u halloweenie
Askell
ooc. marked m for admittedly detailed body horror. If this makes you uneasy plz no read until the **** <3
The weather was still dark and thoroughly spooky, which did not bode well for the small swamp dweller. Once nimble paws were now heavy with each step, thudding awkwardly against the ground as he lumbered away from the familiarity of the mangroves and into the unknown. Somewhere in his delirious mind, there had been some reason behind abandoning the safety of his den, but it was certain to impart some serious stress upon poor Hoarfrost. His condition had worsened significantly since that first morning, which would have initially seemed impossible. However, microscopic abrasions along his back from tossing and turning in bed, coupled with the occasional bump and scrape against the walls of the den while trying to navigate it while violently ill... had brought forth some unsettling new developments.
Along the middle of his spine, where the thinnest skin had been rubbed raw by insomniac tossing and turning, a series of tall, spindly mushrooms had sprouted from the broken skin. Pushing up through the ragged flesh and rending the tender skin asunder, they reached for the heavens with narrow caps, whose feathered edges seemed to dance in the breeze as he moved. Where he'd bumped those sturdy shoulders against roots and walls along the edges of his den, a similar occurrence. These fungi seemed to sprout in a shelf pattern, stacking one on top of the other along the meatiest portion of his upper forelimbs. Where one had initially erupted from the scraped skin, as its cap spread along the widest part of his tricep it tore further along his flesh and created ever more space for more to grow from the meat of his shoulder and spread oh so slowly down his forelimb. By now, an artfully grotesque ladder of mushrooms in assorted sizes worked their way down both shoulders- far worse on the right than the left. The lack of stem from which to sprout meant that their base was considerably larger, and rooted deeply into the muscle and bone of his limbs. These were much thicker, and each pull of his awkward strides was a sharp jolt of pain as they were jostled by the surrounding muscle and tissue. They forced him to sleep in a sphynx pose, unable to roll onto one flank and rest his head on his lower limb as a pillow without horrific pain lancing up his nerves and straight into his throbbing skull.
The delicate tendrils of lichen continued to grow from the corners of his eyes, though his left socket had quickly been overcome by the feathery fibres. There was no telling if there was even an eye left underneath the mess of fungus, it grew too thickly and was rooted too deep to try and move for a thorough inspection. The blinded eye constantly wept a trickling stream of viscous cerulean fluid, which stained and dried the lichen into crusty clumps against the verdant fur of his cheek. His right eye was still mostly clear, with only a few short clusters of fungus emerging from their corners- though the once emerald eye was glassy and foggy with feverish delirium. A near constant stream of thick drool pooled on his tongue and dripped down the sides of his maw, frequently spewed out as violent coughing fits wracked his body and left him dazed afterwards.
Worst off were his paws, where those tiny mushrooms had initially begun to poke up from the beds of his nails. In frequent fits of frustration and pain, he scraped the budding caps away on the ground. As a result, his paws were battered and ragged. Caked in bioluminescent ooze up to his wrists and ankles, one almost couldn't notice the crust of blood that seemed to cover the beds of his claws and the tender skin around his pads. Much of the fur had been torn away from his frantic chewing, desperate to pull the tiny fungi from his paws. However, with each scrape of his teeth against flesh, more of the tiny parasites seemed to spring up every morning. A vicious, agonizing cycle that left the poor little healer in tears each and every morning, tasting his own ichor on his tongue.
By the time the thick steam of the hot springs began to register in his addled mind, the yearling was up to his wrists in a scalding pool of water. With a soft grunt that stretched into a pained groan, he took a few staggering steps back and swung his suddenly heavy head to one side. Using his good eye, he tried to find a shallow spot to lay down. Maybe if he softened the skin around the mushrooms, as well as the glowing fungi themselves, he could pull them out. Or they would be soft enough that spending time in the hot springs would be enough to lift them away on its own. Either way, he needed to lay down, the walk had sapped any energy he had left.
***************
Swaying dangerously with each haggard step, the feverish wolf plodded slowly along the edges of the next pool of steaming water, and dunked a forepaw into the water. It didn't immediately feel as though he'd set his foot alight, so he dropped the other into the water. If he felt any pain, it wasn't enough to register over the constant throbbing of dull agony throughout his entire body. So he lumbered his way into the pool until he was up to his chin in hot water. As the water met the open wounds that were riddled with fungal growth, he let out a sharp hiss of pain. He would just need to acclimate. Right? Soon it would settle to a dull roar like the rest of the pain, and he could just float there and hope it worked out. Bog was exhausted. He wondered if it would really be so bad if he drowned here. A few feeble strokes of his stocky legs brought him across the small pool of water, and he rested his lower jaw on the opposite bank. Just the same as when he was cooling off in the mangroves, he tucked his legs loosely against his body and floated there silently. Tried to fight through the fugue of his mind and take stock of how he was feeling. Tired. So tired.
(FINAL WC: 1054)
You begin to ooze so much that it feels like your life force is draining from you. Your legs become weak and you find yourself unable to stand.
