Another day, another sojourn into the Hole.

It was necessary, yes, but more than that, Edric wanted to go. To listen to the siren song of the dark whispers was to attend the concert of a favorite orchestra. He wanted nothing more than for the whispers to speak to him once more. For them to listen to him, in return.

Edric carried a dead crawler bat with him, an offering for the Altar. In a way, he'd been doubly lucky with this kill. First because of its injured wing--he didn't know how it'd managed to hurt it, but Edric didn't care as long as it benefited him--and second because of its gem, a cluster of green crystals sprouting from its flank. A meal of Oil, gained with practically no effort from his end.

Progress was slow limping down the steep passageway, and Edric could taste the beginnings of decay in his mouth as he descended the last few meters into the Hole. Before, something in this state would have made a subpar meal. Now, Edric relished the taste of corruption.

But he would not take too much. No, this was for the Altar to have: yet another attempt to curry favor with the voices. The boar knew when something was more powerful than him, and this power was not to be avoided, but revered in the hopes that one day, he might become greater.

The bat was deposited unceremoniously onto the Altar. "For you," he grunted. There he stood, watching its decay with eyes that glinted blue in the inverted light and straining his ears for some sign of approval from the whispers. "Do you like it?" he whispered. "Do you want more? Will you reward me? I have been faithful..."

+2 corruption points from Oil consumption and +3 from Altar proximity. 7 points left until Conversion.

The whispers seemed to grow stronger at the words, coalescing into something almost solid. The weight of them hung in the air, pressed in upon Edric, claustrophobic in the small space. They were heavy. Still incomprehensible, but heavy, as if they carried war and death and memories of bloodbaths with them.

Through them cut another voice.

"YES."

There was a crackle, a hiss and a snap, like a lash of electricity through the room, and a coil of black smoke rose from the Altar. White. It billowed out, it engulfed him, and it burned. It was deadly--it was fatal--it would have killed a lesser being. Chaotic magic like lightning roared through his veins, boiling hot. It raced down his nerves, electrifying them with agonizing, wonderful shocks. It took him over. It claimed him.

All thought fled: it was difficult to hold onto an idea, an image, a word. Instead the whispers were deafening, and the chaos sweeping through him, all-enveloping. He was gripped by it. He WAS chaos. The urge to run, to run them down (who?), to chase, to hunt, to fight, to stalk, to kill, to "DEVOUR!!!"

That last swelled, and grew, until it eclipsed all else.

The urge to consume, the drive to engulf all else in his own chaos, was an overwhelming edict.

It threatened to rip free of him, to tear him apart, to leave him dead and decaying into component oil on the rock, if he did not roar through the caves and tear it into everything in his wake. He had to take it in, and give it out, and exhale chaos in every breath, or it would overflow from his stone and crack it into pieces-...

The voice didn't speak again, but the corruption would drive Edric to madness for a time, and leave him with a single urge: to CONSUME.

Edric has received 7 points of corruption, and is now Converted. This would normally kill a Gembound, and is both agonizing and overpowering, and will leave him with the mindless urge to Devour for a week, fading as time passes. Should he resist this urge, the overflow of corrupted magic may overwhelm and kill him.

@Edric

The whispers intensified as oil oozed from the bat onto the pale marble of the Altar. Edric held his breath, eyes widening slightly with anticipation. YES! His thoughts echoed the voice that echoed from the stone. What would it be? A new limb? His stone made flexible? Some sort of new, eldritch power he could only dream of? When the ghostly smoke rose from the Altar, he let it engulf him, thrilled by the promise of a reward.

And then all thought fled from his mind.

Instead, there was pain. Pain as the magic seared through him, pain as unbeknownst to him, misshapen limbs sprouted from his flesh--but there was also delight. Pain was not only pain. It only added to the exhilaration singing through every cell in his body. It was proof. Edric was heard; Edric was seen. Edric was tasked. EDRIC WAS ALIVE.

IT WAS A COMMAND. IT COULD NOT BE IGNORED. ONLY WEAKLINGS WOULD WANT TO. This was his purpose; this was his destiny. Edric would not let the whispers down! Edric would make them proud! He would turn these caves into the bloodbath they demanded!

Edric whirled around, seeing something slick and green at the edge of his vision. FLESH! IT WAS TO BE DEVOURED. He lunged for it. It twisted away. He tried again, before realizing: it had sprouted from his own flesh. A tentacle-like thing that grew attached to his hip, splitting into multiple feather-like tentacles like a very small, very deformed wing. Edric snarled. He couldn't eat this. Why didn't Tunnel K have more prey?! More things he could DEVOUR?!

He charged up the slope that led out of the Hole, only to slip and tumble to the bottom again. Snarling, the boar scrabbled back onto his feet and lurched forward again. He didn't have time for this. He had a bloodbath waiting for him to get to. He had a feast he had to make himself.

--exit