Madeira clutched at Jomi's materialized arm with a desperate clawed grip as she lowered herself to the floor. Her shaky, unsure movements standing out in stark contrast to her carefully composed face. Like an actor falling into their character, she gave no hint at the pain she most certainly was in. The ghosts wide mouth pulled down at the edges and his brow furled in something close to concern as he spotted the bone protruding from the woman's rapidly darkening limb.
"Maro left soulmist on the table for you, darling-"
Jomi didn't need to be told twice. He had blinked across the room before the last syllable had passed Madeira's lips. Leaving the injured master to wobble shakily on her knees as her support dissolved under her grip. A bowl of softly glowing etherial mist was perched on the counter waiting for the excited ghost. The glossy obsidian bowl filled to the brim with the glowing white mist. Jomi coudn't stop himself from plunging his hand into the container to consume it greedily. He took the offering without a thought of saving some for his compatriot still mulling over the tiny pebble and the taste of life it offered. He tuned out Alice and Madeira's heated exchange and just allowed himself to enjoy the gift he was offered.
The soulmist on his frame became more dense as he absorbed the masterful soulmist into his own. A soft satisfied sigh escaped the ghost as the mist crept up his arm, bringing with it a calming warmth and rush of energy. The ghost couldn't describe the sensation other than it felt 'good'. It was the only thing he was able to feel anymore besides the bite of a soul dart, and he cherished every opportunity he had to consume it. The offer of Master grade soulmist wasn't something any ghost would pass up, regardless of the cost. And for Jomi it would cost him a demented part in a demented woman's play.
"Go on, Jomi. Lets get him on his feet and make him up for the glorious final act. He'll need some defensive wounds."
The spiritist called to her servant from where he'd left her kneeling on the floor. Her voice calm and even while wiping the Myrian's blood from her split and swollen lip.
"Well, since I came all this way I'd might as well lend my services" Jomi purred contently. The recently absorbed soulmist had calmed the normally prickly ghost leaving him much more receptive to being sic'd on people than usual.
The ghost's normally narrow eyes deepened further as he gave the Myrian a final once-over from his spot in the kitchen. Mapping the outer layers of the body as he planned his attack. His soulmist beginning to bleed at the edges as he let go of his materialization. Allowing himself to drift for a tick as a column of smoke before he blinked into the prone man with the intent to fight his way to complete control. He braced himself for the souls instinctive gag reflex to react to the foreign invader. For the Myrians's body to try to sieze up and lock him out of the astral body.
Only for the force he'd summoned in preparation to overwhelm his host to disperse immediately. Nearly knocking the discombobulated ghost out of the body with his own misdirected force. Jomi reeled for a tick, his soul probing within the body franticly for an anchor to attach itself to and orientate himself to his new container. He could feel the presence of an astral layer, the part of the soul that ghosts could infect and manipulate. The part of the soul that dissolves into soulmist once the body dies. But the mind, thought and will that made a soul a soul was eerily absent.
The ghost continued his possession unimpeded. He seeped into the mans muscles as his essence and filled its weak and broken container with record speed. Starting in his chest and radiating outwards to the limbs as the empty body slowly began to stir. The soulmist that infected his body expanded outward for a full body take-over. Once he'd settled comfortably the ghost plucked at the threads of his hosts astral body like the strings of a puppet.
Rothsam stirred then. His coal black eyes fluttered open and a wheeze of trapped air escaped his chest as he lifted his torso in one fluid motion. There was no quiet tightness in his joints or a shakiness to his movements, no indication that anything was amiss, or that it was anyone but Rothsam piloting the body. As long as he didn't speak.
Bringing his dark scarred palms up to his eyes Jomi inspected them with narrow, conflicted eyes. Rothsam's brows furrled as the hardened jungle savage spoke with an uncharacteristic Keneshian drawl.
"Huh..He feels familiar." Jomi's voice sounded as out of place as a Zith in a human choir coming from the spiritist dark, tattoo scarred lips. "Have I possessed him before?"
The odd thought clawed its way out of the ghosts subconscious like a bad dream. Just a small niggling doubt that had attached itself to the confused ghost.
But ghosts were not known for their compassion, empathy, or their ability for deep insightful introspection. And those that where didn't remain ghosts for long. Jomi was no exception to that rule. And so the invasive thought was quickly crushed under the much more tolerable weight of apathy almost as soon as the the question had materialized. Now wasn't the time for fantasies. What was it that Madeira had asked of him?
"Right, defensive wounds."
Jomi glanced around the manor with devilish eyes, noting every sharp point in the room. His borrowed eyes locking on the pointed edge of the low table the conspirators were gathered around. Just the perfect hight from his sitting position.
"Something that you'd get from a fight."
Jomi braced his arms with his palms flat on the ground behind him and threw back his head. The Myrians' top knot whipped past his eyes with the force as he arched his back painfully before bringing his head forward and down with speed.
The crack of wood meeting bone filled the room as blood gushed from the Myrian's ripped cheek. Jomi froze for a moment, still slumped forward next to the newly blood flecked table. Quietly stunned as he instinctively braced for his host survival instincts to kick in, only to feel a chilling emptiness as none came.
