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+--- Thread: Deepwood Weald with your sick head (/showthread.php?tid=46719)
with your sick head - Aerenys - March 02, 2021
@Solomon Bishop for the angry boi <3
The mambo skulked through the Weald on heavy steps, grateful for the spike in temperatures. The air was still chilled but it was not so miserable; even so, she was still required to keep Aphelion close for it was not yet warm enough for the serpent to roam freely. He coiled about her like a diamond pendant now, his speckled scales languishing as they lengthened and twisted contently around her dark neck as if he were grateful for the warmth she provided.
Mati would return to the sleeping place that she and Eldritch had thrown together, a loose scrape in the dirt that they'd piled with drifts of leaves where they shared their body warmth with Aphelion on bitter nights. Soon, they would move on and eventually, if more were drawn to the path of night then they would settle permanently in a covenstead. If not, perhaps the Melonii and Nightwish would settle together, just the two of them toiling over their plants and listening to their gods.
A deer leg, haunch and all, the darkling carried in her jaws -- dragging the meal she had scavenged between her forelegs like a proud lioness returning to her pride.
RE: with your sick head - Solomon Bishop - March 02, 2021
His fur isn’t built for this type of weather. It’s much too cold and he doesn’t have enough fat on him to compensate. Sure, his daunting form is swollen with muscle and he has a fair amount of loose skin but it does nothing against the biting cold the season brings.
He traveled west for miles and miles after he’d visited his old home of Ursus. He doesn’t feel safe enough to be around them. He doesn’t want to do something he might regret. The possibilities with such an outcome horribly strong with how atrocious his mental has been. He sees red a lot of the time and many creatures have been subject to his strong jaws and pressing strength. He wants to kill everything in site. Luckily, he hasn’t come across any wolves since his meet up with Merrick.
Today is different though. The smell of food draws him close to another. Though his sense of smell has been unreliable recently, it doesn’t hurt to try. It seems whatever has gotten a hold of his mind is trying to get him killed, despite its apparent mercy by saving him from his near death only months ago.
So he stumbles through the Weald, the heavy fog makes his vision go in and out often causing him to squint pale eyes to see much of anything. What he does see is a dark form that moves low to the ground. Another animal. Food perhaps? He moves himself into a trot, muscles shifting beneath his mottled pelt, access skin flopping about, collar jingling. He’s not secretive or sneaky, he’s bold as he moves through the fog with purpose in his eyes and stride.
Or he was. Until he notices that it’s another wolf. A dark pleated woman with a pelt darker than the depths of space. She holds a leg on her maw. That smell was her food, not his. A nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that anything can be food — even her if he’s brave enough. He doesn’t know if he is. Allowing himself to stop a couple meters from the midnight shewolf. He just stares as if he’s been caught red handed even though he hasn’t done anything wrong he feels like he has.
His cropped ears flit back and he licks his lips nervously. He’s so lonely, but he can’t be around anyone lest the curse he holds within him triggers and he’s speaking with teeth and not words. So he doesn’t move, he’d wait for her to acknowledge him first.
RE: with your sick head - Aerenys - March 02, 2021
Bicolored optics rise, landing on the merle wraith mottled in the hues of truth and witchcraft: greys and blacks with his eyes of blue-white December sky. She drops the deer leg, her hackles beginning to prickle defensively at the sight of the behemoth charging towards her unexpectedly, watching him bear down on her like Sithis given corporeal form. Yet, he slows -- drawing to a halt on his huge paws only a few feet away as his ears pin and a purplish, spotty tongue rasps along his chops in agitation. It's so uncharacteristically different from what she expects, thinking the collared brute to be racing towards the Priestess with malicious intentions.
"Peace be, brother," the Bayou witch drawls soothingly, making the natural assumption that something is amiss with the man. "Are you hurt? Hungry?" Perhaps the gods intended for their paths to cross, so that Aerenys might help him -- perhaps he had some purpose to fulfill for the Daedra. "I can help, yeah."
"Peace be, brother," the Bayou witch drawls soothingly, making the natural assumption that something is amiss with the man. "Are you hurt? Hungry?" Perhaps the gods intended for their paths to cross, so that Aerenys might help him -- perhaps he had some purpose to fulfill for the Daedra. "I can help, yeah."
RE: with your sick head - Solomon Bishop - April 13, 2021
Bishops nervousness fades steadily the more comfortable it seems this stranger female gets. He could tell how taught she was as he’d been trotting up to her earlier, but now, as she realizes he has no malicious intent, she clams down. Bishop cannot quite feel the same. He’s nervous to be around her — or well, anyone at all really.
