The potion makes his drink smell fresh and sweet, but on ingestion makes his tongue itch. There may be some strange hallucinations. People don’t look like themselves, or perhaps seem to be themselves in a very warped or disturbing way. Objects may be moving that are inanimate. Good luck.
[Give a potion to my muse: No longer accepting]
TW: Gore, drugging, psychedelic, blood
Last time Samuel was offered glasses of alcohol, this time it was a mysterious potion looking bottle. There was no note attached to it and he did not even know who it was from, but he still felt the urge to at least investigate the unknown substance. The survivor considered it to be a possible Halloween themed cocktail, but the smell reminded him of a freshly squeezed juice. The thought was nostalgic, and it forced him to carefully sip at the unknown drink. It tasted just as it had smelt and regardless of the itching, he had continued drinking it unaware of the danger. What he felt on his tongue made him think of pineapples and he saw nothing dangerous about that.
Done with the notes for the day, he stretched out and groaned feeling some of his joints pop. He sat in one position for too long, that what he concluded, and the best response was to take a short walk. Massaging the back of his neck, he looked down to the ground, still thinking about the drink he was offered. It was not unpleasant, honestly, he had worse. But it was weird at the same time. The way his tongue continued to itch was becoming annoying. To try and ease it, he began softly biting into it, as if he was trying to scratch the muscular organ with his teeth.
Suddenly, the survivor stopped and looked up. He could swear that he heard the flapping of wings, but nowhere did he see those wretched crows that would give his position away during trials. The sound then stopped. Only to return close to his right ear. Instinctively he jumped away, fear causing his heart to race but still, he saw nothing in the air surrounding him. Rapidly he started looking around, twisting around the spot he occupied, and walking back in circles, looking around for the source of the noise that seemed to echo, bouncing off from the trees. Another of the Entity’s tricks. It must have been.
Finally, he saw it. A black shape disappearing inside of a hollow naturally formed in one of the trees. Curiosity dragged him close and he tried to peer in. Never before did he see the crows nest inside of the trees and that had bewildered him to the point, to grab his full attention. So close, he could almost touch the edge of the space. Abruptly he pulled his hand back when a crimson thick liquid gushed from within the hole. It… It honestly looked as if something had crushed the residing bird and allowed its blood to flow out. Then the bark started to peel away, leaving behind a gruesome sight of flayed skin.
Disturbed by it, the journalist took a couple of steps back, watching more of the solid bark peel back and fall to the ground, causing the tree to bleed wherever a new wound formed. And the itching of his tongue only intensified, the scratching of his teeth not helping anymore. Shocked, he looked around and noticed more of the crimson spilling over the surrounding trees. In one spot he noticed an eye push out of the fleshy layer and observe him. In another, the meat parted showing teeth and tongue. The mouth tried to speak, whispered something unintelligible, something that could not reach the survivor’s hazy mind. More eyes, some noses, increasing amount of mouths grew out of the broken trunks. All watching him, all whispering, all judging.
Roots pulled out of the ground and wrapped themselves around his shins. Panicked mind forced Samuel to claw at them, try and pry them off from his legs, as some of the thinner roots breached his skin and dug into muscle. He wanted to scream but found it was impossible, his lips fusing forming a smooth seal. Tears now poured down his cheek freely, the victim of the drugged drink not knowing what to do. He could not call out for help and the roots grabbed at his wrists, not wanting him to tare them away from his body.
More and more crawled up his body, pulling him down to the ground. More pierced beneath his flesh in different spots, tearing the skin and muscles, wrapping themselves around his bones. His own crimson was joining the one that was increasingly rising on the dry soil from the bleeding trees. The level of the liquid was crawling up to the height of his nose and even though he tried to lift his head and stay above the surface, it soon invaded his nostrils and prevented the intake of oxygen. The metallic smell was making him sick, but even if his stomach would try and push the contents out, there were no longer any holes through which the bile could leave.
He was choking, suffocating from the increasing amount of blood. He could only see the dark crimson swallowing him whole, as his body was slowly torn to pieces. He could feel it the pain of it, unable to stop it from occurring.
