The Horde: The New Strand

After escaping those two sand-desert Kaors.

Khaslob floated all the way northwards, and finally exited the land of the Sarab. It was getting closer and closer to Loranthis, closer to Thom... It could -feel- that. It was anticipating that...... and it was also afraid of that. What if it couldn't convince Thom? What would happen to it? What would happen to Thom? What would happen to Corin and all of Cinderfall?...

Not good. But anyway, it would be, hovering over this area. Blonde and with a Magi Gun, standing out. It was now in the northern prairies, wide grasslands, down there was a pond and. A cottage? It was also twelve feet above ground by the way, not too high.
(Khaslob)
By the cottage, one could note the abnormality of a crowding. Perhaps, it wasn't worth much of a glance or devoted attention. Albeit, with some matter of investigation, the details would unravel to them.
Numbering at roughly four, bloodied figures took to idling in the general scene. Three of which hunkered over... something.
Their bodies covered something, their faced buried into their discovery.

Clearly, they were wake and conscious, at least... three of the four. Alakzyr himself whipped his head up from their find, allowing a splash of sanguineous subtance to lash en-link to his chin. In that moment, one could get a better view of what the other two still dove themselves into.

The fallen body of an unfortunate traveler likely coming across this group before being taken down and eaten out. The damage forced upon the nameless traveler's body was sported along the abdomen and chest-- Yet, far from deep enough to outright tear them to pieces. Needless to say, compared to the first two outside of Alakzyr, this recently fallen was far more scathed by tooth-forged gouges on its body.

The other two appeared sickly:
Their skin, dull and grayed, sodden and glaring with sweat.
Upon the shoulder of one, was the bloodied mark of one's gnawing, with the other sporting the same wound along the chest. All of which shown visages splattered with blood, most notably Alakzyr whom dawned a shadow-casting hood.

The shimmering taint of crimson colored the entirety of his chin, making the former actions quite obvious. These entities were eating this poor soul, fortunately, far from devastating in their progress individually from one another. Who knew how long this individual was lying victimized to their gluttony... All that was known for certain, was they were already getting tired of the taste of flesh, slowly rising up to succumb to the familiar scent of yet... another...

It felt like an endless buffet: This hunting ground, was perfect for this newly emerged pathogen.
(Alakzyr)
Khaslob: <*o_o*>
...... It immediately stopped to land around the cottage area.

The moment that Khaslob saw four figures down there, covered in red... blood. And an Alakzyr in the midst of it all, blooding dripping down his chin. Bite marks... covered all over one of the -bodies-, or body..... The closer that the Mimic walked and looked, the quicker it realised - that the other three were actually concious. But looking bad, looking like death... just...

This, reminded of it of the events that it had been through a decade ago. Raiding an 'infected' orphanage with people at Nostvale, killing children, burning down their bloody bodies... This scene was very, very gory, and the stench, that for a moment blew over to the Mimic thanks to the northern winds. Was putrid.......

But Khaslob knew, for sure, that just like with Thom...... It -had- to do something about this. It just couldn't fly past this place without... doing something. Help those dying guys! Do something to the...... cannibal...... Even if it really, really wanted to help Thom as soon as possible. It just felt -wrong- to leave this bloody scene...

So it suddenly called out to them. "'EY!" Announcing its presence.
(Khaslob)
To the voice, turned Alakzyr...
The other two of his bitten found their attention locked upon the new presence as well, all eyes dilated to reflect one's image. Their vocalization came with their descent from the skies above-- providing a gander into their true nature: A magi.
One of them ...
It provided a sense of uneasiness for Alakzyr himself, preferring to hover over the fallen body aside from Akriel.

The other two however, were thralls to their urges, slowly making their exhausted stroll over for Khaslob. Their forms were limp, arms hanging and head slung over for a lax facade. Despite their pale skin and rather morbid appearance, they were still breathing-- Wheezing, rather.

The utterances they made between such, was the long and dragged moans in despair. This, was a constant burden, an agony that could never be defined with any rhetoric. There was no longer a form of sadism nor joy to be felt from any party...
Only a sense of purpose, and drive to escape the pain they suffered-- Their callous approach towards danger only further enforced the intent to spread the infection at all costs.

