The Need To Feed

Flying overhead for so long did infact but a strain on his fatigue, straight from Nostvale catching a boost in speed thanks to the Jetstream overhead, and cosmic energy empowering his flight. The massive blimps of energy ahead seem to have closed in, -VERY- closeby now. In Fact, hardly under a mile east, one of these blimps dissipated into a blotch consisting of many smaller blimps of energy collectively- Likely the civilian populace. He was descending, the skies screaming out from his fall for the Earth below, hushing with the blow of the wind with sudden halt just before the grasses below. After descending with such speed, he landed, as gently as a feather descending from the skies above. A calm clap from his boots tapping against a rock he apparently landed on, sounded off his landing…

“Several small mana signatures, too insignificant to be human, nor Yokai. Likely a Boar, seems much like a meal for the night.”

He said to himself, his voice crackled with static, white noise hissed whilst his lips moved only slightly. Occultism aided in his speech- A side effect to his manifesting depravity. Upon his feet touching the grounds, his presence began to spread. Once dormant because of his speed, it began to deploy itself in a slow, and sleek fashion.

From his back ascended several entities with buoyant movement; Tentacles, solidified tendrils of the void. Their presence blackened by pure energy, one with such negative charge that insatiable to the shrubbery and foliage the occultist wandered by. Their touch was swayed across several branches, tree bark, and bush alike, disintegrating segments in their wake.

Such tendrils arched over, making it difficult to take note of his face from a distance thanks to their positioning, however, regardless of the distance, those within proximity to see him could note the wilting of trees, the depression of wildlife around him. Remote sensing capabilities could suggest that depravity was strong, Occultism was potent in this one…

(Arachnis)

 Walking at a slow pace across the Wychwood woodlands, a figure in dark blue made their way with closed eyes and a thoughtful expression, concentrated on the area to detect hostilities prior to getting to work: She had a lot of work to do, such as gathering herbs and various ingredients for her own mysterious plans. During such, she would scout an ominous appearance--not as ominous as to worry her, but enough to interest her.

"Who goes there?" She calmly asked, not drawing her staff as she sensed no real danger. It was a familiar tingle, the one she was currently feeling: Making her steady way, she approached the depraved man, soon recognizing his attires. "I once met you... You... I don't know who you are-but why are you here?"

She'd wait for a response, keeping her eyes set on Arachnis, narrowing her gaze as she remained on high alert.
(Lissabeth Akida-Jinseer)

A voice!
Whom ever it was, they managed to scare off the boar the Occultist was hunting. It earned the his irritation, however his tenacity brought him to chase. It scampered away as frantic as it could bumping into rocks, and tripping up on ditched, but alas, his escape was hindered by the descent of a branch from a tree- Torn down by gravitonic forces.

The boar stopped, trapped, thus turning to face it’s predator defiantly with it’s husks ready to maim. It’s hoove clawed into the dirt signalling it’s initial warning, and it’s squeal whined at ears. However, at the rise of such vile tendrils aroused from this predator’s back, arched over the poor creature for the last time, casting their damning shadows over it. Their ends sharpened, reshaping into weapons-

“Lyperion Otovex, May the essence serve me well…”
Like monsters of their own, the tendrils lurched forth, impaling the boar that charged forth, and ensnaring it in a constant slither, serpentine nature was imbued in their behavior. Soon enough, the Boar was twisted and tied down by such extensions, suspended in the air, and left to hang on it’s own weight.

The tentacles of darkness that ran through it’s body constricted at it as well, consuming it’s life force to feed Arachnis. Much like a spider, he simply reduced the flesh to a juice, pure vitality for his form to keep himself up and about. Now that his hunting was no longer an issue, he could turn his head over for the disturbance that almost brought upon the lost his meal. From his face, shown back no eyes, but slitering tendrils that pokes from his emptied eye sockets. One larger tendril hung from his mouth, acting like an overgrown tongue.

