A husk with purpose.

[youdude 104]

Shambling, marching... Forward, onwards; Always seeking food, a way to end the hunger. That is the fate of a ghoul, an accursed being brought to unlife by the selfish desire of a necromancer. To succumb to the hunger is their fate, and to feed is their purpose. Yet, what happens to the being they once were? Some are forgotten, pushed aside by the thought-consuming hunger. Some remain as remnants of memories, causing the shambling corpse to favor one location over the other. Mayhap it the undead feels at home there. Yet some, rare and possessing an indomitable will, linger.

Clanking, chiming and creaking of old, ancient armor accompanied each of the carcass' shambling steps, it's victim unconscious, it's rusted mace dripping with fresh blood. It approached, drawing closer with ravenous intent, parting it's ancient jaw, sinking it's malformed and sharp teeth into flesh. Each gulp brought solace against the plaguing hunger, and while it's body greedily consumed, it's mind flourished. The choking, stifling desire to feed was sated, and it's mind was free from burden for the moment. It could think.. Remember..

Long ago, a warrior.. A strong and proud warrior, fought in a battle. There was blood, pain and suffering all around, yet the warrior savored every moment. It was only then, in the heat of it all, in the depths of hell that is war, where he felt fulfilled. One of many, part of an ideal, part of a common cause that so many were willing to die for. A sweet memory. The only one it had.
 

The ghoul straightened it's form with creaks and pops of bones, savoring the lingering feeling of satiety that it's recent meal had brought it. But there was no time to rest.. It turned, ready to march forwards, into the streets once more, where it would find another to feed it's gluttony, only to stop at the sight before it. A girl, young and fair-haired, staring up at the armored warrior with reddened, tear-strained eyes. A free meal.
 

The small girl was 6 years old, mayhap 7. Yet, she bravely confronted her fathers killer, running up to him and banging her fists against the old armor the creature wore, crying and wailing in unrestrained fury. The prey had come to it. The shambling carcass bent, placing a gloved hand onto of the girls head, starting to squeeze, making the small child wail in pain. And cry for her father. The being felt an unconscious cringe cross it's rotten, decayed features at repeated, desperate cry- beginning to raise that mace again. It's gaze lowered, to meet that of the small child's, and deliver the final blow; only for the sight of her desperate eyes to force it to cease all movement. 
 

"Luugh..Lu.. Lucy..."
 

A wail of agony escaped the ghoul, it's head tilting back, jaw parting and gurgles of blood choked from the depths of it's throat. Both it's mace, and the small child were let go, as it's gloved fingers began to claw at it's own features in maddened desperation, trying to prevent the flood of thought that filled its rotten cranium, each painful, unnatural-feeling, unwelcome.
 

"Baagh.. Baahdoo! Baahdoo!"
It's cries of agony were drowned out by the pouring rain that had ripped from the heavens, the girl long gone. It had began to realize- It's existence is a curse, it's being is twisted, it's mind but a shadow of the greatness it once held. A revelation, coupled with memories as incomplete as a parchment after a fire, that caused it to cease it's hunt, and collapse in the back alley, sat with the remains of it's last victim laid beside it.

 

A new drive, a new purpose had been found. Not just to feed, but to recover, retrieve; Find it's lost self, and fulfill it's once faded ambition. It had a name now, not one given by it's creator, nor one that came from the sporadic cranial spasms. It had... Identity.
"...Baahdo..."

 

 

((What might be the point of this post? ...I'dunno, ghoul character develeopment?
If there even is, such a thing.))

[Angmarzku 1251]

Sklave, an undead vanguard from Lorraine, 's rotting gloves grip tightly around the shaft of the polearm -war scythe- and  tilts it's head at Baahdo, gurgling sounds escaping the decaying mouth of the ghoul as it's old and worn chainmail creaks and clanks at the shambling movements of  Sklave. A muffled and hollow growl escapes the mouth of the festering abomination. "MoOVe iT!" 

[JEEGK 1367]

Ibar continues to frolic about Laureh'lin with a lovely red haired 'ame by his side, humming the tune of a song his haelun once repeated to him as a child.

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.