Alakzyr: The Need To Feed

Thatcher and his father were on their way from Sunflower Village to Cinderfall. The journey would be a long one, several days infact. The duo were going in a small horse drawn carriage. When night fell the two would make camp somewhere off the path until morning came.

On the last morning the two rose and packed their things. Thatchers father told him that they would reach Cinderfall by mid day. Loading into the carriage the two were off, the horse pulling them along at a steady pace. Eventually they came upon the Trystcal Caves. Entering into them Thatchers father lit a torch and held it to light the way.

On they went, turning and winding through the many twists of the cave. Finally they were on the last stretch of cave. Thatchers father quickened the speed with a whip of the reigns. Faster sounds of hooves trotting along the ground echoed through the cave.
(Thatcher)
 Through the darkness one traversed, they'd find a silhuoette shaped from their torchlight: One, of a single man, lone in his travels...
The only sound made from them, was the awkward squish of their steps on dry cavernous earth. Their movements proved sluggish, and their only voicing in the approach towards the light source radiant through the Trystle cavern was a lowly and agonized moan.

Arms drooped to his sides, refusing the natural swing of a wandering man. Their head hung low, drifting from side to side in reverence to delayed stumbles. The only intervention to their depressive moans, was the violent coughing to preceed their full appearance.

Someone sickly? Perhaps, in need of medical attention...
In was in this last stretch of cave, that one would come to see them for themselves...
Adorn in peasantry garb weathered with time, contrasting against a freshly gifty jacket, both of which, stained with blood. The dried sanguineous substance latched across their chin, having once streamed from the corners of his lips. Their skin, deathly pale, though unusually sodden in sweat.

A glimpse at legs revealed a bandage, constricting an over-inflamed appendage, now bleeding pus from the seems and shifted to an unhealthy white.
Their eyes... Blood-shot... Dilated... and honed on both the young boy and his father.

The only sound he could voice, was a gravely inhale.

(Alakzyr)
As the two went it became more and more clear that someone was sluggishly stumbling through the cave. When they finally came into full view Thatchers eyes grew a bit wide. The father pulled back on the reigns to hault the horse in its trot.

'Go help them into the back of the carriage Thatcher. We'll take him to Cinderfall and see if they can help him.'

The boys father spoke with a somewhat worried tone. Either way Thatcher gave a nod and jumped down from the seat. Landing with ease he turned and walked over to the male. However, the closer Thatcher got the more he started to notice about the person. Covered in dried blooed, very pale and unusually sweaty. Like they had just got done training.

Furrowing his brow the boy began to grow a bit suspicious of the unknown male. Stopping a few feet away from the ill male Thatcher rose his voice a bit, calling out to them.

"Hey, uh, you okay mister..?"

The boys voice remained steady despite the bit of child like fear that was building within him.
(Thatcher)
 Eyes finally fell upon Thatcher, and for the first time in one's life...
The world seemed to invoke.... an urge upon him...
As though, a necessary turn: A divine need, not for the greater cause of any humanity outside himself.

Their very presence, their very proximity... It all seemed to draw forth a carnal desire... One that saw realization through the oversalivation that'd pool over his slightly parted lips. The hunger... But why? Why now? Why here? All Alakzyr's eyes could really find to excuse such, was not but a human boy and his father.

Through one's own means of resistance to such an urge their mouth was closed, and saliva forcibly swallowed. At least... Such was the intent.
An involuntary urge choked at him, and a mix of saliva and blood was coughed back up for Thatcher; it sprayed... And with a closer look, an opportunity to catch a whiff radiant of one's form, it was clear to see that this was a sickness.

As to what exactly? It was unknown. One thing was certain however...
It was a non-magi...
Magus weren't commonly known to get sick, at least to ailments of this calibur.

Then again... What was this?
(Alakzyr)
The eerie silence that came from the male infront of Thatcher started to get to the boy. A shiver ran up his spine as more fear began to set upon his mind. Trying to take in every detail he could the boy noticed that they were not putting off any mana signatures. At least, not that he could sense.

