Time, time was certainly at stake. A block was worrying, the duo was unable to proceed with much urgency despite their current situation, “Will you please tell me your name, boy? I have no recollection of ever laying eyes on you.” the cleric was dying, his last wish was to be aware of this savior’s title, he couldn’t control thoughts of the divine, was this an angel? I suppose his thoughts were relatively correct, although futile. A moment of stillness would circle around the two, anxiety yanking at their heart strings. “I do not have a name, that isn’t necessary now. I am anything you call me.” the soul spoke with airy, lazy dialogue and yet- screamIng seemed to be a pleasant thought.


Rocky breaths egress as crimson gore leaked from the taller gent’s puncture, his demise would be slow and agonizing, alas this wasn’t the case now taking it as movement drained the holy man’s life quicker than expected. His image was sagging, flesh blench with crystallized liquid soaking his forehead. A residence dim in color, stood boldly in the declining village. It was the only source of real hospitalization, and while the individuals who spent their time aiding the ill were rather odd, one even to be said as unmannerly, they did their healing best. It was uncertain if at an hour like this, they’d open to anyone- many aren’t known as enjoyable citizens and like to take what they please by force, so plenty just act like they just packed up and POOF!


The doorstep of the hut was cracked and overgrown with vines, door sturdy and that of timber. A whitened mitt places itself before the entrance, slamming against it with much severity, “Help! The Pastor is wounded, he’s going to die if you don’t help!” of course, he had to cover any detail he could, he prayed that it would convince an exchange of assistance. Cobalt orbs shift with alarm to the sensation of drooping, James was slumped over, eyes expanded with terror and the fear of death screeching for help yet- there was no sound. “No, you need to try! I won’t allow this!” the supernatural yelps in a plead, his grip secured on the failing mortal. it was if his frigid, unresponsive heart was exploding with twitchy horror and dismay, he wished to help but there was no way, he could only remain until some sort of hope reached this man, that pained him greatly.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

In the dead of night, a tired-looking, and absolutely scattered-minded man heard a thud behind the door. His head jerked up, as he looked up from the book he was reading, but then, shaking it, he returned to his reading. The absolutely stupid anatomy book. He had to make up for the years he spent... well, not studying medicine. It made him look better in the eyes of the old doctor of the village, but he himself was just mildly entertained. Bones and muscles were fun and all, but he was not interested in how to treat them. He'd much rather use them to create... something. Big, animated, dangerous. Luckily, the curse-clad, bandit-ridden village provided for enough bodies to do so. Every other day someone died, giving just the right amount of resources. Elliott didn't mind calling cadavers that. He never thought that bodies ever had any significance. They were dead. They were not people. They were things. Things that could be used. If not a moral ban on necromancy, how ward could have been thought with unlimited amount of risen! If not for that, how easier the life of farmers would be, when hard labour would've been made by a bunch of animated skeletons! But no-ho-ho-oh, people hated necromancy, hated necromancers... the education he got was pretty much useless, often given to some blue-blooded kids to show off in front of the ladies of how cool and edgy they were... and just a handful of them would become real criminals ought to take over the world.

Elliott pouted, as he thought about it, realising he was reading the same passage all over again, but not understanding even a word. He closed his eyes, shook his head again, clearing it from unneeded thoughts, before proceeding with his read: Sl-Nafi's presistent description of a pulmonary circulation was refined by the northern anatomist and scientist Michael Sevetus in his work The Restoration of-- 'Wait a second!' The young man lifted his head up again. In the night's silence, he recollected the thud once more. 'Oh, crap... oh crap... oh, for the love of...' It was less than a minute after he heard it, but the young man jolted up from his place in panic, turning over the chair, rushing to the door. It was cold - or rather, he was cold too often - so he threw the coat over his shoulders, not getting tangled in it, tripping over and hitting his shoulder over the door frame, hissing in pain. Almost tearing the coat off, the man darted out of the room, to the entrance, and swung the door open, "Yes!?" He almost shouted, before looking down at the body.

He was... a terrible doctor, come to think of it. Too disinterested, too scattered-minded. He lived in his own world, ignoring the real one, and... he bit his lip... and this is what it resulted it.

"Hey, hello!" He called out, falling on his knees in front of the man, and slapping his cheeks to check conscience. He already expected that there would be no response. What there was, however, - was blood. Lots of it. He looked at the body, doubting he'd have any strength to drag it inside. "Oh, boy..." The man sighed. He could not really take care of him on the street, could he. 'Here it goes...' He thought, signing, as he squatted in front of the body, hooking him up under the arms, and slowly, carefully standing up. It was already too hard, but if he doesn't do it, he won't hear the end of it. Yes, indeed, being yelled at was the drive much bigger than saving someone. Elliott never wanted to save anyone. He was forced into this role, so why lie and say otherwise?

The body was left almost right after he dragged it in. He didn't even look if there was a culprit somewhere near, darting fast for the first aid kit to roll the man on his back, to start cutting off the clothes to see the damage, all the while trying to cite the books he was going through in his head, but failing at any real anatomical language. He knew there was blood. So the artery was torn. He knew he had to get it out, and apply pressure, and... and that this was a very hard task for him. For any person, some to think of it. Stopping the bleeding from the abdomen - as well as the neck - was nearly impossible in a village like this, with resources they had. Still, he was inclined to try.