Fishblight Mire screa[m] (1996)

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: intentionally revolting imagery. delusions. 

vaguely dated to before the 14th. @Íkaros <3

swamp-sweat. debris forgotten by receding waters. chunked mud. bubbling moss. something bloated and half-submerged, stewing in the soup of brackishness and salted excrement. 

the stench of this place were unbearable - 

but no worse than the visions, she'd found. her long thoughts, blessed as ticks cracking her skull from within.

she laid in shallow waters, which were by turns warm and chilling, and she wouldn't think of the currents that guided the slow pouring liquid in an incestious circle from source to the source again, passing again and again, the same patches of suntouched slush, of swiftly tainted freshness-

her toes flexed.

her skull was fire. mysterious, eating thing, that swallowed trees and licked hills clean. it was crackling within her bones, cooking the black mass occupying the space behind her eyes, building pressure at her temples. pain, pain, pain.

she groaned, one eye lodged in the mud, the other rolling slowly. slowly.

it settled at some distant spot, then stopped. 

the madwoman still, half-breathing.

The sickening smell of rotting flesh— 

The buzzing of flies at his ears—

Tenacious did the boy wander, his nose, his stomach guiding him towards the stench with the promise of fill. Disgusting as it was, he had no other option. Recent hunts left him worn and empty, more so broken and ashamed within the mind.  His stomach clenched, his eyes tired, he wandered the mud flat's with a ravenous hunger. 

Thin legs trudged through the thick mud, it's viscous state tugging and unwilling, refusing to let him out of grasp. But it was not food that stopped his journey—no, it was a soft groan from down below. 

Freezing amid his tracks the boy glanced down, dark eyes squinting against the muck that looked all the same. "Hello?" He called, "Is someone there?"

the voice came from another place, another room in the seer's hut, where father pinned her down as mother fed her elk in a vomited slurry, saying  hel, lille en, prærieulver er ikke et barns venner!

I stumble upon something amongst the rubble.

The tunnel has collapsed recently. The reinforced steel protruding from the debris has not been covered with rust yet.
When I gaze into the tunnel, I notice a silhouette of a man on the ground.

Suddenly, the man snaps to life, as if woken up from a deep slumber.

her foreleg sprang up from the muck.

moooor... she moaned, face peeling itself from the thickened water. she tried to turn it, one red eye bulging, to see mother-seer, to ask her-

hvorfor-

her thin body had been sucked in. she wriggled in odd juts, as if glued to the terrain.

hvor... for... she reached blindly with the freed arm, for the shape, for the answer.

A single limb sprang from the pit, and with it Ikaros jumped. Instantly the fur along his spine lifted, rising upwards  with a slight curl of his lip. Fear took hold and with it anger came swiftly. "Hello?" He would call again, an obvious edge to his voice.

Only grunts and moans would greet him again, along with a single sliver of color; a deep burning red. "Do you need help? Are you hurt?" He was tempted to turn and run, to leave the unsavory place with empty belly and creature to their own.  

help.

the eye rolled.

hurt.

there, something. dark. canine.

her forelimb stretched out, as if to reach the moon. then, the paw went limp at the wrist, beckoning the shape her way.

komme. kom nærmere. the witchwoman called, rasped. 

there was another attempt to rise-

she settled back into the mud with a heavy, rattling sigh.

The appendage reached towards him, it's surface covered in the grime that swam below. He watched the mud drip from it, falling not very far before joining the surface with a sickeningly wet sound before being absorbed below. It was then that the boy stared for a moment, dark gaze glued to sparing parts peeking through, calculating all possibilities of what may happen from venturing down. 

As he took step down[size=small] [/size]his gut clenched, the awful feeling coming back two-fold. Ikaros knew to trust such an impression, it had never steered him wrong. 

He didn't have time for other's issues. What he sought was not here.

Exit.

wet sound of retreating feet.

one eye rolled back, and back, to follow, until white overtook red.

and then it closed.

black lump in the mire's throat - the mud swallowed her tighter.

the woman exhaled, thinking this scene through with a maddening adherence to belief, to rhythm drummed into her skull by a feverish hurt.

her voice rose bubbling from the mud-

a cackle.

it echoed not once, flat sound sunken into the mush and disease of fishblight mire.

and then it fell, to a repeating, pitched whine.

she would cry softly in the muck. small sounds of a bruised child.

<3 archive~