He could feel the essence from where he stood, and faintly recognized it from his years in prison. He has met this one before, however, their intro was fairly faint, and he never took it upon himself to truly take a good glimpse at their signature, but indeed it was familiar.

“What, do you want…?”

He asked, his voice gave off a radio-effect, hissing with white noise.
(Arachnis)

 Carefully observing the artistry in Arachnis' usage of occult magic, she did not even budge upon seeing what dreadful end the boar was reserved -- Not that it even mattered to her. Simply drawing her staff from her back, tightly grasping it within both of her hands, she'd violently stab the grass and dig with it, stucking the staff in the tight hole as she spoke yet again while taking note of the man's broken voice tone. "I had come here to gather herbs and various ingredients, but what I find is a familiar presence. Who are you? Judging from the crazy energy you're spewing... A sin mage?"

As a response, Lissabeth's faint energy was released for the male to see and to smell for the most part, calling forth tendrils of occult energy to delicately lay on her own form, merging together in a tight, loving embrace -- Or, for how 'loving' darkness could've been, were it not plain lust. "Now then... If that's so, who might you be -- for I am... Not any better."

While awaiting a response, Lissabeth's tendrils kept on growing, vigorously blazing, dancing, even, giving off an ominous look from the amount of power Lissabeth was currently using, which was not even close to being her maximum.
(Lissabeth Akida-Jinseer)

The Boar squeals were deminished to a constant hiss, it’s life force siphoned from it’s being left it’s body withered into a leathered corpse. It’s eyes beared in to leave holes, it’s body collapsed harshly against’s skeleton, and the tendrils that suspended it’s body unraveled from it. In time, left it to descend, leaving holes in a flabby shell of pork, blood with minor traces of muscles upon the pig’s body shown upon it’s form.

The tendrils retreated to their master, freely wading at his sides like an octopi wading calming in the current. His attention, oddly enough was turned towards Lissabeth the entire time she spoke, only now taking it upon himself to approach. As for his reasoning in approaching? It was the signature she held unique, tainted by energy that felt oddly homely to him. He adored it, and by nature, attracted to it’s pull…

“Sin mage?” He hadn’t known such a term, and thus it was shrugged off without question, why would he have to care of such? “Why do you care for whom I am?” He asked, voice crackling a bit worse than before. As he closed in, the tendrils hanging from his mouth seemed to amplify in quantity, three hanging and dangling about as though to catch hold of something for a quick meal.

“...Do you ask for the same reason that Nostvallians committed to? Are you like the rest of these lands- Considering this world as your own?” He turned his head slightly, to shake away at the thought, dismissing it. “No… No…” Something came to him..
Although he lacked eyes, his sensing capability proved handy, he could feel energies, and in this case, he knew the homely sense when he felt it.

“...You’re an occultist…. What brings you here of all places. Home does not exist here, only enemies…” His feet left the ground, right foot pushed off of it, to point for the dirt below, hardly an inch from the surface.

“Do you wish to see their wrath?” The tendrils from his back arched forth, as though prepared to impale into yet another victim by mere instinct. “Do you wish to see to it your own demise, at their hands?” Through his speech, his lips were incapable of moving, for tendrils filled his mouth. Two tendrils that once inhabited his eye sockets, slowly slipped back into his flesh, inhabiting the pits of darkness that bored into his head.
(Arachnis)

Closing her eyes in concentration, Lissabeth calmed down as the hostilities seemingly decreased -- Alerted by the sudden spike in danger. She eyed what remained of the boar, not envying its end as her attention was turned to Arachnis yet again, trying to think of something to say. "An Occultist's wrath... Why, do you know mine? I could turn this place into a pile of ashes if I simply wanted to, if I simply had a reason to -- while I, alas, don't. I see no threats, thus, I will sheathe my staff, granted that you will not hinder my search for certain ingredients."

