Cold Winds Cause Bodies to Swing

[_Sug 2556]

♱ Cold Winds Cause Bodies to Swing ♱

Spoiler

 

“Without compassion, I am but a beast in the personification of man.”

♱

It was after the slaughter of two men, did a youthful elf find himself sitting below their swaying bodies whilst crimson drained into two buckets below. For he had strung them up to drain them of the wretched ichor which he so sought to obtain for his own greed. There they hung, cut at the heels as blood trickled forth into the iron casks which emitted the only sound audible in the area. The lesser vampyre, all alone sat staring forth at the disfigured faces which he defaced with his blade. A look of disgust remained on his visage as more and more did it fade. 

 

 

“This is what we are now. Foul, forlorn, forgotten.”

 

♱

His thoughts rang clear in his mind as he watched them swing by their hands and necks like puppets beneath the shade of a spruce. The wind carried with it a stench of death and the early processes of decomposition, like spoiled cheese getting worse and worse by the minute. Swing and sway did they, the most innocent of men. It was not innocence of action which Aravir, that lesser vampyre dwelled upon, but the savagery in which they sought not to die which in and of itself, was a pure action.

 

 

“If you do not relish and feed, you will die a terrible and rotten death, slow, aggravating, rancid…

It is them, or me. Me or them. I grow more and more selfish, desiring more…”

 

♱

Thus, a wooden chalice was dipped into the basket of the leftmost man who drained out into the bucket from his position in the tree above. The cup of a poor fellow, brought to the lips of but a young man, and a pause followed from the lips of Aravir as he drank. Vile. Repulsive. Rotten. All words which could be used to describe the state which Aravir found himself in, gulping like a savage beast to consume what he could. For, he had to spare what he could for his guide. The beast who brought him into the fold from his status as an anathema. 

 

 

“See… It is not so bad, for they are dead and their blood gives you life. It is not sinful, it is merely survival. Do not feel bad for yourself.”

 

♱

And so as time passed and the bodies slowly drained their ichor from their sliced heels, Aravir remained staring at the sight in acceptance. This is what he was now, for he had been offered a cure but did he truly desire it? Was his path to seek the Shore? Perhaps, it was to follow his new Lord and see where his path might lead… Nevertheless, the man stood and with him, the buckets of blood were taken off to feed the man who gave him a chance at redemption. A man, who the youth was loyal towards. 

 

Perhaps this was his fate, eternally or until his slaughter. Yet, he grew in sickness and relished in what he now was.

 

 

Spoiler

This is a thought post, not a missive or public information to anyone not notified.