Shadows of the Past

The choice weighs heavily on you. You are gambling with both of your lives either way. If you reach Tlamaca in time, all would be fine, but there is little either of you could do if another spirit ambushes you now. Likewise, attempting to fix whatever ails you with alchemy is beyond risky and if you manage to kill yourself, then Xochi would follow you soon after. What was meant as a simple hunting trip has turned into nothing more than a catastrophe. You've slain a spirit, taking trophies far beyond what any animal might have gotten you, but now there was a good chance that you would perish before even seeing someone to brag to about that deed. However, there is one man who you can talk to right now. A wise man, who should know more about this and might yet be able to help you. Carefully you cup the talisman with both hands and lift it to your mouth. No aid you can call, for there is little here to mark the clearing above this cave that could guide Matlal here, but his advice alone would be a great boon.

You weigh your words and pick them with care. Better to use something very short than risk the talismans power fading before all is said. So in clipped tones you whisper onto the wood and feathers in your hand. "Killed a Fleshweaver. Camping at its nest. Not wounded, but hit by red glowing mist. Mind numb, distant. How to treat? Have body, know basic alchemy." You grasp for anything more to say for a moment, then let the charm sink back into your lap. What else could there be said? You wouldn't have done this, had you any more insights into the matter.

The waiting for an answer is excruciating, especially since there is little way to track the time within this dark cave. At last, just as you began to ponder if he might have missed your pleas simply because he was asleep, the charm begins to move. It is the first thing giving you hope since you saw Xochi's state, and the joy of hearing the voice of a friend easily pierces even through the haze you are in. "The Wise Men know how to treat such wounds. If you cannot travel to them, take heart, brain and other organs. Be careful what else you take, for you will be the vessel. Be ready to pay the price. Good luck."

It falls silent again, leaving you with more questions than answers. So the Wise Men would know how to heal you and likewise might alchemy do so. Yet nothing else has changed about these two options, and Matlal's message fills you with trepidation about your course. To be ready to pay the price might mean many things, and given what he told you about how he was struck blind, you suspect that the price may be dire. He thought it a good trade to lose his sight for that otherworldly sense he got in return. Your gaze falls on the sleeping Xochi, blissfully unaware of your problems and thoughts. It was so unlikely for her to make the journey that you might as well leave her behind rather than to brave the jungle, while you can't even concentrate on something, let alone look for dangers in a world that seems all too bright and with all too many sharp angles. And lastly you would have to step before the Wise Men, hoping that they would be willing to heal you. And even that depended on your state not worsening on the way, something that you couldn't even guess at.

You sigh deeply as you gaze into the embers of the fireplace. Is it really a choice at all? Both paths were risky and both would cost you, yet only one of them had you sacrifice the woman that saved your life at great risk to her own. It seems that you will have yet the chance to repay that debt in full.

---

The stars are bright above you, even if just glimpsed through the hole in the ceiling. It had taken most of yesterday to harvest the organs that you wanted to use and another to prepare the circle. Xochi was a great help, her wounds not debilitating enough that she couldn't gather the firewood and make enough ash to draw the shapes now around you. There was not enough room on the clearing to draw something of this size, so you cleaned some space beneath one of the shafts. To make it in your state was difficult, but by drawing and redrawing everything time and time again, the result should be workable. You sit in the middle circle, the place of the vessel, while around you are five smaller circles. The one before you holds the heart of the Fleshweaver, a disgusting piece of meat weighing nearly as much as you. To your left and right, a small jar with Clotting Salve and Purging Sludge, the healing brews hopefully directing this towards your goal. Behind you in two more circles slightly to your left and right, the brain and liver of the beast. At least you think it is the liver, but it might also be the stomach. The anatomy of spiders is nothing you studied in depth, let alone that of spirits in the rough shape of spiders.

"And you are sure about doing this? This doesn't look terribly safe." Xochi stands well outside the circle, giving you a dubious look. Without telling her how dire her situation is, she still feels you are taking a needless risk.

That gazing through the border of the pillar of moonlight you sit in and at her face is difficult for you at least reassures you of your chosen path. "It isn't, but it's the only choice. We can't haul all of that back to Tlamaca and I don't know if the Wise Men can fix me without the parts of the spirit."

