#undyingmedium

As apology for my inactivity this week, have some of the doodles I made during breaks at work to keep my sanity.

The top ones are drawn my phone screen with my finger xd

A travel to a nearby city granted him such wonders.

To be among people for the first time without worrying about screaming and people trying to break his bones. Something he thought was impossible, but now he got to experience it first-hand.

Still, he wore a mask. Just for precaution, Neophytos told himself. In case things went wrong and he lost his flesh somehow, the youthful appearance that he'd been blessed with by his goddess, his Kristin. Better be cautious than regret it, if the saying was correct at all.

Strolling down the streets and avoiding bumping on people, there was a pep to his step like never before. Neophytos almost skipped, much to the confusion and befuddlement of the people around him, with the same glee of a child that got what they wanted for their birthday. Of course, it was not his birthday -- it never was, he did not have one --, but it certainly felt like it.

And his cheeks hurt. An earlier inspection through a bucket of water showed him that his mouth was locked in a huge smile, his olive skin tinted with red like blood was rushing through veins that embraced his ivory bones.

Even if this turned out to be temporary in the end... It was worth the pain.

Even when he was faced with a group of fellow rogues that weren't as happy as he was, for he had unfortunately drawn attention to himself when he took a pouch of golden coins from his pocket to pay for an apple (which the merchant he bought it from said to be too much and handed him back most of the money plus change).

The minute one of them ended up nicking his skin and drawing blood was when his smile fell. Pain blossomed, making his body stand on high alert. He saw red for a brief moment.

His daggers found warm flesh. And they stabbed deep, several times.

When his mind finally came to, Neophytos was standing in the middle of corpses and blood. His precious clothing, soft black and red fabric, was barely torn up but wet, with a few areas on the sleeves cut up to reveal small cuts on the surface of his arms. His mask, on the floor, having fallen from his face just as the fight had started.

He took heavy breaths. His body trembled, eyes locked on the scene in front of himself. Before long, that high-pitched noise in his ears slowly faded to allow the sounds of the city to be heard once more.

There were footsteps coming too close to the deadend alley.

This could go bad no matter what way this would be going. What was he thinking? This is a job for Miss Orisa or Lord Liyoh… and yet Nils felt compelled to be the one to stick a knife to this woman's throat. Why in the Broken World were his arms to be the ones to swing around this woman's chest to hold her arms in place as the knife's end threatens her jugular? Yet here he is, his body acting without his input… or maybe it is. He cannot tell. There is great discord in his mind, only the hunger and drive to murder and feed. Nils cannot deny this calling, no matter what.

Though... there is something about this woman. Something Nils cannot deny. He doesn't know what it is… but this must be the reason the Odi Parush has sent his very own vessel to attempt this woman's life.

Nils can feel his lips flap, his syrinx vibrating deep within his chest. He is not choosing these words. Yet he says them with an unknowable intent.

Breathe, just breathe. He could do that right? If his lungs hadn't felt like they were made of led. He stares down at the mess he made of his hands. He is vaguely aware of Anika's hands on his shoulders, and shrugs her off only to plead with her.

❝I need you to hold me,❞ he blurts. His face is ashen and pale, like the warmth has bled from his sunkissed skin. They tremble and search aimlessly in their discarded pack for bandages and cloth for their hands, but his grip is too loose.

This shouldn't be happening... Withers had released him of his Dark Urge so why was it creeping back up on him? Was it somehow triggered by the air in the Underdark? His quest to avenge Halsin in wishing to obliterate the Matriarch whom he assumed still lived?

Halsin was too kind for his own good and Dirt didn't believe for a second that all of his captors had perished. Their mind repeats the sick mantra of: kill, kill, and kill again

Dirt doesn't wish to harm Anika and in a flash of golden light and green woven tendrils, he transforms!--

VERY SPECIFIC MUNDAY ASKS

🌊 - My first OC was on the Neopets boards like twenty years ago, and I cannot remember her name, just that she had green hair and was 'not like other girls'. In my defence I was thirteen.

My first canon muse was on Proboards from Harry Potter, but I can't remember which one came first and also thinking about that woman makes my blood boil, so moving on.