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sweat and tears swept under the rug ✧ memories & scavenging - Printable Version

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sweat and tears swept under the rug ✧ memories & scavenging - teef - 04-21-2021

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LAEGLIN NIAZAI LINGRÉ
[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"] TW: ROTTEN BODY
(Italics are the memories)

The sweet scent of rot was one he was familiar with. He'd lived with a body that had been sick and falling apart on him. He'd gotten used to the scent of rot at a much younger age, but those memories were present. He knew it from the way the injuries he had borne upon his hind legs, despite every treatment, he had known it from the time he was a hatchling, from whenever his father entered a rage. He knew the scent of rotting bodies, the disgusting scent it bore within itself a siren's lullaby to the carrion eaters.

His paws pressed through mud and muck, striped tail swinging faintly behind himself as he walked onward. The sounds surrounding him became a dull drone, filled by other sounds, supplied by his mind. His nose carried him towards the source of the rot, but the voices in his ears gave him a silent sense of longing and foreboding. The feeling of being pressed amongst other squirming wet bodies, tiny claws tapping and smacking against the bodies known as his siblings. Taste of milk upon lips, latching onto mother with a fierce growl, fighting bigger siblings that pushed at him, his ferocity made known in his angry squeaks and tiny growls. Soothing the tender and loving voice of mother, her tongue rasping over his head, his unease disappearing under her touch as he fed and fell into sleep, distant the rumble of father and numerous the other adult voices that filled the air.

Before his paws laid a body, a serval like himself, his mind supplying images of his old broken body as he shook his head side to side. He wasn't helpless anymore, he wasn't trapped in a crippled body. Armor was laid upon the corpse, armor that sparked something in him. The corpse was decayed and the soul had long left its host. Little was left of it that could be made out, the tawny fur causing an ache to spring in his heart. He wanted to see his mother suddenly- wherever she was if she was still alive. He was unaware of the tears that rolled down his face, that empty hole expanding itself in his heart - she'd disappeared without a word, and he'd been raised by his father. He had loved his mother, he knew that much. He'd taken after her the most out of his siblings, and he'd always been by her side.

Blinking as his paw touched the metal chest piece, he would inhale, new sounds filling his ears in that humming drone. Metal screeching and clashing, iron filling his nose with it's tangy scent, sweat rolling along his body, muscles screaming with exhaustion and being pushed to their limits. The pain of a sharp edge biting into him, his breathing heavily labored. The sounds of a voice beside him, the vision of his enemy across from him a metal golem of war. Hot the blood that dripped into his eyes, his jaw aching as much the rest of his body, cold and shaking his limbs. There was nobody but him and his enemies, the world rolling as his legs were knocked out and he was forced to his knees, defeated, as death came for him. Lifting his paw from the armor, he would run it along the leather that covered the spine, down to the metal that covered the forearms and the plates that formed part of the way down the tail. What was the point of that?

His paws would rest on the satchel next, his eyes sliding to half closed, another scene appearing in his mind. Gentle were the sounds around him, silence broken by the coughing and hacking, his own breath so loud within his ears. It was cold and bitter around him - the hand he was holding was fast losing heat. Trembles struck the victim whose hand he held, the face lost to the darkness of his mask. Meaningless words fell from his lips, praying for the body that had given up its soul, lost to illness. Soon the scent of smoke would filter past the herbs and flowers stuffed into the beak of his mask, fire visible to his eyes as he stood in solemn silence, watching a pit of bodies burning. The illness had taken them, and he was left to watch in his failure to cure it. Unbeknownst to him, his own body shivered and trembled in the real world, outside of his mosaic of memories, a strange sight to be sure. -
[W]isker



Re: sweat and tears swept under the rug ✧ memories & scavenging - ARVID R. - 04-21-2021

The scent of rot was not one that Arvid was used to, and not one that he enjoyed. Most of the time, the smell of death and rotting brought back memories of the various labs that he had been passed back and forth from, before he got dumped onto the island. While he had lived through his experiences within the lab, others very much hadn't. He could remember the sight of their bodies as he had been dragged along, and the scene tof their blood, staining the cages that they had once been held within. Seeing the corpses had always filled him with fear, terrified that he wouldn't actually make it out of the labs alive. That all of the poking and prodding wouldn't eventually lead to freedom, but instead to death. Even now, the smell of something rotting filled him with some amount of fear, almost enough to keep him frozen on the spot. However, the stronger smell of the Coalition was what ultimately made him move forward. It reminded him that he was no longer alone, and no longer stuck in a horrifying lab where he was nothing but a curiosity. Instead, he was within the boundaries of the place that he now called home. The group that had accepted him.