"You told me to go to the rope and get out if 'something happens'. I'm just not that keen on seeing you turn into some abomination that is half spider and half Yaxkin." She cares, that much you can read from her face. All the more reason to go through with this. As you give her no answer and instead inspect the patterns around you one last time, she slowly walks off. Nothing she said over the last two days could dissuade you, so there is little point in arguing further now.

For one last time, you look above you. The stars are right. Then you hands are laid into place and you begin to feel the array for the first time. It is different than all the times before. Not the steady flow you feel within the paths of ash that you know from doing this with plants, but a heart seems to beat within. No. Two hearts, you remind yourself as you look upon the pile of offal before you. You concentrate on the power flowing there, the first feeling you note is not impeded by the numbness, yet all the harder to grasp for how much more real it feels in contrasts to everything else. With a mental tug you give it a new direction. Not pushing it towards a clay jar as every time before, but drawing it toward you. It is not a trickle that comes to your call, it is a flood. Like liquid fire it washes over you and with futile effort you try to give it direction. A tiny portion of your mind tells you that you have begun screaming, yet you can't pay attention to that now.


Pale blue flames erupt all around you and then begin to creep up your body. They don't consume your flesh, yet they seem to hurt more then any normal fire ever could. You struggle with all you might to contain them, direct them, but it is pointless. Nothing you do seems to be enough, no direction or control can be had over the deluge you unleashed. With two loud bangs, the clay vessels to your sides shatter and the unrelenting storm of power only half understood swells yet again. Needles seem to pierce your flesh from every direction, down to the very bone and deeper still. Cracks and fissures appear on your arms as your vision dims. They are there, yet not, they within your flesh, yet not. Fire eagerly pours into the gaps, burning away something you can not truly name, yet know to be more you then flesh and blood could ever hope to be.

A hitched breath draws more flames into you, pushing out a sob and further screams past the air rushing in. Bile rises in your throat as you try to expel something that isn't truly there, but your struggles just draw it in deeper. Your vision grows dark and you do not know if you lost it or if the pain just blots it out. Nothing more is there anymore, just you and the pain. You give up the futile attempts to force your lungs to suck in air. There are only the flames and the desperate struggle to not let them take whatever is left. You know that your struggles grow weaker. You know that you will soon be gone, washed away by the forces you could not control. So as the flames finally weaken, you just wish this to be over. To take whatever prize you can wrest from this nightmare before it claim you whole. And as you wish it, so it happens. Something else flows into the cracks in your self. Something that feels red, sounds like cool water against the fire. It hurts all the same, maybe not even less than the flames, yet it is a different kind of pain then the fire that nearly took you whole and so you draw it in eagerly.

And as you do so, the darkness claims you fully.

---

It is dark. Within and without, there is only darkness and you are a thin layer in between it. Dimly you are aware that this should not be. Within should not be dark. It should not be the gaping emptiness you find there. Not the abyssal hole that threatens to tear that flimsy bit of you into the black void. You should be full, not empty. You are broken. You are a fragile shell, but you shouldn't be. You crave anything to sate the void's hunger and then some more so that you can be whole again.

Something else is there, beside you and the void. Faintly comes the recollection that it is meat. Your meat. Not you, but yours. You are not meat after all, even if the meat is yours. You would still be you without the meat after all, but the meat would be only meat without you to make it you. But it is still there and it is still yours. It does things without you, for it still seems to be aware of your presence. It waits for you to command it. So you do and tell it to look, so that there is more then darkness to keep you company. Pictures come, blurry and blotchy, with far too mach dark for your taste, but also a bit of light. You prod the thing to move and so it does, the pictures swirl around you and you get the sense of being moved. Right. That meat is your vessel. You can make it move and drag you along. It can look at things for you and more importantly, it can find something to fill the void.