As though to add on to the sickly theme to such a situation, the originally downed individual, eaten away at by these three... Twitched...
Irked...
Gasped...
And slowly rose from the ground: Re-animated in a sense from their comatose state.

The infection rate was getting faster. With more harbinging the contagion, their numerous bites meant more entry points, ensuring a sooner pace of affliction. The end result, was the populace rising from a total of four, to five. Alakzyr, simply kept to his place... Watching as yet another of his kind rose, and preparing to join them in their slow lumber over to the apparent magi.

The fear he exhibited signs of, diminished slowly as their numbers increased.
(Alakzyr)
It got the attention of Alakzyr who turned around...... and the two near-dead 'people' who had their eyes locked onto its area, slowly, sluggishly trying to make their way over to it. And the 'body' that was down to the ground, twitched violently, rose, got up, and joined... and everything just.

Was gross. But most importantly, most shockingly...... was familiar.

Those sickly, inhuman grunts the Khaslob could remember. The near-dead features alongside the little- or maybe a lot of blackness showing up, in the form of vein-like structures or otherwise... How they sounded, felt, looked. It all reminded of the Mimic, of the same orphanage killing scene described in the last post.

Ravaged by the Chimera Virus.

The Khaslob took steps backwards, that was for sure, slowly pulling out its Magi Gun, holding it by its side. There really wasn't any way for it to help these poor people - it didn't have whatever antidote - and it also didn't know Clio was dead but yeah. There wasn't any way to help... except to do as it had done in the orphanage - kill. Burn down, rather, due to its magic......

But why? Why here? Why was it way over here, the virus? If it even -was- the virus. "Stae' back...!" It, tried to warn.
(Khaslob)
A golden afro blotted out the sun (sort of, not really) as a youth flew overhead, coming from the north. His intentions were simply to explore, adventure and possibly find information which he sought, but his attention was instead diverted when he flew over the Plains South of Loranthis.

Something was amiss, a sense of depravity wafting from the area. It was an odd feeling, and Seamus wasn't about to simply fly by without making sure no one was going to be hurt. He landed nearly silently beside the  gunmage, his staff levitating off of his back and into his hand.

"I take it these ain't the good guys, ikka. Want some help, my man?" Seamus shot a grin, offering his assistance in the situation.
(Seamus O'afro)
Slowly, one rose to join the ranks of its bloodied brethren, taking to the slow advance behind what already fearlessly made their slow wander in Khaslob's direction. They were threatened... Warned... But not swayed, still keeping to their underwhelming pace in pursuit. Even a moderate pace backwards would've kept one out of reach well enough, though encroach they still did.

Their intent, was far from benign to say the least...
Alakzyr abruptly stopped in his approach to succumb to a violent coughing fit. The blood splatter from the expulsions speckled across the backs of the other infected; visible weakness in their host shown in such display.
A louder moan was vocalized by one growing increasingly close to Khaslob, soon stumbling over itself.

The forthward leaning figure kicked up its pace, seemingly in an attempt to spare itself from falling outright-- A moderate jog pace initiated only within threatening proximity.
With arms extended out to reach for the armed mimic, aiming for something... someone to balance itself on, the intent could've been figured out well enough.

With parting maws laced with strings of mucus, saliva and blood , teeth were meant to sink into whatever flesh was provided without appropriate evasion.
That was, if one didn't open fire first...
The other party however was seemingly not noticed yet, not quite within the targetted focus of this strange small group of sickly cannibals... Though, how long would such last?
(Alakzyr)
"-Ya-.." Basically, another guy who wielded the strangest of blonde hairstyle came near to the Khaslob, afloat in the air, offering help. It, it nodded.

And just when it turned back to look over to the small horde, it spotted immediately a single figure, infected of them. Was sluggish for a while, but suddenly, they jolted, jogged, and was having their arms very extended, headed towards the way of the Mimic.

There wasn't much thought needed.

The Khaslob quickly focused a surge of its mana into the runic Magi Gun, which of course began to generate, and convert the given mana into what the runes detailed of the conversion - into fire. Long story short, a burst of flames, a flamethrower erupted from its gun and fired right to the infected 'person', possibly burning it down, hopefully successfully killing at an instant depending on.

