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moustre ([personal profile] moustre) wrote2019-01-20 05:23 pm
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CWYLD



plague, pestilence - destruction

An infection of the land that's been going on for hundreds of years (or, at least, for as long as anyone on the continent can recall), the Cwyld ( kwilld ) is the cause of many an unnaturally grown thing in Geardagas: from the creatures that roam the Wilde and outside of the city's walls, to the Wilde itself - or so is theorized by the Coven's Witches, who have taken note of the spread of the Wilde as the years have come and gone. What there is no doubt about is that it's a dangerous plague primarily fueled by magic, that creates just as dangerous conditions for humans, Monsters, and animals alike to live in.

The Cywld can and will infect anything it comes in contact with, from wildlife to living creatures; signs of infection can vary depending on what, exactly, gets infected. The environment is the most obvious from the moment infection occurs: plants grow larger than usual, strange flowers with more aggressive tendencies begin to show up, and a faint, sickly smell permeates the air. Rocks turn black as tar, glowing magic spiderwebbing through them and the cracks that form from the inside out. The atmosphere feels oppressive yet charged, as if something bad is around every corner - a hyped up feeling of paranoia isn't uncommon in areas plagued by the Cwyld.

Meanwhile, for sentient creatures, the progression of infection is a little harder to guesstimate; depending on where one is, the stages can happen quicker, and the Coven hasn't quite pinned down a solid estimation thanks to this fluctuating progression. Regardless, symptoms are easy to spot, with shadow-like marks appearing on the skin, almost like bruising; these will seep into hair, fur, feathers, scales, virtually everywhere if the infection is allowed to advance any further. From there, the discoloration becomes disfiguration; the shadowy marks turn harder and twist the natural look of the creature infected, almost as if the shadow itself is enveloping the host. A Turnskin's fully-shifted form becomes coated in darkness like a second skin, an airborne Harpy gains the ability to blend seamlessly in with the night sky because of what amounts to a magical "shell". The host's mouth, eyes, and other orifices turn white and glow, with the same energy flowing from injuries as the magic seeks to escape; their blood turns pitch dark and more viscous when spilled, like ink. An insatiable hunger occurs throughout both parts, starting first as a small, niggling feeling, a suggestion - but as the infection grows, the suggestion grows as well, until it turns into compulsion that can't be stopped, no matter how much food is consumed. Once at this stage, nothing will save a creature; they're a mere shell of themselves, a shadow of their former self, and the merciful act is to kill them as swiftly as possible. No cure has yet to be found for infections this far along, though the Coven continues to search for one.

If not killed, these hosts - now referred to as Shades, when they've reached this stage - eventually grow larger, more fearsome and mindless. The Wilde hides such creatures, called Cwyldtid ( kwilld tid ), within its winding depths, and the unpredictability of them makes traversing what was once a calm, modest-sized forest a tragedy in the making, without the proper protection or preparations.

Though that primarily applies to animals and Monsters, particularly the Cwyldtid for the latter.

For humans and the more studied Witches, similar things can happen, but rather than turning into giant, monstrous creatures, they go mad from the amount of magical energy poured into them. The same symptoms as above occur, but they run the risk of going supernova and taking out a sizable amount of an area with them; and like with the above, once an infection has reached this point, only death serves as a proper cure. Once madness is reached, nothing can break the hold the Cwyld has on someone with the gift of magic. The Coven is especially pressed to find a cure for this, as there are only so many trained Witches this side of Geardagas - and while their numbers are technically plenty, many of them are green around the gills, and the ease at which one can fall prey to the Cwyld is concerning and terrifying.

Once a Shade or its evolved form is killed, the infection falls away and reveals the body of the host - drained dry of all energy and spirit, they're thin and brittle. They're recognizable, but unable to be saved; to say they're like a corpse would be wrong, because once the infection spreads far enough that they're a Shade, they are a corpse. Only the infection keeps the host going, driving their sickened body past any and all limits.