Yet, he feels his hackles lower and his tongue set comfortably in his maw after she speaks of peace. He nods back to her, worry in his eyes. “Peace be to you, sister.” He hums deeply back.
His nervous mannerisms don’t fit his massive form, nor does his timidness. Whatever saved him from death made him this way. It desires blood and makes him claim it when it decides it’s bloodlust hasn't been satisfied in some time. It’s getting old already and he wonders when it will completely consume him.
He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to be a mooch and ask her for her hard earned kill. He’s a grown man dammit and he shouldn’t be over here stealing other wolves food. In his defense, she did offer and if he is anything, or if he was anything, he used to be polite.
He nods once. “I am a bit hungry if you find yourself generous enough to share.” He hums softly, almost hesitantly. He doesn’t want to intrude on her day too much.
At her other words though, he licks his chops again. He is hurt, but he’s not sure if this is curable. He doesn’t want her to get involved in the mess that is Bishop. He’d spare her the time and recourses. Hopefully whatever is inside him spares her too.
“I’m...I’m not hurt. Thank you for asking.” He decides to say. He’s not lying. Physically, he isn’t hurt. It’s just all mental and there’s nothing she can do for that sadly.
RE: with your sick head - Aerenys - April 15, 2021
The disciple watched him a moment longer, mismatched jaspers flickering keenly as they searched for sign of deceptions but the boy -- man, she corrected, for he could not truly be called a boy despite the childlike fragility the dark merle was imbued with -- seemed genuine, shattered in a way that sucked her in. The Priestess had always had a soft spot for broken things, often considered one herself for the voices and colors others could not see and hear. The she-panther softened towards him, lips tugging down at the corners with more concern than stranger should feel.
"Ye should eat den, yeah," Mati says simply, nudging the leg towards his massive paws. She waited a moment, allowing a comfortable silence to settle as he ate his fill. Even with a find of such proportions, the dragoness is sure that the massive wolfdog will make quick work of the deer's limb. After a moment, she asked: "What're ye doin' out dis way, if ye don't mind me askin?"
"Ye should eat den, yeah," Mati says simply, nudging the leg towards his massive paws. She waited a moment, allowing a comfortable silence to settle as he ate his fill. Even with a find of such proportions, the dragoness is sure that the massive wolfdog will make quick work of the deer's limb. After a moment, she asked: "What're ye doin' out dis way, if ye don't mind me askin?"
RE: with your sick head - Solomon Bishop - April 28, 2021
Solomon wants to whine and cry like an absolute fucking child. This woman allows a stranger to feed with her. She is an Angel in his eyes, though he might has well been the devil in disguise; without knowing it of course. For the devil has settled within him. It controls him unwillingly and oftentimes his mind is foggy or he even completely forgets things all together.
Still, his icy orbs light up and he takes a few tantalize steps towards her. He doesn’t want to hurt someone who has good for him, no matter how insignificant.
So he eats his fill, sure to leave some for her. It’s her kill after all and she graciously allowed him some. He looks up to her as she asks his question. He wonders that himself. He’s wandering, trying to get a hold of his god damned self. He’s trying to rule in the thing that lives within, but he cannot. He has failed so many times to satisfy it, hoping it will cease its lust for blood, but it never does. It only takes and takes and takes; forcing him to do all the dirty work.
He licks his chops of any blood or gristle. “I-“ He starts but doesn’t know what to say. His eyes meet her and he averts them momentarily. “I am trying to fix myself.” He says vaguely. “There’s something inside of me that is...invasive. It challenges my self control and I know not what to do with it.” He confesses as if she’d have all the answers in the world. Help me his baby blues scream.
RE: with your sick head - Aerenys - May 02, 2021
Mati nodded slowly, as if considering something for a moment. "I t'ink I may know what dat feels like, yah," she murmured softly after a beat, inky lips drawing up at the corners slightly in kind reassurance as his wild orbs of winter rose met her own mismatched optics. Although the Priestess had never been taught to fear the voices of the gods. Still, they were there. Always whispering.
"Da Daedra have always murmured in my ears, me," she confessed with a small shrug of her onyx shoulders. "Da magick is in our blood, my kin, yah. It can be frightening what da gods show us but it is a gift. Maybe ya have it to, yah, you," the seer lilted, knowing it probably wasn't what he wanted to hear. "It could bring ya power, yah."
"Da Daedra have always murmured in my ears, me," she confessed with a small shrug of her onyx shoulders. "Da magick is in our blood, my kin, yah. It can be frightening what da gods show us but it is a gift. Maybe ya have it to, yah, you," the seer lilted, knowing it probably wasn't what he wanted to hear. "It could bring ya power, yah."