Roll.
(Khaslob)
With a nod and a grin, the staff wielding youth tapped its end on the ground, calling down a bolt of lightning to strike one of the slow-moving, fodder infected. It was a simple thing, but hopefully enough to take out the monstrosity  as Seamus had no real gauge on how much of a beating it could take.

As the crack of lightning emanated about the plains, dark clouds began to gather overhead. It seemed as if an overcast day was going to be the forecast. For a thirty meter radius around the youthful magi. In terms of power, it was a pathetic display but one which was merely a stepping stone in his journey.

"They wreak." Seamus grumbled, wrinkling his nose at the malodorous aroma.
(Seamus O'afro)
The first-most found its passage intercepted with a weapon directed for its face. Where its mouth parted to evelope the first appendage it could fit in its mouth. To its misfortune, what teeth sought for-- Was not forged of flesh, but metal...
--And from the soon mana-charged device spooled animated pyre that illuminated the seems of its mouth. The residue of saliva and blood was instantly vaporized into a pungent smog.

The skin violently tremored in the face of extreme heat. The sweat on its skin bubbled, and appendages swelled rapidly.The moan that followed transcended the auditory spectrum to portray the victim's agony in their final moments before abruptly combusting into a splatter of crimson and off-amber.

The rain of blood that followed, steaming from the fiery ignition prior...
It painted members of the scene, adding a whole new level of grim from the remaining figures that looked upon their presumed would-be victims. Yet... Somehow, they did not... Stop? The rest continued on what seemed to be a suidical endeavor!

Another continued, soon to find themselves smited from above. Fulmination of magi-design coursed from the skies above, gattling in its course from above to catch a successful trail through the still-raining blood to intensify its strike. Downward it'd fall, forced to a knee...
Incapacitated in that instant with steam easing from its form-- Scorched... But still very much present... Still...breathing.

Clearly, they were outmatched, reduced from an active four, to two in a near instant. The initial host slowed down, fighting with his better judgement. They were losing numbers, yet the urge within him demanded that he advance regardless. It was as though, the taste of their life's substance was far more valuable than living itself.

This... Sickness... Truly seemed adamant to drag him to his very end. Perhaps, he wasn't quite close yet, but the other accompanying his person continued on its way towards the mimic, as though only to further define their lack of awareness. They, were losing their grasp on common sense... Of fear...
The contagion...
The subsistance...
It was all that truly mattered...
Now, these two were going to learn that, assuming...

--Assuming the initial host couldn't fight the glint of reasoning he grasped so desperately to within his clouded mind.
(Alakzyr)
The one that the Khaslob struck heated up intensely, before collapsing, imploding, and at the same time exploding into a firey gore that rained blood, that also evapourated into steam and whatnot... Spreaded the very, very foul and pugent smell.

There was another of them that was struck from the air above - the blonde afro guy doing some kind of magic technique. Which spelled the fate of that other guy, definitely. There were only two of them left, two... of the approaching ones at least. And the Khaslob was ready to... yeah. Again.

It held outwards its Magi Gun, aiming towards their direction for sure. Yet again did it fuel forth mana into the runic tube, which would in turn generate sparks, create fire, and depending on the intensity of the mana input, would fire whatever type of firey attacks there was. This time?

Was a large, sweeping firewave. That totally aimed to strike, and do the same as it had done to one. But now - two of them.
(Khaslob)
As the infected fell before the youthful countenance of Seamus, he paid peculiar attention to it as it fell. It lived, though it had been scorched beyond recognition. It was similar to what he had seen when the Kaor Onibi had smote the non-magi during a battle. Obviously this thing was far from human.

Something was off, terribly off. As Seamus' mottled hues glanced between the remaining contaminated, he noticed that one hesitated, as if some semblance of common sense was still present. Thunder exploded in the background as the youth's summoned storm began to rage, though it merely acted as a focus for his magic and not the host as it truly should. It was still incomplete.

