Apr 14 2019, 09:00 PM
Backdated to just after this thread.
Also, rated Mature for gore, vomit, and self-harm. Uh oh.
The weight of the bone club was foreboding, feeding a deep-seeded, dark urge to her mind. Such impulses were presently unconscious, unknown to the centaur. Aged, rusty chains creaked ominously as she shifted toward the rat-boulders; Elyon's father had shown her, in the past, that they were a common nesting ground for cave rats. She sighed deeply, ruff bristling. The Collector had said the weapon would grow with the blood of even Lessers. As long as it took in flesh and blood, it should be fine.
This was just like any other hunting expedition, Elyon reminded herself warily.
Gangly limbs carried her, casting her shadow over the stones. A number of small critters moved about just in front of her, panicked squeaks signifying their attempts to hide. They weren't successful. She crouched, then settled down onto her knees. Bowing, Elyon sighed again and steeled herself. Hoisting the club over her shoulder and steadying it with her right hand, she wedged a hand beneath one of the lighter stones. Burying her dense claws into the boulder, she heaved.
The moment her gaze caught the dull glint of a rat's, a surge of adrenaline coursed through her entire body. Her mind detached from her body, dissociating from the sudden, extreme stimulus. In a way, she seemed to have blacked out.
-[]-
A pleased sensation rolled up in her chest, spreading down to the two hands that now clutched the flail. Her fingers were tight about its narrower end, breath heavy. Bright eyes blinked once or twice as she laughed. Despite the sore weariness in her arms and whatever was slicked over her ruff and upper half, Elyon felt fantastic. Until she looked down, Elyon was completely unaware of why she felt so good. Perhaps, she had just gone for a really good run, pushed her limits, gone climbing up a great mound of bones---
Oh.
Oh, no.
A mess of gore, barely recognizable as a mischief of cave rats, lay where the stones had once. Bones, cracked and twisted beyond belief jutted out from all of the sanguine waste. Elyon's breath hitched, then wavered. She couldn't breathe. A pleased sensation seemed to thrum from her hands, stemming from the club in its grip. The centaur glanced to and fro, then staggered to her feet. No, this wasn't--- this wasn't right. She had just been hunting but this was--- this wasn't how you hunted. Even through the smile plaguing her face and the urge to do it all over again, the hybrid felt herself begin to sob. No tears came, but her throat swelled.
Buck-toothed remnants seemed to be attached to the flail's end, coated in viscera, even still.
She threw the club to the ground, scrubbing at her arms and her hands as if it would dissuade the foreign feeling of pleasure. Elyon picked at the joints of her fingers and her wrists until they bled, heaving. Rather ungracefully, she staggered backward. Nausea rolled through her being as the high wore off; she then vomited into the pile of disgusting and wrong. Sucking in big, ragged breaths, she steadied herself by the knees.
There she stood, for a time.
At last, though, she spared a wary, dull-eyed look at the flail.
Softly, almost imperceptibly, she groaned, "Co-- Collector?"
@Game Master Dark
Also, rated Mature for gore, vomit, and self-harm. Uh oh.
This was just like any other hunting expedition, Elyon reminded herself warily.
Gangly limbs carried her, casting her shadow over the stones. A number of small critters moved about just in front of her, panicked squeaks signifying their attempts to hide. They weren't successful. She crouched, then settled down onto her knees. Bowing, Elyon sighed again and steeled herself. Hoisting the club over her shoulder and steadying it with her right hand, she wedged a hand beneath one of the lighter stones. Burying her dense claws into the boulder, she heaved.
The moment her gaze caught the dull glint of a rat's, a surge of adrenaline coursed through her entire body. Her mind detached from her body, dissociating from the sudden, extreme stimulus. In a way, she seemed to have blacked out.
A pleased sensation rolled up in her chest, spreading down to the two hands that now clutched the flail. Her fingers were tight about its narrower end, breath heavy. Bright eyes blinked once or twice as she laughed. Despite the sore weariness in her arms and whatever was slicked over her ruff and upper half, Elyon felt fantastic. Until she looked down, Elyon was completely unaware of why she felt so good. Perhaps, she had just gone for a really good run, pushed her limits, gone climbing up a great mound of bones---
Oh.
Oh, no.
A mess of gore, barely recognizable as a mischief of cave rats, lay where the stones had once. Bones, cracked and twisted beyond belief jutted out from all of the sanguine waste. Elyon's breath hitched, then wavered. She couldn't breathe. A pleased sensation seemed to thrum from her hands, stemming from the club in its grip. The centaur glanced to and fro, then staggered to her feet. No, this wasn't--- this wasn't right. She had just been hunting but this was--- this wasn't how you hunted. Even through the smile plaguing her face and the urge to do it all over again, the hybrid felt herself begin to sob. No tears came, but her throat swelled.
Buck-toothed remnants seemed to be attached to the flail's end, coated in viscera, even still.
She threw the club to the ground, scrubbing at her arms and her hands as if it would dissuade the foreign feeling of pleasure. Elyon picked at the joints of her fingers and her wrists until they bled, heaving. Rather ungracefully, she staggered backward. Nausea rolled through her being as the high wore off; she then vomited into the pile of disgusting and wrong. Sucking in big, ragged breaths, she steadied herself by the knees.
There she stood, for a time.
At last, though, she spared a wary, dull-eyed look at the flail.
Softly, almost imperceptibly, she groaned, "Co-- Collector?"
@Game Master Dark