Furrowing his brow again the twelve year old would take a hesitant step back. Just as he did so the male coughed. With it came a a spray of blood to which the male had to avoid. Doing so just in time the boy rose his hands up infront of him. A moment was had before he took two more steps away from the being.

"Whats wrong with you Mister? You need help .. o-or.."

Near the end of his words his fear got the better of him. Starting to shake with vissable fear it was obvious the child was not mentally prepared to handle a situation like this. Even the father did not know how to handle it, fear having taken the better of him as well.

Out of nowhere strong gusts of wind began to pull toward Thatchers body. Just as this started to happen the ground beneath them began to shift and turn. No doubt a sign of his magic, which he had yet to fully control.
(Thatcher)
To one's questioning, came a moan...
The gust of wind was felt, but not warranted a response. It didn't feel as though it was required a response...
It was a clear indication of danger, was it not?

He needed help... He knew this... And he opened his mouth to speak, to answer Thatcher...
But the words... They never came.
It was as though, they were forgotten... Or something had kept them locked away.

Wheezing ensued... Mouth agape, and hobbling sped himself up for... Not Thatcher... Nor even their father, but the largest entity available: Their horse. Had one not been intercepted him, he'd... faceplant the horse's side. It seemed... Pitifu-- Teeth gnashed into its skin, attempting to sink into the flesh.

It felt strange, albeit... Satisfying? The urge, felt... Far from grotesque and the taste, should it not be denied was... Not quite as metallic as previously expected. Regardless, it was far from likely that he'd get away with such an act, if on the off-chance he'd manage to accomplish such...
(Alakzyr)
Just moans and wheezes escaped the sick individual. Thatchers fear began to ease away, however, when the male rushed their horse the boy jumped back. Fear, if nothing else, stopped the boy from doing anything to prevent the male from attacking their horse. At least at first.

When the horse bucked and started to take off Thatchers father was no longer able to control it. Instead of listening to the fathers commands their horse broke away from the sickly male and continued to sprint away into the caves. The only calls from the father being ones to Thatcher, ones of fear.

Now alone with the male infront of him the twelve year old farmers child rose his arms. Putting his hands infront of his face Thatcher stared out at the unknown person. A shakey voice spoke.

"Y-you stay over there Mister. I.. I don't know who you are or what you are.. but Cinderfall can probably help you."

Ultimately alone, afraid and unsure in and of his situation Thatcher kept his guard. Chunks of dirt and rock began to lift and gravitate toward the boys hands.
(Thatcher)
He couldn't... A horse was simply... Too much, too strong... Too fast.
He scared it off, and with the boy's father in tow, it fled out of control. The galloping ensued, and hungry eyes could only stare at it looming in the distance, surely to vanish into the darkness of the cavernous.

Of course, this would leave him only with the last: Thatcher himself. The unbearable hunger irked at him still, and all he could hope to do was let it twist perception in his mangled mind. One was... Changed, transformed from a typical man, all at the lack of aid from the magus demi-gods that wandered the land so casually.

Now, a plagued individual, he lumbered forth...
All one could see...
Was a treat for the teeth. The sanguineous substance that bore in their veins was likely the cure for his strife. It had to be...
It felt like it.
Of course, he could continue asking himself why... But he'd never find the answer. What purpose was there in asking... What satisfaction came from it.

He leaned forth and took the first few steps.
(Alakzyr)
Seeing the person starting to take steps toward him Thatcher tightened his already fisted hands. Larger chunks of rock of dirt started to lift from the ground and swarm toward his hands. One might think it would weigh him down, perhaps they were right?

The gusts of wind that seemed random before started to move in unison. Suddenly they started to wrap around his body, blowing his clothes and hair about. Already in his stance the boy new that it was fight time, the first he would see in his life.

"Please Mister, please stop!"

Shouting at the approaching male Thatcher prepared himself. A silent prayer to Kraus was made just after.
(Thatcher)
There were no words...
One couldn't fathom what he'd say...
Then, there was the wind... The magic... All of it...
And when considered the fact that a mere man stood before one of the very demi-gods of the land, it felt doubtful that they served any chance of survival, much less victory in this strife.