Recognition flickered across Seamus' expression, his childish naivete believing there may still be some redemption for this monstrosity. Realistically, this was all which awaited it, but the hopefulnuss of youth overpowered the rationalization of his mind. He made  no more attacks, instead merely watching as the other leveled his gun, took aim, and fired.
(Seamus O'afro)
Truly, Seamus was noting details...
Certainly, the last infected he noted were not nearly this resilent, instantly vaporized upon coming in contact with malignant magics. However, this new strand was... Stronger...
Having come in contact with a threat and... adapted...

A mutation, courtesy of endangerments to the host? It wasn't too far a presumption; this process had started long before he came across Onibi prior. It was getting stronger... Feeding off of the essence it came across with time. Every bite, every victim, every environmental shift and endangerment the strand faced, it supplemented itself-- Improved itself.

How else was a formerly fragile parasite to strengthen against the magical encounters that so often and effortlessly purged it before it could ever emerge? Temporarily incapacitated, the formerly downed infected slowly strained to rise back up to its feet. Though, it was with its rise, and the approach of the remaining unscathed, that came the waves of flames.

Their touch singed, scorched, chewed up at the cloth they wore and boiled the sweat from their clammy skin. They felt pain, but couldn't find the will to sway their advances despite it. Their vocalization was made in the form of their moans, continuing through the fire and flames.

"It... hurts ..." uttered Alakzyr, speaking for the fallen, proceeding to advance. Perhaps, they could get close enough to disarm the assailant? Perhaps, they could hold off their weapon. All of it, just for a bite. Perhaps, they'd even have it. Growing much closer than before, the one previously scorched was finally lit aflame, stumbling its burning form unto Khaslob to attempt forcing him off-balance.

Their hands reached for whatever they could manage, as prelude for what they so desperately sought for.
Whether they'd accomplish such, depended on their next few actions.
Alakzyr himself continued after the chaos, rather slow to stroll within the clear proximity of danger in intent for an easier, more gauranteed opportunity to taste this... oddly scented entity.

They had never had the opportunity to taste something like this before... Why did this incredibly short individual smell so different from the rest of their victimized meals?
(Alakzyr)
But Khaslob didn't see that all the way through.

It saw a single flamethrower annihilate one of those things. So this great fire wave that it sent to the two, would definitely have killed them. In its mind, of course. Little did it know that did not happen - but the point was - that it didn't know! The moment the fire wave was launched, oddly, the Khaslob levitated upwards and attempted to take off flying northwards!...

It didn't really expect them to survive - and it was actually low-key in a hurry to find Thom. And it thought its mission here- or rather -side quest- was just about done. Because it really thought it finished the job and ruined them all!... Yup.
(Khaslob)
Mottled hues squinted in suspicion as he watched this monstrosity approach the strangely youthful individual below. As much as he desired to simply stop them and end their blight, he needed to know more. It wouldn't save anyone if these things just kept coming back. Grunting, the youth levitated around the group, lightning crackling along his staff as he kept himself ready to defend should they unleash a power he knew not about.

The other lad fled, flying in roughly the same direction that he had arrived from, but Seamus paid him little mind. These monsters were still roaming about, still a threat to anyone who happened upon them. With little ability to do much else than keep them from attacking anybody else.

Snapping his fingers in the most cliche of ways, another bolt of lightning escaped from the skies in order to strike the monsters that were left, hopefully glassing them. It was his duty to smite any such demons which roamed the land of Valmasia.
(Seamus O'afro)
The flaming of the assailing three found its arms failing to take grasp of this odd humanoid. Flight was something they weren't capable of taking full advantage of, something that truly were damned against. It meant that one's departure from the scene to the skies above didn't allow those engulfed by the burning cloud below to reveal their fate to Khaslob.

They departed, leaving only one left: Seamus. Alakzyr... remembered this one. The gaze he gave them was a prominent one...
One that knew the threat behind their presence. Truly, they were bad news for the integrity of what screamed at him from within.

He needed more... But this... This one, could put an end to that... An end to them all. Preservation was key...
Preservation came with numbers... and with numbers plummeting, it meant that this one had to be swayed, discouraged from their endeavor, or at the least, evaded.

