it was a dark and stormy night

Tom Marvolo Riddle

the dark lord
Inactive
Jul 19, 2015
1,892
portland, oregon
mantacarlos.tumblr.com
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he/him/his

Toby dragged a body bag through the heavy, pouring rain that was pounding down on him over the thick black raincoat he had on. Most people used the corpse dumpster in the Underground for disposing of their recently dead, but Toby was a very thoughtful killer. Everything had little stories that needed to play out, just right.

This carefully packaged murder and cannibalism victim was (experimentally) supposed to have died in a wendigo attack. Copycat attack, that is. Toby was working out the finer details, testing them, and planning bigger stunts in the future if he felt confident in it.

There wasn't enough to go off of yet, this was a first attempt only and therefore clumsier, but if they happened to be found- or, that is, if any small leftovers were found after the Forbidden Forest chewed the body up- whatever happened would both resemble and have the right location placement for a wendigo culprit. He'd even already set the victim up, while they were still living, breathing, and absolutely kidnapped, so it'd seem like they'd been in a nasty cave for a while, perhaps having escaped before being hunted down again. And the person had been a hiker. Toby was nothing if not painfully thorough with his art.

He'd found a good feeling spot, what would be the perfect scene in a movie. A scary, ominous, damp and near pitch black thicket. He unzipped the bag and dumped the corpse. It was sickeningly morbid, bitten and shredded to hell and back, gory, chest forcefully opened up with ribs protruding outward.

Toby could still taste hot flesh, felt like it lingered on his tongue and in the back of his throat. He couldn't consume at the rate a wending could, so not everything was swallowed and stomached (especially with it being raw meat, which made him ill for a while in the long run), but he had to get into character, didn't he? It made for far better crime scenes, and that was the true point of this all. To get as close as he could to being a real monster.

He'd heard there was a real monster in these woods, a real wendigo. Toby stood up and tugged down the hood of his coat, peering around in the dark, having an easier time with it while wearing his contacts. He'd never seen it, but he couldn't deny he wanted to. It'd be an inspiration one can't receive from simply staying up late watching horror movies in their dull, sunny neighborhood. He was always, endlessly, striving for that.
 

Sarrain

The Salt Sea
Inactive
Supporter
Jan 30, 2016
6,703
Arizona
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She/Her
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Daily, Weekly
Wess smelled blood and decaying flesh; he smelled those better than most. His night eye was near perfect, so following the progress of the person carrying the body bag was easy. The storm covered up the hiss of his breathing and all in all; it was a perfect time for hunting.

Wesley wasn't feeling out of control; not in the least. He felt more like himself than he had in a long time, but something was still missing and empty. There was a part of him that would never be the same again. It was the part that craved the flesh of sentient humanoids if one couldn't figure that out.

Wess was far less interested in the dead body than he was the living one. Extra food was always welcomed in his series of caverns. Lately, more people seemed to feed him. People had been sneaking into the Forbidden Forest for all manners of silly exploration. They liked being scared, but unfortunately for them, Wesley wasn't only the scaring type. He was a hunter, through and through.

Wesley held his breath as he crept closer, just right behind the man. Far enough that he was unlikely to be seen, but close enough that he could use his burst of speed to take down his prey the moment a weak spot was shown. As Toby pulled the hood of his raincoat down to free his head and peer around, Wess struck.

The Wendigo threw the full weight of his body against the other man, claws digging into his shoulders and teeth gripping the back of his neck to tear away the skin and muscles there. He had to disable his prey before feasting, make sure it couldn't fight him. No better way to do that than the back of the neck. That way they still lived and somehow that had always made the feeding more pleasant an experience for the Wendigo.

Wesley barely registered the snarl he gave off as he came in contact with his food. The moment Toby hit the ground a clash of thunder resonated around them as Wesely yanked flesh from his neck and devoured it. The blood was so warm when it covered his chin and slid down his throat. The rain washed the gore around them; blood mixed with mud and rain and skin falling free to the ground.

Wess couldn't pay attention. H was so honed in on food. He was so hungry. God, it hurt. It killed him to be this starved. He needed something warm in his stomach. He needed this. He growled again, reaching down to grab Toby's arm and wrench it behind his back in case of a struggle. Wess wanted to tear things apart. He wanted blood on his skin and fur. He wanted to howl his victory for all the forest to hear.
 
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