You gain:
- Crystals (9x)- Used in Firefly's Shoppe, and perhaps elsewhere...
Professor
Áskell had grown weaker and weaker until he lost all awareness of the world around him. His diligent companions tended to him while he slept in a dark and fitful sleep. He'd awoken days later, fragile and weak but alive. His companions continued to care for him until he was strong enough to be dealt a nearly fatal blow to the heart. His brother Jigsaw, was dead. According to Kári the other boy had succumbed to his illness.
Áskell was devastated. He'd secluded himself in his den until a strange numbness had over taken him. He tried to reassure himself it was for the best. If his father's spirit was indeed in trouble then perhaps Jigsaw could assist him some how. However, that meant that Áskell was alone now. He'd lost the only family he'd ever known. Sure he had a number of Klein relatives but he wasn't particularly close to any.
A fit seized him and he took off towards the east. He just needed to get out of Habari, away from the memories and the misery that had happened there. He had been planning to meet his boyfriend some time before the world went to hell. Maybe now was a reasonable time? He wanted to at least see that Bog was ok.
As Áskell moved through the hot springs area he was surprised to catch Bog's scent. However, there was something off about the sent. Something musty, something moldy… something sickly. His heart started to race as he followed the scent. He arrived at the pools and a moment later he noticed Bog resting in one of the pools. He noted the strange glowing streaks in the water and bounded forward. "Bog! Bog are you ok? Please don't be dead." He slid down on his stomach reaching out to try and lick the top of Bog's head.
Dazed and weary, he hardly noticed when fluid began to pour from his orbits until the growing wetness beneath his chin started to grow uncomfortable. Dizziness washed over him from head to toe, and he couldn't bring himself to move to a new spot on the edge of the pool. No, he would sit in his own ooze until he felt like he could open his eyes again without getting sick on the shore. Deep breath in, deep breath out. As the steam flooded his lungs, it loosened some of the spores that had made themselves comfortable in the moist lining of his brachioles. All at once, yet another coughing fit seized him, and he couldn't fight the violent contractions of his muscles as they fought the clumps of glowing azure phlegm, eventually spewing them out and onto the ground around his head. Flecked with spots of bright crimson blood and budding fungi, the thick globules of ooze were finally enough to make him fight the fatigue away long enough to paddle feebly a few feet away. The smell was something else, and he was trying not not to throw up, even though the muscles around his abdomen still rippled with the ghosts of another coughing fit.
After a short while, he swore he could hear a voice. Was this finally it? The spirits were making themselves known, for real this time, and they were going to take him away. Except, the voice was definitely familiar. There was a pang of excitement in his chest before his brain even put a name to the voice, and then there was the gentle caress of a warm tongue over his forehead. A soft hum tried to bubble up from his chest, but it came out sounding more like a pained groan. And while it did hurt, having the skin of his face move at all, he couldn't help but draw some comfort from the small amount of physical touch. "I wouldn't mind a.. dirt nap right 'bout now.." he rasped, prying his eyes open and fixing the working one on Áskell's familiar features. "Y'should probably keep away... hate for ya t' get sick too." a frown managed to work its way onto his gaunt face, though the common sense of even an amateur healer told him to keep a healthy distance from anyone he could... Despite the voice in the back of his mind screaming, a thousand riotous voices begging to sink his teeth into Áskell's soft flesh.. to bind them together through the fungus that infected his very bones now.
He kept that glazed over eye trained on the larger boy, who seemed like he'd changed since that first night by the fire. He carried himself differently, maybe. Or perhaps he'd gotten taller? Hard to say. Mushrooms in the brain. "None of my Family is sick yet... Are yours.. okay?" he questioned hoarsely, stretching his forelimbs in the hopes that the latticework of thick mushrooms on his biceps would fall away now that he'd boiled them for a while. No, he was rewarded with screaming pain lancing up his shoulders and straight into the constant headache that sat behind his blinded left eye. He grunted softly and tried to force his body to relax into the heat of the springs.
Áskell felt some relief as Bog answered him. His voice was weak but he was still alive and that's what mattered most. He had a fighting chance. "Pfft. Don't worry about me. I had it too. I'm getting better and so can you." Áskell couldn't bear to lose another loved one to this terrible disease and he looked about trying to figure out what he could do. He was no healer and although he could vaguely remember the herbs that Jigsaw had used he didn't dare try experimenting and making the situation worse.
"Do your people have healers? I could take you back to Habari." Granted he wasn't sure what Recluse would think of that idea but he sure as heck wasn't going to leave Bog out here alone to die. "I can get you some food or water if you need." He looked to his magpie. It would not take long for the bird to fly back and grab his water skin and maybe some strips of salmon.
"None of my Family is sick yet... Are yours.. okay?"
Áskell stopped. His frantic energy deflated instantly and he stared at Bog for a moment before looking away. "I… no." His bottom lip twitched and he bit down hard on his lip til it bled, using the sharp pain to center himself. "My brother's dead."
