[Training Thread] Flesh and Fear (Self-Mod)

[Isikais]

Crawling in my skin. These wounds they will not heal. Fear is how I fall, Confusing what is real. 12th Afternoon of Spring 510 AV Over and over Isikais tried to repair the gash that the dagger had left in his side. It was an effort in futility, he knew, but he tried nonetheless. The dead body had been wounded, an identifying trait of the very substance that was his flesh, now. Despite his will, the djed that defined his body was decidedly "corpse", and corpses by nature did not heal. Over and over he considered the conundrum, trying to determine a logical way around the dilemma of living death. Always he would begin with the basics, hands pressing the puckered edges of skin together, fingers rubbing fleshy clay over the wound to seal it. Layer by layer, he molded and shoved skin and muscle, tissue and bone. Always, though, over time the flesh would return to that same frayed fissure, and it was on to the next method. Hands and mind forced flesh to knit together, skin and then muscle stretching a complex interwoven lattice work of scar-like tissue. No better would follow from that attempt either. It was more than stubborn matter, Isikais knew. But just the thought of it brought him to distraction, a careless twitch and muscle tensed, tearing the wound a bit wider. A small drop of ichor spilled out, pus-white and thick as it splattered to the ground, the viscous invasive substance spreading out thin in the grain of the wood-board flooring. Isikais closed his eyes, disappointed with his mistake, drifting off into fear spawned memories. There's something inside me That pulls beneath the surface Consuming, confusing This lack of self control I fear Is never ending, controlling 12th Afternoon of Spring 6497 BV Life echoed a symphony of sounds: river lapping playfully at the shore, birds chirping rhythmically above, and newly grown leaves rustling their first spring harmonies. The gentle Eyktol breeze wafted pungent fragrances along, playfully nudging Isikais' shoulder length brown hair, a childlike invitation to enjoy the beauty of the new season. It was all lost on the man, eyes locked onto the dark entrance of the small hillside barrow mound. It was a remnant form times long past, when proto-Eypharian creatures used the hills as sarcophagi for their dead. Long since abandoned or robbed, the empty shell still stood, hollow and calling to him. Gold-brown eyes scanned the roots dangling from the dirt overhead. A long dead tree adorned the entrance, bark cracked, and branches bare. Isikais looked down at the ground, the body of his nemesis splayed out below him. Rugeyt was a man of only slightly smaller stature, four of his six arms folded over chest and stomach, the other two spread wide. The bruise on his forehead was already beginning to turn the first hues of dark purple and blue. Isikais hefted the man over his shoulder, six arms deftly lifting and cradling the unconscious body. He breathed deeply, and into the darkness he went, two hands outstretched to his side to feel his way along. He did not wander long before he saw the dim light of candles ahead, the hunched figure of a man busily painting two identical stone slabs with all manner of red-brown glyph. "There." The man hissed, voice a raspy gasp of phlem and air. He gestured to one of the slabs, covered nearly entirely in the arcane symbols. Isikais obliged without hesitation, laying the body on the stone as carefully as he could. He watched the creature scurry about, a symbol etched into the ground here, a smear of the thick fluid there. "Now you..." He wheezed. Isikais looked around, the uncertainty of what was to happen giving him pause for the first time since he had decided to humor the tiny old human. With another sigh of resignation he climbed onto the slab, turning his head to the side so he could watch the little creature as he approached the body on the other slab. From in his sleeve the mage drew a long slender crystalline shard, only a hairs width and half again the length of his forearm. It was a beautiful thing, entirely out of place in the grime and dirt of the cave they occupied. With sudden and determined force the man thrust the crystal into Rugeyt's chest. Without resistance the crystal slid deep, flaring bright as it did, then dimming, a pulsing translucent red. Isikais suddenly realized what he had done. There, across from him, Rugeyt's body laid, breathing no more, and perfectly still. Trying to lift himself, Isikais realized he could not move, some unseen force holding him fast to the table. He writhed frantically, fearful that a similar fate awaited him at the hands of this disgusting madman. "Shhhh." The mage rasped, and Isikais felt his head swim, vision blurring to wild swaths of gray and black, blood and flesh. It only took a moment before the darkness washed away the dim candlelight. Discomfort, endlessly has pulled Itself upon me. Distracting. Reacting. Against my will I stand beside my own reflection It's haunting how I can't seem To find myself again My walls are closing in I've felt this way before so insecure 12th Evening of Spring 510 AV The wind blew the shutter against the window with a loud thud, and Isikais blinked back, the haze of memory washing away as he reoriented himself in the room. Eyes focused again, on the spot where the now congealed and crusted ichor had stained the wood. He moved his hand to his side, tracing the now ragged flesh of his wound. It was not a matter of the physical, he thought again as his fingers pressed into the opening, sending sharp pain in and up his spine. More than seven centuries, and almost ten thousand hosts later, and still the runes that marked that room kept him lashed to the table. He could not change what he was. No amount of shifting would ever be permanent. He was Nuit, his body a slow decaying corpse, dead and still moving. The decay would come eventually, slow graying flesh falling away as time and rot consumed his host. His djed, realigned that day, would always make its way back to that same place. Still, he tried again, fingers pinching flesh closed, mind turned inward to force himself to be something other than what he was. He felt the flow of his energy, the slow churn of thick fluid throughout his body, and tensing his muscles, began the process again. There's something inside me That pulls beneath the surface Consuming Confusing what is real This lack of self control I fear Is never ending, controlling Confusing what is real (Lyrics by Linkin Park - Crawling)