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 Posted: Wed Dec 07, 2011 7:01 pm
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SOLO
WC: 993
Herryk really had no good excuse for not visiting Svella sooner. Sure, he could come up with many reasons why he'd not stopped in for a visit, but they would not be good reasons. They would not be even close to good reasons. He owed Svella so much and yet he'd done nothing to repay the kindnesses she'd granted him. It was because of her kindness that he'd been able to learn the common tongue, that he'd been able to learn about Amityville, that he'd gotten as far as he had in this unlife he was living.
And yet he hadn't troubled himself to stop in for a visit. Today Herryk was going to remedy this. He was utterly determined to stop by the old woman's small shop just so that he could thank her, give her a gift, tell her about everything that had been happening at the school and then he would be on his way. Then again, things were never simple with Herryk. He was a planner through and through, and he could not just march into Svella's shop empty-handed.
That would never do.
He left his dorm mid-morning and half-jogged into town. There was a small shop there that sold baskets and various types of flowers both dried and fresh. From this shop Herryk made two small purchases: a basket spacious enough for her to keep whatever she might like, and a small sampler set of various dried flowers and herbs. Herryk was not sure if she could even use any of these things, but it made him feel better about just showing up at her door.
With these gifts in hand, Herryk caught the train that would take him on the short ride to the small town that Svella called home. He only hoped that she would be happy to see him.
A short time later, Herryk found himself standing outside the door of Svella's shop. As he'd passed by the window that overlooked the street, Herryk had seen the old witch bustling around inside. Not wanting to be a creeper, Herryk hadn't lingered there. Instead, he'd stood in front of the door for a long, long while as he mustered up the courage to open the door to her store. With a soft grunt (and quite a few minutes later), he finally shoved the door open and shuffled inside.
Svella had been facing away from the door when Herryk walked in, and she immediately spun around to face the door with a large, welcoming smile on her face. That smile only grew in wattage and width as she caught sight of who it was. It was obvious that Herryk had worried for naught; the witch appeared to be quite happy to see the boil.
"Herryk! Tch! Det er så godt å se deg! Svella wondered if she would ever see this boil again. Ye are getting so big!" In true motherly fashion, Svella approached the draugr and wrapped an arm around him in a half-hug as she drew him further into the cozy room. "I found myself hoping that ye would come to see me sooner, boil!"
Herryk remained silent as Svella fussed over him, bustling around the shop once she'd shown him to the small table that was located in the middle of the room. He set the basket on the tabletop as she went about making tea.
"Herryk is sorry for causing Svella worry, heks mor." He pushed the basket across the table so as to catch her attention. She set an old iron kettle on the table before turning to peer at the basket. Her eyes brightened when he called her 'witch mother'. It was a sweet phrase he'd given her, and despite having been denied a visit for such a long time, it was clear that Herryk had thought about her.
After all, Svella was the closest thing to family that the draugr had.
"Det er ingenting," Svella waved a gnarled hand in the air before she started rustling around in the basket. She must have liked what he'd purchased; every so often she made a soft cooing sound as she caught sight of something of interest.
"Tell Svella all about school, mørk sønn," she beamed, tagging him with a nickname of her own. Dark son, it suited him. She set the basket aside and poured them each a small cup full of a dark, rich looking liquid. Herryk took a polite sip before setting the teacup aside.
"Herryk is... very happy at the academy," the boil began with a broad grin. Yes, he was very happy. Many friends, many foxfires... and Freya.
"Herryk has an elskede. Freya. She is Herryk's ghoulfriend. She is the most beautiful valkyrie." Herryk's tone alone spoke deeply of the love he had for the ghoul. He paused when Svella's expression turned suddenly fierce.
"Valkyrie, boil?" Svella's eyes narrowed, "I hope she is good to ye, Herryk-sønn. I have never met a Valkyrie that I liked."
That comment gave Herryk pause. He had to give his next words much thought.
"She is everything that Herryk needs in this life," he said reverently. His eyes will full of emotion.
Svella's mouth twitched down at the corners, but she wasn't going to push Herryk. Her feelings in the subject were obvious enough by the frown that graced her lips, and she did not want to anger the boil. She took a sip of the tea thoughtfully.
"I would like te meet this ghoul ye speak so fondly of, boil. We can discuss this later. Tell me more of this Academy, won't ye?"
It was late in the evening before they'd finished catching up with one another, and as Herryk said his goodbyes and wrapped the woman in a hug, he suddenly realized that he'd missed the hag. Herryk knew that she only had his best interests in mind.
