Regeneration by Blood.

Regeneration by Blood.

Postby Vanidor » Sun Jan 29, 2012 5:34 pm

He breathes heavily, here in the gloomy darkness of the forest. The comforting stillness of the polluted forest at rest is all around him, just as much as the stench of rot and decay. He had been idle since the foray against the tavern, and the meeting with the one who tugged at the skin of fate. Kharnargar had said that such things would be as meat puppets in the face of his fury, but that had not been completely truthful. Whilst the magics used by the fae creature did not injure him overmuch, they were difficult to penetrate. Kharnargar said that it was time for more change then.

But first he had had to heal. Against so many foe, those that were actually trained and skilled in the martial arts, he had been overwhelmed. Only the blessed dark vitality gifted to him by the axe had kept him alive. Even now, the axe is what had allowed him to recover from such grievous wounds. His shoulder had virtually reattached itself, muscle knitting back together, sinew and nerves reconnecting and bulking. He could feel the added strength that the daemonic fueled regeneration. It had added a layer of meat to the broken shoulder, almost like a fusing of muscle and bone. He knew that he was far from the human that he had started out as. And he was fine with this.

Another breath released, and his mind returned from wandering. Kharnargar required blood. And he had left it wanting whilst his shoulder rebuilt itself over the last two weeks. Two weeks. Long enough for people to almost forget about the depredations. Just long enough for children to be allowed out again, but not to be let fully out of sight. He hadn't needed both arms for tonight. Just the axe, and his unnaturally heightened speed. Kharnargar had fed on the mother and father. Drunk deeply of their vitae and left curiously little at the farmhouse he had raided, just viscera strewn dryly across the floor. Aeryn had picked it for its proximity to the Kaczmarek holding, though he'd never admit it to himself.

The axe had also drunk deeply from the younger child, taking the head and almost draining the torso of all liquid, leaving the skull itself to seep crimson upon the floorboards. The last child, a willowy thing of no more than fifteen. She had been taken, slapped so hard with the dripping flat of the axe to knock her unconscious, face cut from the blow. Taken and dragged out into the poisoned wilds of Myrkenwood.

Kharnargar whispered to him once again. Here and now that he had the girl-child staked and bound before the roasting pit of his shallow cavern. She was awake and struggling weakly against the bonds that held her, wide eyes sweeping over the gnawed upon remains of those that Aeryn had killed and NOT used for his general campaign of terror on the city. Blood fueled the Blood. Meat ensured growth. Kharnargar and Acras, who was Aeryn, needed the sustenance that only a sentient being could allow. With a slow snarl, the one who was also Sealgair would turn and bring eyes that burned with the essence of four broken and demented souls upon the young woman. His voice is a rough whisper, like bark against skin.


"Come now. It is time to join us in damnation. Give your soul to me, child, and live eternal..."

Then slow laughter as he stepped forward, a lantern thrown into the firepit to light it. The axe is raised, and the one who is four moved to become five.

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters... But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk. - Charles Baudelaire


User avatar
Vanidor
Member
 
Posts: 909
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
Location: Under the desert sky.

Return to The Forest & Lake



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 19 guests

cron