Akal had noticed something as he walked. Many of the similar figures he had noticed earlier were, in fact, too similar. It was as if they were the same person. Akal found that strange. He wondered what they would taste like; probably bland and tasteless, but there was a chance that they would also taste exotic. But he had already wasted enough time here for personal gain. It was time to actually gather flesh, bones, and souls for Ishak. He hadn’t picked up the bones he had left in the alley way, mostly because he had nothing to hold them with. He had expected Venn to take care of that, but Venn just sat there on the rooftop, staring at the ground below. Why had he come along anyways? He felt like an older brother that “supervises” a younger brother, who is doing all the work. While Akal respected Venn, things like this did agitate him. So, instead of collecting the bones himself, Akal wandered back to the cultist on the bench, sitting next to him.
The cultist, the one with the mask, was doing something. Akal looked at whatever it was he was doing, a hint of curiosity made evident by the way that Akal’s head was tilted and how he stared at it. He watched for a time, noticing how focused the cultist was. He leaned in close and whispered to the cultist. “Bones. Alley. Under rubble. Grab them. Bring back.” Akal said, quickly, before returning back to staring at the thing in the cultist’s hands. It was fascinating. What magic was the cultist using? Did it have any offensive applications? It was very neat. Akal continued to stare on with childlike wonder and soon he drifted into the recesses of his own mind.
Akal wasn’t the only one fascinated by this. Some of the other personalities residing within his mind calmed down, relieving the pressure from behind his eyes. Things like this managed to calm him. His hands shook, but he did not notice and did not care. He sat far enough away from the cultist that his shaking hands would not bother him. While Akal focused intently on the task at the cultist’s hands, he felt himself slipping, mentally that is. Reasserting dominance and control, he forced himself away from the cultist. Standing up, he walked into another direction entirely, much to the dismay of the personalities who were also focused on the cultist’s task. It was strange, they were deprived of their senses, but something compelled them to focus. It was, odd, to say the least.
The direction he had chosen to wander was one chosen in a near-panic. It was not thought through, one might say that it was chosen at random, but that is not the truth. It was chosen because of Akal’s subconscious attitude. He was drawn to the direction that seemed to lead towards the place where he had been forced to abandon his meal. It seemed to haunt him. He hoped that the body might still be there, abandoned, but he knew that this would not be the case. This was probably not a good idea, but it was made in a panic. Decisions made during a panic were hardly good ones.
Just as he suspected, there was no abandoned body. But he thought he saw another of the all-too-similar visitors. He did not like these visitors. They were probably bland and tasteless. Like cardboard. He was suspicious of them. They looked too similar. He did not like it one bit. So, he turned again, moving in a direction that was, again, chosen in a panic. This time, he found himself wandering towards the heavily-armored figure digging holes. He would not panic so much around
that one. It was probably disgusting. He would not be compelled to eat while
it was around. It would give him time to think, maybe come up with a plan. Akal sat on a bench near the armored figure, staring at him. He was both repulsed and fascinated. What was it in those boxes? Why was this armored figure digging holes? Akal stared, his head tilted, lost once again in thought. He remembered the last time he saw a figure like this. It was offered forth as a sacrifice. It had betrayed him, it had betrayed Venn, and it had betrayed Ishak. When it was offered forth, it looked delicious. But when it was accepted, it became disgusting. It was not edible. It reminded Akal of lutefisk. Just the thought of the stuff caused Akal to grow angry. Maybe it was the bitter taste of betrayal? Maybe it was the fact that it was embalmed? Regardless, Akal stayed away from meats encased in metal. It repulsed him. This one was no different. Akal hated just looking at it. But he did not feel hungry. It gave him time to think.
Almost night fall. Close. So close. He could feel it in his gut, which was beginning to growl, as if it were begging for food. It was impressive, really, Akal ate all the time, and yet he gained almost no weight. He blinked. Off topic. Off track. Think. Think. Ishak didn’t care how the meat tasted. He needed it, but he didn’t want it, he had said to Akal once. Akal needed lots of meat. Where could he get lots of meat, quickly, without much risk? Akal tilted his head to his left side, a symbol of his anger. Shake. Shake. Shake. The noise distracted him. Akal sat on his hands to stop the noise. Then he started to swing his feet. It was childlike, but something that helped him focus. Restaurant? Close, but no. Inn? No. Bar? Maybe. But those places had lots of people. That could be a threat, especially since Venn insisted on standing on rooftops instead of helping Akal harvest.
The streets were probably safest. Dark. Easy to run in the event of trouble. But that’s where he had been striking most frequently. They would suspect it, surely. Akal looked back up at the armored figure, who seemed to be humming something under his breath. A hymn, maybe? It sounded similar to a hymn Akal had once heard, but even then, it might not have actually been a hymn. That’s what the chanter had called it, anyways. That gave Akal an idea. A church, maybe? Or whatever the equivalent was here. Akal didn’t know what this town had. It was a foreign town. He’d have to look around. But what if it was empty? He could probably use it to hide his “crops”, if that were a case, so he could easily drag them all back.
What else was there? Bars would be a good place to target. Drunkards weren’t good at fighting. But they had numbers. Restaurants also had lots of people. Inns were the worst he had thought of, but also the best. It had drunkards, numbers, and sleeping victims. But, some of those numbers were sober and coherent. They could hurt him. Maybe after he had spent some time as the Reaver he would attempt that. For now, he would wait a little longer. He was content on this bench, at least for a while. The armored figure continued its work as he sat. It had not noticed him yet. Akal looked on with a look of repulsion and curiosity in the shape of his eyes and the way his head was tilted. What was it doing, he wondered.