As her brief speech ended the young woman looked around, finding but a clover -- A clover she had been looking for. How convenient! "Seems like I found one, at least. Meeting you seems to have spiked up my luck, Nameless Occultist." Picking up the clover with four leaves, Deep blue hues scanned it entirely, searching for impurities or any other factor that could've rendered it useless for her purposes. Deeming it more than enough, she'd swiftly place it inside one of her pouches, containing who knows what and much more -- It wasn't unusual for her to carry all sorts of things that could've come in handy sooner or later.

"I have found what I needed, at least for now, and I can concentrate on you, now. I am interested in you because of your Depravity -- Something that makes us special among the Occultists. Yours is stronger than mine, albeit my Sin has gradually weakened, becoming something else. And yours, Sir... ?"
(Lissabeth Akida-Jinseer)

There she was again, throwing around the term ‘Sin’. Was there second meaning behind it? One he lacked true knowledge of? What did this woman mean by depravity? It toiled around his mind, much like an aggressive mosquito, bobbing around his ear, searching for a proper landing. Just when he figured one was in attack range, it turned out it was never alone in the first place.
It irritated him, bringing birth to a growl from his form.

An animalistic gurgle, one that mirrored the scowling warning of an apex predator in it’s hunting ground. His teeth shown… Sharpened from his years in prison, redesigned to tear into flesh from the looks of it. The intensity of such a presence grew with the aid of the cosmos- Shards of manifesting glass built up upon itself, crunching inwards whilst slowly wading towards it’s ‘summoner’ to mend to his form. More ominous presences took form, soaring into his body to supply the non-existing void in his form, overcharging the weaponized aura to force it into an engorged state. They swayed ravenously, expanding from their base and elongating in all horizontal directions to wade into the trees and landscaping.

A Cosmic Overcharge into his being forced his tentacles to mammoth proportions, even if it was temporary. The Kraken of the Void was now present within Wychwood, likely a homing beacon of occultism at this point. No longer did they wade, but lazily laid around as overgrown extensions of an overfed aura; An odd reaction to one growing irritated.

The tendrils detached from his back, reduced to opaque snakes that basked in the daylight. Their ‘flesh’ was now leathered layer of what looked like remnants of it’s last meal.
“...What am I?” He asked, the miniature tendrils that dangled from his lips slithered back upon his tongue and seemingly down his throat, allowing him to grit his teeth in a malicious grin. Half of his face shown permanent scarring due to severe occultistic burning, and with a glimse down his body- The true damage could be beheld.

An exposed abdomen littered with battlescars seemed to the first set of details, each scar telling it’s own story.
Some scratches, cuts and scrapes; Others far more severel ,consisting of stabs, impalements, burns. Scabbing painted it entirely, and the leathered red flesh could suggest one more thing- Yokai skin. At the edges of this abdomen, signs of severe shadowflame scorching could be detected, and tickling via Hellstorm magic to sew the flesh together. This monster was -made-, not born…

Accompanied with the communication method equivalent to a Yokai, and depravity to shatter a commoner’s mind, it was a wonder how he was still alive. However, with the many scars of battle, and will to carry out such hostile intention, even on a stranger similar to himself, one sin could stick to this figure…. Wrath.

“I do not know what you’re talking about, and I lack care for it. The only sin in this land, is the mindset of Valmasians alike. You, Occultist… You’re unlike them. You bode an aura of the darkness, you embrace it… Do you stand to see them fall as well? Or do you hide amongst them, like a coward afraid of your own skin..”
He lashed out, venom couldn’t even begin to describe the hostility in the occultist’s voice.

(Arachnis)

"Only one,
Only one is the Valmasian I desire.
Wherever her heart is,
Mine shall be."

After Lissy was done with her brief chant she'd stare deeply into the empty sockets of Arachnis' face, indeed finding the male quite scary -- Not enough to really scare the woman, who was used to walking along with depravity thanks to her mother: Maintaining her calm, Lissabeth stared and stared further as the male spoke and she drew her staff out of a scruple.

