[semi-open] backing away from the problem of pain

[scowlish]

Who: Onni & whoever else!
When: Throughout Septeril
Where: Aefenglom and the Wilde
What: An Apple a Day quest, open general prompt, catch-all for the month
Warnings: clearly marked in subject lines/headers - spoilers, violence, death, body horror, decay, various other types of gross-out



❄ Open Prompts

❄ i. An Apple a Day

Several prompts for moth-induced hallucinations. Content warnings: violence, death, orphaned/traumatized children, body horror, animal-related mutation/decay/rotting imagery, general gross-out monsters

❄ ii. Tunnel Clearing

Content warnings: violence, possible emeto

❄ iii. Magic Practice

Practicing, leveling up spells, open to coaching other Witches. Content warnings: n/a, tba if needed

❄ iv. Wildcard

Write me a random starter or contact me by PM or on Discord at coffee #6251 or private plurk or ping at caffemisto

Comments

❄ Tunnel Clearing

[scowlish]

[Onni is not an adventurous person, by nature. Though he's had to step very far outside his comfort zone since Tuuri and Lalli went off on that ill-advised adventure into the Silent World, for a wide variety of reasons, putting himself in danger isn't something that comes naturally to him. And yet, after having helped to purge the leylines in this area before, he can't bring himself to turn down an opportunity to help remove the last of the infection and restore the fungus garden. Even if he doesn't particularly care about gardening or fungi, himself.

Sunk cost fallacy, probably.

Either way, it's familiar enough and actually easier now that he's practiced his magic more, practiced silent spells and more difficult spells. Wearing his mask to (hopefully) filter out any spores that might linger, he's armed with his sturdy hunting knife and a spear with a sharp point at either end, though he's left his bow and arrows at home. There's little point to that in a tunnel, he thinks.

It isn't until an hour or so into the clearing, carefully resting his fingers against veins of disease and flushing them out with a steady flow of magic, whispering chants under his breath or silently speaking them, that he first runs into the wights. There are two of them, dragging their arms along the ground, skin a sickly white, looking emaciated, their teeth bared - they're just short enough to be under his gaze as he clears a vein at eye level. It's his instincts honed from being in the Silent World that save him, and he steps back just in time to avoid the swipe of a hand and the bite of those nasty teeth.]

Ah!

[A tiny, startled yelp, and then he has his knife out, brandishing it in front of himself as the thing opens its mouth to cry out-]