The sad saga of the witcheater.(These happened long ago.)

Townsmen with the shakes huddle around the glowing embers of what may have been a roaring fire. Speak quick, lest thee be to long in the open!

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witcheater
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Post by witcheater »

The sun came up over the city that they call haven. Fires were lit all over the hamlet, deep in the forest on the middle of two crossroads. Smells of death still linger, as well as a buzz of magic that tickles my throat like chum in the water.
I like to watch the sun come up over the mountains. This is the closest I can get to the bliss of light that flowed though body when I was brought back from the dead by the meat healer Orien. With her long ears and soft features, she dragged me back to this world.
Before her, I felt only a red mist of pain and anger a unifying rage that closed off my brain, and turned me into an animal. With her help, and that of the meat skin called Gabriel I have learned to think for myself. Even though I am only capable of sentient thought while I am full, I have the ability to choose my own destiny.
I wandered in the woods for the better part of two years, crushing the faces of the elves one at a time. I hunted them, like so much prey, and devoured their sweet magic enfused meat. I find it highly smudging that the very taste they trained in me for the meat of a mage, I use to against them. Nothing quells the red mist quite like the death and savage killing of a mage. They taste not unlike strawberries picked off the vine on a hot summer day. For me the smell of a charnel house is like that of a fine wine and roasted boar to others.
I enjoy fighting. I enjoy inflicting death on the enemies of others. I don’t consider them my enemies, because I don’t care about them enough.
"There are some who call me, spike."
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“Let’s try this on for size.” The elf says, clamping down the thick heavy steel collar on the neck of the creature they had dubbed the Witcheater. The collar was made of thick tempered cast iron, so heavy that not even the creature with its mighty strength and terrible rending claws could break it. Inside, there were eight delicate steel spikes, facing inward, that pressed up against the rocky hide of the monster. The spikes were sharp enough to pierce its skin, and when they attached a chain to the collar, if they yanked would dig in to the slightly softer neck and actually cause the creature pain.

This device had taken several tries to get right, since pain needed to be regulated. To long of spikes caused constant agony, leaving them without the ability to deliver sharp surges of pain to train the beast. To short, to fat or two weak of spikes failed the same way, but caused little pain at all. Or worse, broke off, giving the monster another weapon to squirrel away. But no, this new designed was fire tested, and worked perfectly.
The elf smiled his long grin, the one that showed his ohh so perfect teeth, and yanked on the cord. The creature was forced to take a single step forward. Black blood, viscous as tarp on a summer morning flowed down the creatures chest in a trickle.

“Ohh see. That works doesn’t it beast.” He said, jerking it to the left. The creature growled, but moved a single step to the left.

