Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24524076-20160803200831/@comment-24524076-20161024002648

''The hunter's stomach rumbles. He must find a way to end this hunger. He begins searching. Desperately. What he needs is rare meat -- no. Raw meat. Dear god, it's horrifying, but it might just help. Fortunately, he knows how to procure meat.''

''Empowered by the desperate hunger, he sprints up a tree and jumps above the top, bow drawn. His mind immediately focuses upon a deer. The arrow is loosed, the deer fell.''

''He jumps off the top of the tree just as his foot touches it, leaping acrost the forest in this manner until landing next to his kill. He begins ripping it apart, devouring the flesh and slurping up the blood. He's intoxicated by it. It leaves him mired in dreams of sustenance when he returns home, but the hunger still chips away at him. Racks his mind.''

''The blood is not what has driven him. No, he is not some vampire. Rather, the hunger. Sheer, ungodly hunger, in the same vein as, say, being provided an insubstantial meal by a well-meaning host. But magnified. Drowning every other thought in its sheer force. Destroying any further desire.''

''Gangrenous. His legs have become gangrenous. They are slowly rotting away, but... regenerating. Regrowing as fast as they wither. It's unending agony.''

''He's heard of stories from Hammerfell seers. About local mystics driving their subjects into such a state, almost undead. He is not undead. He is not a vampire, not a draugr, nor a walking corpse. He is a living being. But hunger. Hunger. Hunger.''

And an odd desire for candles.