Mazzer's stomach churned, recalling every second of his last meal, the blood curdling screas, the pleads of mercy, not for life, but for a quick passing, but this he could not even offer. He was hungry... but the thought of eating again made him want to cry. And the whispers inside his head were driving him insane. He sought to end it. "No!" Mazzer shouted. With his free hand, he clenched his head, squeezing tightly, making an attempt to somehow suffocate the voice inside his head, or put himself into a state of unconsciousness, either one would suffice for Mazzer at this moment. But the words merely turned into a roar, mocking Mazzer's effort to stifle it. Yes... squeeze harder! Rip me from your mind! The voice getting louder now, in an angrier tone. If you kill me, I'll take you with me!
"Shutup! Just shutup!" But before Mazzer could react, his arm sprung to life, the forearm splitting open revealing many rows of bloodstained teeth. Moments before it clamped down onto the Mazzer's neck, it halted, snarling, salivating at the thought of finally tasting flesh. If you intend to starve yourself, then let me do us both a favor and end it quickly. Remember this, you are the parasite, not the other way around. Mazzer began to pout. He wanted to end it... his miserable life, but was too much of a coward. His arm fell to the ground, dormant, as it had been just seconds earlier.

His eyes peered down at it for a moment. The limb resembled nothing of what it once was. Thoughts of ripping it free of his body escaped into his mind, but were immediatley cut short. Remember what I said... The words fading. Mazzer stood up, not taking time to understand what the other said. For what seemed like an eternity he had been sitting down, staring at a brook, finding some sort of peace in the shambles of his life. In the back of his mind though, he could feel the other's patience wearing thin. He knew it wouldn't be long, before it was powerful enough to consume him completely.

Mazzer began to walk forward, somewhat in the direction of Estolad. There were many roads that led there, and the fallen god knew that there were many travelers that would make easy prey. It wouldn't be long before he ran into a dirt road leading there.




(First post in a few months, be gentle)

Twas a fairly ordinary and common task in the day of Allen Cross, a simple man living in the village of Estolad not far from the Grasslands and Taurai Wood, to come out to the Wood to hunt, make his living. And thus, since it was midday, that was what he was going there for now. A simple living...shoot the beast, carry it back to the village as best he could, then sell the skin and keep the meat for food for a few days, often a week. Simple, but it worked for him.

At the moment he was wearing an earthy green tunic over a simple brown shirt and pants held up by a thin sash. He wore cloth shoes on his feet, which made his steps lighter and quieter. At his right, attached to the sash, was a quiver of arrows, and hanging around his shoulder was the short bow to go with them. The perfect tools for hunting.

Making his way to the Wood with a long but patient stride, he kept walking for a few moments until he found a promisingly low branch. Quickening his pace a little to a light jog, he jumped up and grabbed onto the branch with both hands, kicking his right leg out toward the tree and using it to shove him steadily onto the thick appendage.

With that done, he gave out a small breath of light exhaustion, naught but a simple whisper among the woodland sounds of birds chirping, leaves rustling, and others that people would likely expect. Removing his bow from his shoulder and an arrow from the quiver, he set the arrow in place, scanning about for some sort of animal, something to hunt, though of course not a sentient being.

What he found, however, was far from what he expected. It may have simply been his mind playing tricks on him as he stood up, bracing himself between two branches near each other, but it seemed to him as if the arm of the man nearby had...well, come to life would be saying too little. More like turned into something else entirely, something with rows of sharp, reddened teeth. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been anything good.

Noting the arm return to normal, and the man begin to walk off in the direction of Estolad, he rose his bow, nocking it back with hardly a sound, targeted for that strange arm. Should something happen, that would likely be the target he would wish to hit...it was simply a matter of if his arrows would do anything.