"You have been touched." She stated as her voice echoed with a creepy, inhuman one as she spoke. She was being cautious with this man, unaware of what he held for her -- While trying to imagine why and what he had in stock. "You have been touched, and without falling into any sin... Then, there is yet another reason for my depravity. I thank you for the revelation -- But it seems that I have no more time to spend here. May I be excused..."

She'd wait for him to reply before leaving whilst turning back, appearing content because of the clover she found: One less trouble to deal with!
(Lissabeth Akida-Jinseer)

Rather than a reply passed his lips, the sizzle of flesh hushed the moment, failing to turn Arachnis’ attention in the slightest, as though expectant of it. The sound came from their left, from one of the tentacles overcharged by the cosmic charge. Apparently, it gaze birth a replicating technique he utilized before, although not quite in the same method.
Slowly, the hiss called attention to the violet fog that hung in the air, slowly embarking on it’s limited journey to consume a portion of the forest.

Such fog slowly encroached around them, opaque enough to block out potential observers from Danarium atleast. As for how distant this fog, one could measure over two thousand feet, and still growing, doubtfully would it touch the actual border of the village of Danarium, although it did linger in lands least tolerant to his presence. The fog caused light damage to foliage, but not as major as it was when condensed in the form of tendrils nor flames of shadow. Had such fog got in contact with Lissabeth, inhaled, physically swayed or interacted with at all- minor itching, sneezing, or perhaps coughing could’ve been contracted as a result of the irritation.

With time, the violet faded to gold, and soon enough- Transparent, but still existent. To those whom hadn’t had sensing capability, such a technique could be seen as pointless, and a mild scent of his occultistic aura could be detected, everywhere, latched to anyone or anything that happened to get into the fog. However, to Arachnis, the forests of Wychwood were not crafted not out of darkness that required sensing individual entities one by one, threats that needed to be heard and sensed to react- No. Now, he could -see- this setting, and could detect any signs of threat or prey from anywhere on this domain.

For now, it was his, his new domain until he could find a place elsewhere to stalk for meals, and sustain his lifeforce.
If nothing was done about the fog, Lissabeth would’ve been tagged, marked for future reference.
(Arachnis)


(Few IC days later)


It'd been a calm few months for Orek'Taal, master surviving yokai. He'd learned quickly how to fend for himself and hunt in the wild, taking his meals without remorse and always hungry for more. More food, more knowledge, more power. Even now, he held a rabbit's dead form in his hands, ripping into it with his sharp teeth and devouring its innards quite quickly.

With a burp it tosses the remaining bits aside, the bones and pelt of little consequence to the creature. Yet, while he was eating, he appears to have gotten lost. What's more, while savoring the delectible flavors of the bunny, he'd failed to notice the sudden loss of the sun's light, the dense haze of purple that'd fallen around him. "Orek...?" He says, sniffing it.

It smelled...good. It filled him with a fuller, stronger feeling. The occult power made the air more savory to breathe, his mouth curling into a smile and hands clenching into fists. He suddenly had so much energy fill him up, it was unreal to the lesser yokai. He didn't know what this miasma was, but he liked it, and he wanted to remain in it. He hopped up onto a tree, with greater ease than usual, beginning to hop between the branches and proceeding through the forest, loudly screamining in an insane joy.

"TAAL! OREK! OREK! TAAL!" He says, dropping to the green floors again and pounding his chest, clawing at the air and semi-howling.
(Orek'Taal)

 Deep within the fog hovered a silhouette, before it, was a suspended rabbit, impaled by a tendril of his darkness. It snaked around it's small fluffy body, suffocating it as it siphoned away at it's life force, feeding himself. The crimson glow that aroused from the departing lance of the void withered the small mammal into a furry hide of leathered flesh.

It's corpse fell at his feet, dried of any useful nutrients aside from the skin itself. Like a spider, he took it upon himself to consume his prey that managed to wander cluelessly into his web. His face twinged abit, a buzz went off in his head, and he turned westward. Something stepped into his fog, his 'webbing', and thus was marked with his presence.