He interpreted the words... At least, he thought he did...
But no response would come to them. None, outside of his further advances.
There could be prayer. There could be retaliation.
There could be resistance.

But it meant nothing. Not until one man hit the ground, and the other could decide of their fate... Or flee. Whichever came first.
(Alakzyr)
As soon as the sick male moved toward him once more Thatcher went on the attack. He shot forward a bit of Wind magic which wrapped around Alakzyrs body. More so these wings wrapped around the males wrists and ankles, making it incredibly difficult for them to move or attack.

Just as Thatcher finished manipulating his mana to do so the boy was upon the ill being. Much faster and harder than he expected Thatcher threw a left jab! The punch struck out and landed square on the beings chin. A second short jab followed through which set the two of them apart.

After the second jab the young farmers boy began to step around the sick male. He ensured to keep his distance and to keep their movements on lock. In doing such he saw the being go to lift its arms in an attack motion. Ducking under the arms of Alakzyr, Thatcher shoved the the males stomach. Doing so to create a bit of distance between them the boy also created the opening he needed!

Seeing it Thatcher shot a bit of mana through his right arm and into his right hand. Delivering a harsh uppercut to the sick males chin Thatcher knew he had hit his mark. His attackers body went all noodle like as it toppled to the ground. Leaning forward somewhat the boy was trying to release his mana though his adrenaline kept it going for the most part.

"I-I'm sorry Mister. I didn't want to have to do that but you .. you didn't stop."

His words were spaced between breathes. Knowing full well his fallen opponent could not hear him Thatcher took the moment to rest and collect his thoughts.
(Thatcher)
 It was a slaughter...
One man, versus what he percieved as a nigh-deity. The powers thrashed through him, with gales alone. The strength a mere boy possessed with such magical influence was one of an entire magnitude his body hadn't even come close to comprehending.

In that moment, he had come to learn pain, through his pain...
Through this disorientating veil of sickness, came the anguish of one's physical blows. Without any means of protecting himself, he swayed to one's absolute might.

A jab, turned the entirety of his form. The second, toiled him away... To think he had the strength to stand much further than that, was an amazing feat in itself.
Though, it was the uppercut that ended it all...
Behind the adreneline...
Behind the mana...
Behind all of the might... was a force unrelenting to a being without the resilience to give a magi a fair match.

It flew in the direction of the strike, soaring through the air for a rough landing.
One was exhausted... But the other, was downed... Unconscious...
Defeated...
At least, they'd recover with time... Hours, maybe.
(Alakzyr)
After a few seconds of catching his breath and settling down Thatcher stood straight. His dark brown eyes looked at the fallen male in thought. For a moment Thatcher tossed the idea around about leaving the male there. However, his fathers teachings would not allow him to do so.

Instead, Thatcher walked up to the male and rose his hands slightly. Chunks of rock and dirt started to form around the unconcious males wrists. The rock and dirt finally shifted all together and molded into one clasp. This kept Alakzyrs hands and arms together, unable to be used for the most part.

Looking around him a few times Thatcher finally knelt down. Grabbing onto the fallen male he started to dragging them by their feet. Thatchers aim was Cinderfall, it was the next and best solution to his problem.
(Thatcher)
Near the end of their trip Thatchers mucles were screaming at him. Even at the Farm the boy had no worked so hard in his life. He had to fight the person off and then had to turn around and drag them! Sure, pushing the till around was hard work but this was dragging a person. After having just fought them. Thatcher was twelve!

Seeing light through the cavern wall brought a releaved sigh from the male. More determined now than at the start of this venture, Thatcher drug the unconcious male on out of the cave and into Cinderfall. Finally reaching his destination the farmers boy turned and saw people. Magi no less.

Continuing to drag the male Thatcher approached them and dropped Alakzyrs feet. Shortly after the boy dropped to his own knees, exhausted breathing followed. He was simply too tired to speak. Instead Thatcher continued to kneel there, arms hanging at his sides while his chest heaved in and out.

One could see make shift earthen restraints clasping around Alakzyrs wrists.
(Thatcher)