“Not so tough now. I guess we just needed to find a way to get under your skin.” He said with a grin.
"There are some who call me, spike."
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The creature followed the shadow deeper into the cave. The cave was huge, with spiraling deep tunnels, and a stalactite filled maw that seemed to smile as the creature wedge its self into its marble hewn gullet.
After following the shadow down into the tunnels, they came upon on circular room, with strange and terrible arcane sigils marked upon the way, and a pool of cold water, that glowed red from something horrible down in the liquid.
The creature heard the sound of giggling, like children laughing, but several octave higher, almost musical like bells ringing. It roared, slashing at the walls with gnarled claws, broken and torn talons with bits of bone and flesh dried up them. The walls were hard and cold, coated in a the slimy film of age and death. The giggling continued, and a shadowy form appeared above the water. She looked like a normal human girl, save where her black eyes were, a never ending void, and the fact she had no feet. The spirit of rage and pain, corruption of life in its fullest, she looked into the creature’s rough catlike eyes, and black blood seeped down its nose, and agony split its mind asunder.
“Hahaha. Can’t do anything here.” The girl said in her mell like song voice, that the creature could hear I its mind, not in the cracked and broken tube that served as an ear hole.
It lashed out, reaching for the shadow, and its claws passed though it, cold as ice and burning the rocky skin as though on fire.
“GAh.” The creature mutters, spewing saliva out of a crusty mouth hole, maggots and rotten meat floating along the top of the water.
The girl stepped forward and pressed into the creature with a bare hand, and cold frozen smoke lit up on his scabrous hide as she tried to force her way into him.
“You’ve got a secret.” She said. “Magic doesn’t work on you.Ohh well, you can’t hurt me.”
The creature concentrated, focusing on the nasty spirit, and the strange arcane runes lit up like fire along its arms and back, and it’s talons became sheathed in glowing white light, raw magic dripping off them like blood. The creature reached out with the magic and clawed into the spirit, sending the powered into her in a sudden surge.
The spirit creature basically exploded, magic and ectoplasm dripping all about the cave, but before it could get away, the incorporeal creature was dragged into the waiting maw of the witch eater, consumed like any normal flesh, and devoured.
"There are some who call me, spike."
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The creature opened his blood caked eyes and looked down, the ruin of a bandit’s corpse was cradled in his arms, consumed, the flesh stripped from the bones, and the skin torn, and caught in his teeth. It does not remember what happened before, only the red mist of pain and hunger. Its stomach is full, the wounds on its bod healed, and the flavor of the human in its jaws. With a sickening crunch it chews the skull and snaps the bones into its gapping maw.
Black blood is crusted over its paws, and the creature is sitting on the ground. It looks over the shattered earth and sees the fallen form of Gabriel, lying face down in a pool of his own blood, wounds along his body slowly closing. Orien, the lightbringer coddles him gently, fear in her eyes. The creature vaguely remembers the troll battle, and turns his head. The fallen townsfolk are strewn all over the muddy embankment just below the mouth of the cave. Dying trolls roast in the bonfire, the only thing to keep them from regenerating.
One troll remains, and is his hands a thick curled tree, he is using as club. That troll was savaging them, no others to challenge his might.
The red mist came again, but this time it was not from hunger and pain, but something else, something deeper. Maybe was the aching light that the Orien had talked about, but it didn’t matter. A thick and righteous rage descended over the creature, and its claws came out of their sheath as it pushed it way to its feet.
Standing, it stretched, wings out and claws open, and snarled at the troll. The Troll, sensing the challenge strode forward, swinging the tree. The Creature broke the tree’s impact on its forarm, breaking the skin and bone there, but that just made it more angry. The creature pummeled the troll with his claws, slashing gapping holes in its back and arms, and bite the troll’s face with razor sharp jaws when it came close.
The titans slammed into each other, and the would fell away. They stood their ground, trading blows, the troll slamming the creature in the face, shattering horn and bone, the creature rending the tissue from its leg and shoulder. Finally, the creature grabbed the face of the troll and howled. It howled such a terrible noise that animals fled the woods, milk soured, plants died, and the troll did what any thing else would. He ran, but the creature was faster, and used its shoulder the check the troll into the hard rock face of the mountain wall. It roared over and over, pummeling the troll with rocky fists and broken tainted talons, until the finally the troll collapsed into a fallen, broken, still regenerating pile.
The creature stepped on its neck, and leaned its head back and roared so loud the leaves in the trees fell and babies in the distance cried. It had victory, savage and brutal victory, as it sqatted and tore the flesh from the Troll’s body, chewing, as the others dragged it off to the bonfire.
This time, the creature remembered the fight, remembered the haze. It had protected the Gabriel and the Orien, and the others. And in the wind, it felt something it had not expected. Warmth.
"There are some who call me, spike."
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Post by witcheater »

The lone elven warrior wanders through the woods, the snow beading down on his face as he travels through the night. The roads of Sylvandar are safe enough that he does not usually make camp on his rounds. He is still a few hours from home, hiking along a stone path, one that is thick with ice and snow.
As he reaches a pass that curls up along the foothills of the mountains, and boulders were stuck in the woods from recents slides. Ever since the cataclysm, the woods on the northern side of the city have been rough, and nature slowly back the hills. The elf put his hand on one of the larger boulders, one that was over nine feet high, black and crusted with ice. He used the boulder as a shelter from the wind that was whipping though the valley, cold and evil. He sipped some of his favorite elven wine, one that dated before the end times. The warrior rested his spear, point down in the snow and leaned the steel and wood weapon against the rock.
Suddenly, it was as though the ground was shaking, and the boulder broke free of it’s icy skin. The Warrior dove back, leaving his spear behind, only to realise only the rock he had was clustered behind shook at all. He wiped the snow from his pants and reached down to take his spear when a black shadow felt across him. He grabbed the spear on instinct and dove into the nearest snow bank. The Boulder, flexed wings that had been wrapped around it’s chest, and turned. the wings were filled with scars, holes and ruined. It turned with huge predator eyes, and the black tail lashed out, sweeping the ground. The eight hundred pound thing, with a broken horn and ruin wings sniffed at the ground, and roared loud enough to shake the snow form the near by trees.
The elf hid as it took a step forward and sniffed the air like some kind of blood hound. Another step closer to the drift, and another. Then it’s huge mouth filled with two rows of teeth like those of a shark, snapped into the snow. The Warrior stood, and grabbed the spear, and held it. The creature lashed out with a claw, and the warrior tried to parry it with the spear, but the shear force knocked him back against a tree. He panicked and stabbed the creature clean through the hand. The tip of the spear stuck out the hand of the thing and a vicious black blood flowed out and into the snow. The Elf turned to run, and the creature speared him with the tip of the spear, through the back.
The spear punctured his spine, and his body shook, but he was still alive when the jaws closed down upon his head, ripping his skull off and crunching it between it’s teeth. Certainly, the roads to sylvandar were indeed safe enough.
"There are some who call me, spike."
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