Sensing such didn't take much effort, for it was still moving ecstatically. His hearing, improved by his blindness, drew him in like sonar. Unlike his previous meals, this one was quite occultistic in nature, likely an occultist that also lacked understanding of darkness? He couldn’t quite feel the difference from where he approached- Until the hieght and bodily structure brought him to question it.

“...What… Is this…” He spoke in a monotone expression, white noise bit as his lisps hissed, replicating the likeliness of a radio. “Occultist?’ It oddly felt familiar, as though he’s seen it commonly before, yet oddly enough, even in Wychwood he hasn’t seen a Yokai stumble into his fog before. Four tendrils erupted from his back, arching over his shoulders and across from his hips. He hovered slowly for the Yokai, the lavender dust parting to leave room for his appearance.

“...What… Are you?”
(Arachnis)
It was the freshest and most savory of bouqets, the occult energy in this air. He wanted more of it, to take as much of it in as possible. He took many deep breathes, feeling more energized and powerful with each before snapping his jaws idly, as if trying to eat the air. Grunts and grumbles came as he failed, releasing some of this new energy by clawing down a tree, leaving visible marks.

It wasn't long until he'd found the creator of the miasma....or rather the miasma's creator had found him. He had no clue what this was meant to be, that it was in fact a trap from those foolish enough to trespass into his territory. However, what was a to most a thoroughly woven web of murder, was a treat to this pipsquak of a yokai.

He stared up at the Occultist, which floated menacingly with the dark tendrils, the echoing words causing the pathetic young beast to cower slightly behind a rock, teeth bared in a frightened scowl. "Orek! Taal!" He shouted at the man, gesturing to his mouth as he felt it in his gut. It was the hunger. Rabbits had become not enough to satisfy him, and the occult energy made him hungrier still, simply enticing him with the wonderful aroma.

Slowly, he moved forward, hesitantly, not as afraid as any human should have been thanks to lesser cognitive function and his affinity for darkness. "Orek..." He says, reaching up to touch one of the tendrils as it descended. Then, opening his mouth, his tongue moved to lick it, trying to peel the occult energy away to satiate his hunger.
(Orek'Taal)

Unto the Yokai glared, not eyes, but pits where eyes once were. Void of flesh, for it was forcibly removed judging from the rigid design of the eye sockets that remained. Oddly enough, the head pivoted in the direction of the beast at such close range without the slightest sway of attention, as though beaming a gaze upon him. His mouth parted abit, allowing for a single black tendril to dip from his lips. It dangled, like an overgrown tongue before the Yokai’s face, taunting it.

Upon further speculation, one could note upon his chest wore reddened flesh. An exposed abdomen covered with innumerable marks of damage from cuts and scraps to stabs and impalements. This flesh radiated occultism in it’s own right, for it’s leathered form was once the hide of actual Yokai flesh.

The hide was sewn to his body, seared to his flesh with occultistic flames, and tickled to fine detail with Hellstorm lightning, pin-point accuracy allowed for permanent attachment, unless it was removed in a dangerous or surgically involved method. These two were monsters of their own right, likely reason in them running into one another.

The Yokai seemed to switch its attention to one of his tendrils, taking a lick from it to consume at it’s form, withering it from it’s sharpened state. He didn’t seem to have much irritation of such, infact, it was interesting from his perception. Shardlets of cosmic glass manifested around his form, flowing inward for his body and fueling it with an excess of energy in that short moment. Such an overflow, allowed for the regeneration and hardened formation of the tendrils that waded around him, providing a legitimate buffet for the lesser Yokai.

This man, was indeed a source of infinite occultistic energy. Likely a source for this young Yokai’s evolution, a key to development? Perhaps…
Arachnis’ head shifted slightly at the sight of the beast, observing not it, but it’s mana circuit. How it was strengthened from his own, was indeed… Intriguing…

“...Hrmmmmm….” The bass that reminisced from his voice boomed into the distance, echoing simultaneously from what felt like an omnipresent call.
(Arachnis)

(And thus ends the logging, thanks for reading)