The tightly coiled muscles relaxed as Jomi eased his way from the dreaded anticipation and slowly dropped his guard. Rolling his head back to regard the two women with a humourless smile full of sharp bloody teeth.
"I'll stay still if you'd like an chance to kick him in the gut."
"Maro left soulmist on the table for you, darling-"
Jomi didn't need to be told twice. He had blinked across the room before the last syllable had passed Madeira's lips. Leaving the injured master to wobble shakily on her knees as her support dissolved under her grip. A bowl of softly glowing etherial mist was perched on the counter waiting for the excited ghost. The glossy obsidian bowl filled to the brim with the glowing white mist. Jomi coudn't stop himself from plunging his hand into the container to consume it greedily. He took the offering without a thought of saving some for his compatriot still mulling over the tiny pebble and the taste of life it offered. He tuned out Alice and Madeira's heated exchange and just allowed himself to enjoy the gift he was offered.
The soulmist on his frame became more dense as he absorbed the masterful soulmist into his own. A soft satisfied sigh escaped the ghost as the mist crept up his arm, bringing with it a calming warmth and rush of energy. The ghost couldn't describe the sensation other than it felt 'good'. It was the only thing he was able to feel anymore besides the bite of a soul dart, and he cherished every opportunity he had to consume it. The offer of Master grade soulmist wasn't something any ghost would pass up, regardless of the cost. And for Jomi it would cost him a demented part in a demented woman's play.
"Go on, Jomi. Lets get him on his feet and make him up for the glorious final act. He'll need some defensive wounds."
The spiritist called to her servant from where he'd left her kneeling on the floor. Her voice calm and even while wiping the Myrian's blood from her split and swollen lip.
"Well, since I came all this way I'd might as well lend my services" Jomi purred contently. The recently absorbed soulmist had calmed the normally prickly ghost leaving him much more receptive to being sic'd on people than usual.
The ghost's normally narrow eyes deepened further as he gave the Myrian a final once-over from his spot in the kitchen. Mapping the outer layers of the body as he planned his attack. His soulmist beginning to bleed at the edges as he let go of his materialization. Allowing himself to drift for a tick as a column of smoke before he blinked into the prone man with the intent to fight his way to complete control. He braced himself for the souls instinctive gag reflex to react to the foreign invader. For the Myrians's body to try to sieze up and lock him out of the astral body.
Only for the force he'd summoned in preparation to overwhelm his host to disperse immediately. Nearly knocking the discombobulated ghost out of the body with his own misdirected force. Jomi reeled for a tick, his soul probing within the body franticly for an anchor to attach itself to and orientate himself to his new container. He could feel the presence of an astral layer, the part of the soul that ghosts could infect and manipulate. The part of the soul that dissolves into soulmist once the body dies. But the mind, thought and will that made a soul a soul was eerily absent.
The ghost continued his possession unimpeded. He seeped into the mans muscles as his essence and filled its weak and broken container with record speed. Starting in his chest and radiating outwards to the limbs as the empty body slowly began to stir. The soulmist that infected his body expanded outward for a full body take-over. Once he'd settled comfortably the ghost plucked at the threads of his hosts astral body like the strings of a puppet.
Rothsam stirred then. His coal black eyes fluttered open and a wheeze of trapped air escaped his chest as he lifted his torso in one fluid motion. There was no quiet tightness in his joints or a shakiness to his movements, no indication that anything was amiss, or that it was anyone but Rothsam piloting the body. As long as he didn't speak.
Bringing his dark scarred palms up to his eyes Jomi inspected them with narrow, conflicted eyes. Rothsam's brows furrled as the hardened jungle savage spoke with an uncharacteristic Keneshian drawl.
"Huh..He feels familiar." Jomi's voice sounded as out of place as a Zith in a human choir coming from the spiritist dark, tattoo scarred lips. "Have I possessed him before?"
The odd thought clawed its way out of the ghosts subconscious like a bad dream. Just a small niggling doubt that had attached itself to the confused ghost.
But ghosts were not known for their compassion, empathy, or their ability for deep insightful introspection. And those that where didn't remain ghosts for long. Jomi was no exception to that rule. And so the invasive thought was quickly crushed under the much more tolerable weight of apathy almost as soon as the the question had materialized. Now wasn't the time for fantasies. What was it that Madeira had asked of him?
"Right, defensive wounds."
Jomi glanced around the manor with devilish eyes, noting every sharp point in the room. His borrowed eyes locking on the pointed edge of the low table the conspirators were gathered around. Just the perfect hight from his sitting position.
"Something that you'd get from a fight."
Jomi braced his arms with his palms flat on the ground behind him and threw back his head. The Myrians' top knot whipped past his eyes with the force as he arched his back painfully before bringing his head forward and down with speed.
The crack of wood meeting bone filled the room as blood gushed from the Myrian's ripped cheek. Jomi froze for a moment, still slumped forward next to the newly blood flecked table. Quietly stunned as he instinctively braced for his host survival instincts to kick in, only to feel a chilling emptiness as none came.
The tightly coiled muscles relaxed as Jomi eased his way from the dreaded anticipation and slowly dropped his guard. Rolling his head back to regard the two women with a humourless smile full of sharp bloody teeth.
"I'll stay still if you'd like an chance to kick him in the gut."