These thoughts busied his mind on the short train ride back home.
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Posted: Wed Dec 07, 2011 7:03 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 07, 2011 7:04 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 07, 2011 7:04 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 07, 2011 10:10 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 14, 2011 10:00 am
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Posted: Wed Dec 14, 2011 10:02 am
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Posted: Wed Dec 14, 2011 10:03 am
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Posted: Mon Jan 02, 2012 9:13 am
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Posted: Mon Feb 06, 2012 9:21 pm
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2012 8:25 am
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2012 8:40 am
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2012 8:41 am
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Posted: Fri Mar 23, 2012 6:04 pm
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Posted: Wed Oct 10, 2012 12:40 pm
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He hungered.
The urge to devour was not one of earthly goods - as a draugr, Herryk did not eat. He did not sleep, so the hunger he felt was not that of a long, lasting rest. It was very difficult for the draugr to place, this dark and clawing urge that feasted on his each and every waking moment.
He hungered.
The beast was insatiable. A low and throbbing need that churned deep in his gut. Not of carnal passion, not of the desire to please - but an aching want that Herryk could not describe. He could remember very distinctly when this incredible ache had begun. He could remember the exact instant when the gnashing void had awakened.
Medea's trance on the isles.
No matter what he'd done since that moment, no matter how he'd tried to divert his interests into more productive uses... the beast was there. Needing, wanting. Relentless. In the beginning it had been easy to ignore. It had been easy to tamp down, to redirect. Radio club. Prom. Freya. Friends.
Nothing worked.
He hungered.
It had consumed him.
Before his visit to the isles, Herryk had been content with his rather simple life. Friends, classes... and more than anything, Freya. Always Freya. Their last fight had made it clear that things had changed. She had changed.
He had changed.
He hungered.
Herryk yearned to feel the way he'd felt on the isles - it had felt like he belonged then, in Medea's trance. It had felt like that one elusive memory that flirted and flickered throughout his mind - always just out of reach, always just out of touch - had been closer than it had ever been before in his unlife. Herryk's perspective had shifted then. His very priorities had rearranged themselves thanks to the beast that lurked within.
Always hungry. Needy.
To feel the weight of a weapon in his hands once more, the familiar shape and curve of an axe perfectly counter-weighted in his calloused hands. The scent of blood was a familiar coppery, metallic tang. He didn't know how it felt so comfortable. Slippery and hot. Tainting the air with a thick, sweet scent.
Herryk couldn't stop thinking about how it had felt to take the life of humans. There had been so much power, so much thrill in the act of taking the life of a human. He'd been more than what he was. He'd been all-powerful, superior, undaunted. The fear had been thrilling. The last gargled, garbled words. The bloody foam that frothed from the gaping hole in the man's neck. The putrid spray of blood across Herryk's hands and arms. He couldn't forget it.
He hungered. Always and forever, without regard. The monster within. He wasn't who he had been back when he first awakened. Herryk didn't know who that boil was anymore. He'd tried to fight it for so long, ever since Medea's trance. He'd tried to turn away and become who he thought he was.
He couldn't.
He hungered.
He wanted more.
He could make attempts to get the same effect through trances. He could pretend, he could lose himself in the false battles if he found himself in one once more. He could pretend just for a moment that he was knee-deep in the bodies of his foes, their blood sluggishly seeping into the dirt of the battlefield. Herryk could lose himself - just for a moment - to feel whole once more. Just for a moment, he yearned to feel like he belonged.
He did not feel as if he belonged here, in this place surrounded by these boils and ghouls he went to school with. He no longer felt as if this were home, and yet he was reluctant to do anything to change it. Above all else, there was one thing that kept him steady and constant despite their bumpy relationship. There had been Freya, always and for as long as he could remember. Her bright eyes, that lovely smile, the way she felt in his arms.
Even now, it wasn't enough. It wasn't that she didn't satisfy him, it wasn't that she wasn't what he needed... it was just that...
He hungered.
The ever present need for more, but different. Such a small difference, almost nothing. Power and passion, blood lust and sexual lust. Nearly two sides of the same coin, but the reckless side called to him. He needed it. He wanted it.
Think of Freya.
He couldn't.
He hungered.
He needed more. If he were human this need would be like that of breathing in order to survive. He could not go on like this. He could not continue on this path of pacifism - for the beast had been awakened whether it had been part of the plan or not.
He would not be denied.
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