It was painfully obvious that Askell was worried, offering up reassurance that he would get better, and that everything would turn out. With the pain of the fungus protruding from his flesh still a dull throb in his marrow, Bog wasn't sure he could muster up the energy to believe that. The larger male asked about healers, offered to take him to his pack for treatment. A lopsided, weak smile was about all the young wolf could muster up. "Áskell, I am one of the healers." he said wryly, lifting his glazed eye up to try and will the joke to land. At the offer of food or water, he shook his head softly. "Nah, eatin'... doesn't go well for me lately.. Thanks though." he said with the barest shrug, it was a reflexive gesture that he instantly regretted as it jostled the thick mushrooms anchored deep within his muscles.
It was hard to watch Áskell deflate within mere seconds, right before his eyes. All at once Bog knew something terrible had happened. They looked at each other, just a few seconds of hard eye contact that spoke volumes. And then Áskell looked away, with the faintest tremor in his expression there and gone again. His brother was gone. A gentle whine escaped the sickly wolf, and he set to work hauling himself out of the water. Now was not the time to worry about himself. When he lost his siblings, it was merely the way things went, but he had still mourned. Death was far more harrowing to the rest of the world, and he was beginning to understand that. By the time he had dragged his sopping frame from the hot spring, there was enough energy lingering in his muscles for him to lean his forehead gently into Áskell's shoulder. "I'm sorry.." he rasped. Lifting a forepaw, he carefully brushed the backs of his sodden digits against the soft fur of Áskell's forelimb. "I dunno what to say besides that." hoarse vocals murmured softly, and he wished there was something he could do. The warmth of another body near his was a momentary distraction from the steady aching of his bones. Perhaps that was enough, for now.
"Did ya... wanna talk 'bout it?" he asked hesitantly, lifting his head from Áskell's shoulder to look up at him with his good eye. This was very new territory, and not the variety that he was used to navigating on his own.
Áskell continued to look away, fighting to hold back the tears. His head felt hot and his throat ached as he choked the tears back. Wincing at that sharp stabbing feeling as he fought to keep in control of himself. The sound of moving water caught his attention as he saw Bog starting to climb from the springs. He hurried over. "Hey, rest-" His words were cut short as Bog leaned his forehead against Áskell's shoulder. At that moment the tears sprang free, dripping down his face as he moved to nuzzle the top of Bog's head.
"Please, I can't lose you too. I just want to help you… please tell me what to do." If there was another healer that could help look after Bog he'd go to fetch them. If Bog needed some herbs of some kind he would do his best. He'd already lost his closest family members and while he hadn't know Bog for all that long he felt a strong connection to the man he was dating. He'd had so many connections severed so brutally. He couldn't stand the severing of another.
The comforting weight of a heavy head atop his own, even one that was being very gentle, was just the kind of comfort he needed. Even now, when both of them were overwhelmed by emotion and breaking down, he drew a small margin of comfort from feeling the softness of Áskell's muzzle pressed against the top of his head. Even through the dampness of his fur, he could feel the telltale wetness of tears seeping into the downy fluff atop his crown. Áskell quietly pleaded with him, begging for some way to help him and keep him alive. A heavy sigh shuddered through his spore riddled lungs. He kept up the steady rhythm of stroking the front of Áskell's forelimb with the back of his sore paw, wondering how he could even begin to explain that there wasn't much that Áskell could do to ensure his safety.
"I think..." hoarse vocals remained quiet, trying for soothing but falling short by a mile. The barest trace of a frown tugged at the corners of his maw, as he puzzled over his choice of words. "Ya might just.. have t' trust me." he said hesitantly, leaning a little more of his meagre weight against the larger male. "I'm strong, I survived plenty. I'll probably survive this, too." the end of that sentence lilted up at the end, like he was assuming he would survive. Come out of all of this without a scratch, and keep on chugging through life. There were no guarantees, but he didn't want to leave his mothers with only one child left.
"I got- got a pretty talented healer at home with me.. she's kept me alive so far." he added with a weak chuckle. Sighing again, softer and less haggard this time around, he simply let himself hang on to the moment. Perhaps he would die soon, but at least he would have this small, tender moment to look back on in his last moments. That was something, wasn't it?
Áskell took a steady breath, his eyes closing slightly as he knew that Bog was right. There wasn't much he could do and he hated it. He hated being so out of control. Watching the world just spin wildly around him. "Alright," he whispered. "I trust you. Please, just, if you need anything I can give you let me know." He felt silent, content to just rest with Bog and hopefully give him some comfort as well as protection. It would have been a romantic moment if not for the worry that continued to knot in his gut. He wouldn't be able to fully rest, his senses heightened as he listened for Bog's heartbeat as well as the steady rhythm of his breathing. He hoped this healer Bog had spoken about was doing her best. As soon as Bog was well perhaps he could ask Recluse for permission to have Bog enter Habari territory to see the volcano if he was still interested. Or go anywhere really. Áskell was fairly sure he could get a little time off to recover.