An elongated wheeze provided further sembelence to a hiss from Alakzyr's parting maws. The dripping stream of saliva from his open mouth shown one's second descent into this driven madness.
The flaming entity of their numbers had taken their gaze to the last of these intruders to this chosen hunting ground, the final threat.

The snap of the magi's fingers wrought Zeus' wrath down upon the sickly, striking down with a figuritive hammer that was another bolt from above. The first to make their encroaching advances were swiftly caught by the first strike, crushed to the very land they stood upon. The combination of smoldering pyre and eletrifying essence had rendered the foremost into dust: Merely, a blackened stain upon the green earth underfoot-- Frequently blotched with the blood and pus of their dwindling numbers.

The stench of their dying filled the air as their steaming blood forced what little survived the initial strikes to become an airborne miasma. The remaining had slowly made their way despite this...
The danger was known, yet they did not falter. Alakzyr himself was stricken down with the next of the torrent. The possession of so much energy constricted his every muscle, and tensed them unforgivingly against the bone.

The sting that followed, the heat, all of which, seeking to incinerate him within the stream of coursing ower. Though... It didn't work. The body simply wasn't conductive enough, or rather-- The bolt in particular wasn't refined enough. He was forced to a knee, nonetheless-- Just as blackened and scorched as one was to expect, briefly incapacitated.

The final two were closing in, but found themselves at another loss: The distance between them and their prey. Flight, once more, had proven to be a crippling disadvantage between themselves and these brand of magi. Yet, they pooled for one nonetheless, bound to reach fruitlessly for a body vastly out of reach.

Lightning came down, smiting them both in their reach for the heavens, forcing them to the grounds respectively-- Blackened and seemingly unresponsive...
There was... No more movement from the ground, all bodies lying upon the ground. However, it felt... Odd... off to someone on the outside looking in. Maybe it was a brief moment of fatigue? A lucky break? At the very least, Alakzyr himself seemed clearly conscious, breathing and likely to rise back to his feet at any given moment.
(Alakzyr)
"A most unfunky fate, my friends." Seamus shook his head at the group of, he beliieved, felled foes. Though having much experience in his short life, none of it was from a position of power such as this. He had never learned to pay attention to whether or not his opponents were still breathing, if their bodies had any chance of returning to motion.

It was this childish naivete that led to being the monstrosity's saving grace. There was no reason for the child to remain once these beings had been smitten, and in his eyes this was the end of their miserable lives even as their bodies steamed and hissed from the damage. Plus, his first blast had reduced one of their number to ashes, why would his consecutive attacks do any less than outright destroy them?

Yet another foolish mistake by an equally foolish boy. Though his heart lay in the right place, his mind was not yet developed enough to make the correct choices, as righteous as they may have been. At least in his own eyes. He flew off towards The Wychwood, leaving the crisp monsters to their graves. Or so he thought.
(Seamus O'afro)
Knelt to a knee, one rested, frozen within the encapsulation of torched ebony-- Once pale skin, but now a meld of ash, blackened flesh and fused clothing. The smoke still streamed from the 3rd degree burns that shown through it all, and body proved stiff in a humbling position of inferiority to a greater power.

Though, as damned as one was...
He could still hear the child's premature proclamation of victory...
Still smell their flesh, beyond his smoldering own...
Yet, despite expecting the finishing blow... They didn't? Did they truly think it was already over? Did they think of this, the end? The shadow of his tattered hood revealed the gleam of his eyes to the sun lying upon the horizon.

He watched... As the youth shook his head at the sorry sight. It didn't last, for in that moment of acceptance, they flew off-- for the north. A groan eased from his rising form, cracking leylines in his hardened form to render himself liberated from the shell forged of his petrified flesh and apparel.
It fell from his form in shards akin to shattered glass, revealing bloodied patches across his form entirely.

With their impact against the soil, they burst into a dust and ashes to be carted by the soft breeze. To the setting sun and its birthing twilight, it stood once more... Alive, embracing what was, from what could've been.
As though to further such claim, those stricken down prior had abruptly sprung back to life! Not quite purged in their smiting, but rather stricken down for the moment.

It was in their pause, that one took their departure, too soon expecting it a victory: The infected remained... The infection, spared by eradication due to the mistake made at this scene.
(Alakzyr)