Again you prod the vessel, so that it may stand, but it is awkward. It complains a lot about the way you make it stand, apparently the meat not being meant to be rustled like that. But you ignore it in favor of gawking at the pictures. You will listen to its aches later, when you have the attention to spare. When you are whole again. Something clutters at the feet of the vessel as you move it against it. A thin thing made from mutilated skin. Something good is in there, that you remember. Something to stab and tear at other meat so that it stops moving. So that it can't get away. Your vessel is commanded to take it up and instincts guide it to undo the clasp and bring forth their prize. It gleams yellow in the pale light. And it is sharp.

Something else should be here. Something that can fill the void. You throw your head around to see more pictures. There it is. Its meat is laying there, resting. It's badly damaged and you faintly recall that this was important somehow. It's red all over, with dead leaves pressed on the damage. Spine. Yes. That's what you are looking at. The spine goes down from the head and if it where broken, the vessel couldn't move. The soft ground makes it hard to walk, giving little grip to your awkward gait, but you arrive all the same, even if your meat still complains that you use it wrong. It doesn't matter. It will all be better soon, you just need to be whole. Right next to you is just what you need. The other vessel will fill the darkness. Just a single stab at the spine and she won't be able to move. You can feast in peace. She...


Xochi... That's Xochi's meat down there. No. You tell your vessel to let the arm sink. You are not going to take Xochi to make you whole. You are unwhole, because you wanted to help her. Because you were unwhole already and couldn't fix her meat. No. This would be pointless if you take her. You direct your eyes upwards, searching for something you don't quite know of what it is. There. Something thin comes down from one of the holes. You can go out there and find something else that can sate the darkness. So you prod your meat onward to the rope. You must find something else.

---

Blearily, you open your eyes and immediately regret it. The light assaults your eyes like a physical blow. You are laying on your back in the damp grass and gaze directly into the noon sun. So you raise your hand to shield yourself and notice with a start that it is red. There is dried blood all over it. Fearfully, you look on and see that your entire arm, up to the elbow is drenched in it. Your chest is slathered in it too and finally the strange taste of blood registers in your mouth. No, there is more then that. Other tastes are mixed with it and as you try to remember what you did, the memories rush back to you.

... the wolf attempts to get away from you, but with both hind legs broken, it isn't going far. You prod your vessel onward and let it fall on top of the pitiful thing. It struggles weakly, but it is no match for you anymore as you raise the blade to slit it's throat and stop the twitching. No. Wait. That would ruin it. It wouldn't fill you anymore. So the dagger clatters down and you grab its throat instead to fix it in place. You press your head against its side and begin to feast. Every bite you take sates the void. The meat and blood filling you just as they fill your vessel. And so you tear and chew, while the beasts struggles go fainter...

... the little bird in you hand is not filling. So much more you will need to be truly whole again. But every morsel counts and so you bring it to your mouth...

... idly you wonder where you are pushing all the meat. A whole pig should have sated dozens, but you can still take more. It doesn't matter in the end, for your appetite is still not fully sated and while it is a nice feeling to crack the bones with your teeth and feel the marrow seep into your mouth, you already think where to find the next. Maybe if you go back to the clearing again...

As you finally comprehend just way you are drenched in gore, why your mouth is filled with all these disgusting tastes and what you did, you can just retch. So you roll over on your stomach and weakly try to puke out whatever might still be found in your stomach. Yet nothing comes, just dry heaves and a bit of bile. It's all gone already. In exhaustion, you let your head sink right next to the little puddle you made. There is no point in pretending cleanliness after what you did. And what you almost did. The haze is lifted from you, but at what price? You would have nearly done the same to Xochi as you did to all these animals. Eaten her whole, flesh and bone. If any other would have been in her place, you doubt that you could have restrained yourself.


A faint voice draws you attention. It is Xochi, calling your name down in the cave beneath. As you lay there, still coated in the signs of your fell feast, you don't know anymore what to say to her. Or if you should even go down and face her after the acts your contemplated.

What will you do?
[] Go down to Xochi.
-[] Tell her the whole truth.
-[] Tell her a carefully edited version of the truth.
--[] Write-In
-[] Lie to her.
--[] Write-In

[] Go away.
-[] Return once you cleaned yourself up.
-[] Go for good. You are a danger to her.

---

AN: This went extremely well for you.