Filled with a new sense of confidence, the dire wolf moved slowly and carefully through the trees and the snow, occasionally pausing to flick mud and plant bits from his paws. His short trek eventually brought him to where Laeglin was standing, along with a limp body draped carelessly across the earth. The lack of any sort of wounds or blood on Laeglin told Arvid that the other hadn't been the reason for the serval's death, although he certainly seemed affected by it. The trembling in the other's form set the pup on edge, his ears flattening down against his skull before he spoke up, "Laeglin? Are you alright? You look like someone killed your puppy. Or... well, serval, in this case." He drew a bit closer as he spoke, mainly to inspect the body further. The armor that the corpse wore was certainly intricate, and if the scent of death hadn't thoroughly permeated throughout it, Arvid might've grabbed it for himself. As it stood, however, the canine simply found himself wondering if it would be worth it to bury the body, or just leave it on the ground to decompose.

He wouldn't really be able to relate to the flashbacks that Laeglin was experiencing, but this wasn't because the young male was heartless, or cruel. Rather, he had never really known his family, torn away from them incredibly soon after his birth with little chance of remembering any details about them. He couldn't feel grief over their loss, or what might've happened to them afterwards, simply because he just didn't know them. And while most of his memories from before the Coalition weren't exactly stellar, there weren't many things that triggered them. The utter lack of humans on the island was a big reason for this, and something that Arvid was eternally grateful for. He didn't exactly want to reminisce about the human scientists that had essentially tortured him, or the human family that had took him in, only to toss him away when he grew too large. He preferred to focus solely on the present, since at least if he ended up getting hurt now, it was probably as a result of his own stupidity, or some mistake he had made. It wasn't just because he was being dragged around from place to place by fate, like some puppet on a string.

Arvid had been so focused on the body itself that he momentarily forgot about Laeglin's presence, as well as the other's strange shaking. Looking back up at his rather new groupmate, the male hesitated before asking, "Uh... we can bury the body, if you want. Not sure if that's what's making you so upset..." If Laeglin got this unnerved by the sight of death, then the Coalition of the Condemned probably wasn't for him, at least in Arvid's opinion. Most of the group had made it very clear that they had no qualms about killing, especially if it was to protect the Coalition in some way.
i wanna be the sand inside that hourglass



Re: sweat and tears swept under the rug ✧ memories & scavenging - teef - 04-25-2021

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LAEGLIN NIAZAI LINGRÉ
[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"] A breath would push past his lips, gaze breaking from the armor and corpse to the youth that and come closer. He had heard his approach but hadn't acknowledged it, still locked within those strange memories he couldn't make sense of - no, he didn't want to make sense of them. It wasn't that he couldn't. A shaken breath left him for a second time as he debated how to answer Arvid. Finally, he would speak, "I'm fine. Just remembering some ... interesting things, is all. Reminded me of my mother and siblings, but none of them would ever wear armor like this.", he spoke without emotion.

His mother must be dead by now, hell, most if not all of his bloodline was dead. Shaking his body and fur, he would stare at the decomposing corpse coldly, "Just bears the same color as my mother's coat. She wouldn't be so foolish to travel alone if she was unwell. The rest ... they didn't look like her. I am the only one to resemble her.", would come the faint hint of a laugh.

"It's just a body. Though, I'll be taking the armor. It is of interest to me.", he laid his vocal claim to the armor as he looked to the corpse. He didn't care about mucking his paws up in the corpse, or the scent. It could be left out after a thorough washing. And if the scent persisted? All the better. His memories were enough to tell him things - he had been a child once as he had been in this life itself when he had been in the accident, in another life he'd been a soldier or knight of some sort, and lastly he'd been a kind of doctor or priest.

Funny that now, he was a god himself, a godship that he hid from most because it was not something he found to be special. It was merely extra duties and more people to look after. Perhaps this armor could help his memories show him more of the past? He couldn't hide the feeling in his chest that there had been a loss in the last two memories he'd been thrown into. -
[W]isker