#mor7

@exoamalgam plotted a thing!

The one time he wins an argument with the damned SIVA brat he gets cut off and shunned. There was no time to celebrate, no real victory to relish, in that he had gone quite a long time since his last feed. Cayde was still fairly uncomfortable with what he had agreed to and what he was steadily becoming.

After the last incident - blood dripping from his mouth, soaking his scarf, his gear - he had held back considerably. In his attempt at shaking the dangerous habit that was borderline addiction, something had snapped inside of him and now he was afraid there would be no escaping the nightmare he had plunged himself into.

By week five Cayde found himself watching those gifted with Light a lot more carefully. It was then, after he had snapped at Ikora Rey, that he realized he needed to contact Mor. Requesting leave was easy as it was clear to see the Exo wasn’t functioning like his usual self.

So, after repeated messages gone unanswered, he departed for the wilds to follow a trail his gut told him would lead to the brooding little beast. What he finds is a cave tucked deep within the Plaguelands that radiates power. Nodes and thick ropes of red cables served as a warning not to step inside, and yet, Cayde crosses the threshold.

     " Mor? You in here? I need to... I want to... "

@exoamalgam 

     Pawed boots crunch fresh snow beneath them as they carry the Voidwalker through a maze of rusting metal and rotting wood. Eliksni symbols still clung to the walls, fading away with time and neglect. The scavengers haven’t populated the area in quite a while it seems contrary to the intel he had been given. Whatever Guardian was working with them must have left with his so called adopted House.

     Huffing quietly, Anubis-4 pressed on and ducked beneath a low hanging garage door. Sensitive antennae picked up the sound of someone, or something, in distress and he tilted his head towards where he believed it was coming from. He did not doubt the Eliksni had left behind traps and, sure enough, he came upon a rather amusing sight.

     Lowering his twin Khopesh blades, the exo couldn’t help but stare for a moment as the faintest tug curled the corner of his lips. He knew that frame, recognized it from an ill encounter what felt like many months ago. What was their name again? Hmm, guess it didn’t really matter. He would let them squirm a bit more before offering to help if they could not free themselves.

@fireteamhouston

It’s been roughly a week since his encounter with Mor-7 in a rusting warehouse way out in the wilds. Since then his mood has improved drastically, energy levels running on high with spirits to match. He’s no felt a single joint ache, no uncomfortable muscle pull. Even sleep has been a welcoming addition to his life, something he’s not had in far more years than he can count.

Despite all of this he’s been practically ravenous but he hasn’t a clue what for. Each dish he shovels into his mouth and processes for fuel does nothing to satisfy the nagging hunger that has been quite a distraction as of late. His memory of what sated Mor’s apatite would resurface every so often, especially when blue hues look upon the Titan Vanguard.

The urge he feels to tear flesh and drink of the man’s Light makes him both sick and excited, a volatile mixture that he has to struggle with until he can be excused. Likewise, he’s also noticed that when a Guardian enters the Hall his optics follow them in almost a predatory fashion. By the end of his watch he’s practically clawing at his skull as he disappears into the night.

There have been many excursions into the forests that flank the City, some resulting in injuries that mend themselves in seconds. Whispers do haunt his ears when all is quiet, stray emotions filtering through without cause. They are easy enough to manage, though the day he breaks his leg in a rock slide he realizes they have been quieting down.

Waiting for the torn mesh and broken bone to piece itself back together, Cayde can tell it has slowed considerably. Upon its conclusion, he swallows the lump in his throat and climbs out of the gully. He has to find Mor again, doesn’t he? Allow that wretched, comforting beast to gnaw at his throat one more time. Thoughts are drawn to the smaller mech, distaste mingling with an allure that has him pacing near a cluster of snow capped trees.

Touch prompt - Accepting

     The soft glow of lavender signified air being drawn in, cycled, and expelled with a cool hiss through his elongated snout. Optics remained shut when Mor entered his quarters, the shadows of fallen Guardian helmets flickering with each breath. The jackal’s room was simple, aside from the trophies and a shrine that sat tucked away in a small nook. There was nay a single thing that might trip the cat up as he crawled upon the larger Exo’s bed.

    An ear twitch, the soft antenna shifting slightly as if the pitter-patter of paws had attracted it. His rest was deep and much needed after the last execution had taken place. Blood still clung to his smooth hide and smeared on the intruders legs as he advanced over the monolith of a man beneath him. The touch caused a shudder to roll down Anubis’s spine, though he did not stir until Mor’s grip increased.

    Optics snapped open and flashed online as his respiratory system became starved and he felt pain pierce through thick flesh. Slow to respond, the Exo’s ancient frame was struggling to process what, exactly, was happening and why. It took a moment for his movements to still and his maw to curl with sharp canine-like teeth as attempting to produce a snarl that held no sound to it.

    Several vents lined along his sides cracked open and released the stale air trapped within his mesh lungs. It was ice cold and laced with a toxic byproduct crated by the interruption of the recycling process within his Void core. It had no smell, nor a taste, and could easily harm Anubis himself if it reentered his system. He doubted it would with how much of a vice Mor had depressing his throat.

    As his touch on reality began to fade, Light pooled within his palm casting a brilliant purple glow. Life Steal, as most Voidwalkers called it, dripping with the arcane that lit up the room to reveal his slackening jaw. Tilting at the elbow, he pressed the hand against Mor’s side and dug in with each of his small, stubby black claws. His second soon followed in an attempt at sustaining himself by leaching into his assailant. A violent tug of war for such a still body lying ramrod straight upon a fairly plush bed.