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Or so she thought, until a horrifyinf realization.", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Celia the otter adventurer gets through her quest with but a slash wound. Or so she thought, until a horrifyinf realization.", "writing": " After her unfortunate encounter with the blade trap, Celia didn't expect her way out of the tomb to be this easy. Although her leather armor blunted the impact, the otter girl's side still received a nasty gash from the circular blade of the pressure plate trap. She quickly drank a whole bottle of antitoxin, bandaged her torso to manage her wound and pressed onwards. How, the little gold idol was in her bag, and her wound didn't even hurt anymore. This, now that she caught her breath, and rested a bit, struck her as odd, however. \n\n She wrestled her armor's top half off, took off her shirt, and looked at the bandage... Only to discover a horrifying sight; the fabric was wet with a black, gel like substance, flaking away from her side. She quickly undid the binds and ripped it off herself, only to confirm her fear; the black mucus on the blade was not poison. Her wound now oozed the black liquid of the feared flesheater jello. Her eyes widened in horror as she recalled what she read about the creature, an infectious, living magical substance that digested its host's flesh.\n\n Celia slowed down her heaving, then got on to her feet, and with her compass, determined the direction towards the nearest town. Maybe the local healer can still save her.\n\n She could only keep her forced march pace for a few hours. Her fever climbed ever higher, and she felt weak and nauseous. Her entire body was tingling, not with pain, but a strange, paradoxically tense numbness. It took her all her mental strength to close out the fact that this signified the infection having spread all over her. \n\n -If only... my horse... If only he didn't get... stolen... -She mumbled, imagining how she would be almost at the town by now, but as it stood, she was alone in the night, surrounded by nothing but the windswept meadow. The talking, quiet as it was, made the otter cough regardless, so violently she fell to her knees. She coughed up, and vomited, the tasteless, odorless black substance. Her panic flared up once more, giving her the strength to clamber to her to her feet, and continue her walk, tears soaking her cheeks.\n\n Another hour passed, and the quiet of the night was disturbed by Celia's ragged, wetly squelching breathing. Her pace slowed to a brisk walk, then a shuffle. She was shivering, but felt neither heat nor cold anymore. She did feel the wet spot on her butt cheek however, as her dissolving pinky finger soaked in to the fabric. It came off when she fished her compass out of her back pocket. Her vision was blurry enough to make navigation difficult, thanks to blackness coating her right eye. She felt like she wet herself, as the gooified remains of her womb flowed out her vagina and down her thighs.\n\n The otter was clinging to any measure of hope she could find in her soul, but slowly, all its embers lost their strength. She stumbled forward, unable to lift her leg over a rock. She landed on her palms and knees, supporting her body, but some parts could not resist the sudden jerk. Her right eye, black and deflated, popped out of her skull, splashing in to a small dark puddle, and through her now gaping stomach, that was merely a cut a few hours ago, many of her organs also spilled on the grass. Shocked, and unable to process her inevitable end, she stuffed what she could back inside, holding the broken down mass in with her hand. Her liver went back almost whole, but her spleen ran out from between her fingers. She put as much of her half dissolved guts back in that her delirious brain deemed enough, and continued her journey on all fours.\n\n Soon however, the shivering, sick otter was forced to change to a crawl, as one of her knees liquefied enough to leave her lower right leg behind. Still, she carried on, her head almost devoid of coherent thought; only the drive to get to the town was still present in earnest. After a few hundred meters, the crawling suddenly became easier. Like as if strength returned to her arms. A glimmer of hope flared in her mind. Maybe the infection can be beaten? Maybe she can overcome this? She allowed herself a smile, and tried to press herself up to see how far she is still from her destination, but something was wrong. Her body bent in a weird angle, and as she looked back, she saw her lower-half, slowly dissolving hips and legs roughly twenty meters behind her, meticulously stuffed back organs, left behind inbetween. At that point Celia's mind cleared just enough to realize her inevitable end, and with a final shiver, she fell to the ground. She heaved, and coughed up more of her lungs. When the infection reached her brains, she lost consciousness, and spent the last few moments of her existence in nightmares in the darkness.\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "   After her unfortunate encounter with the blade trap, Celia didn't expect her way out of the tomb to be this easy. Although her leather armor blunted the impact, the otter girl's side still received a nasty gash from the circular blade of the pressure plate trap. She quickly drank a whole bottle of antitoxin, bandaged her torso to manage her wound and pressed onwards. How, the little gold idol was in her bag, and her wound didn't even hurt anymore. This, now that she caught her breath, and rested a bit, struck her as odd, however.

   She wrestled her armor's top half off, took off her shirt, and looked at the bandage... Only to discover a horrifying sight; the fabric was wet with a black, gel like substance, flaking away from her side. She quickly undid the binds and ripped it off herself, only to confirm her fear; the black mucus on the blade was not poison. Her wound now oozed the black liquid of the feared flesheater jello. Her eyes widened in horror as she recalled what she read about the creature, an infectious, living magical substance that digested its host's flesh.

   Celia slowed down her heaving, then got on to her feet, and with her compass, determined the direction towards the nearest town. Maybe the local healer can still save her.

   She could only keep her forced march pace for a few hours. Her fever climbed ever higher, and she felt weak and nauseous. Her entire body was tingling, not with pain, but a strange, paradoxically tense numbness. It took her all her mental strength to close out the fact that this signified the infection having spread all over her.

   -If only... my horse... If only he didn't get... stolen... -She mumbled, imagining how she would be almost at the town by now, but as it stood, she was alone in the night, surrounded by nothing but the windswept meadow. The talking, quiet as it was, made the otter cough regardless, so violently she fell to her knees. She coughed up, and vomited, the tasteless, odorless black substance. Her panic flared up once more, giving her the strength to clamber to her to her feet, and continue her walk, tears soaking her cheeks.

   Another hour passed, and the quiet of the night was disturbed by Celia's ragged, wetly squelching breathing. Her pace slowed to a brisk walk, then a shuffle. She was shivering, but felt neither heat nor cold anymore. She did feel the wet spot on her butt cheek however, as her dissolving pinky finger soaked in to the fabric. It came off when she fished her compass out of her back pocket. Her vision was blurry enough to make navigation difficult, thanks to blackness coating her right eye. She felt like she wet herself, as the gooified remains of her womb flowed out her vagina and down her thighs.

   The otter was clinging to any measure of hope she could find in her soul, but slowly, all its embers lost their strength. She stumbled forward, unable to lift her leg over a rock. She landed on her palms and knees, supporting her body, but some parts could not resist the sudden jerk. Her right eye, black and deflated, popped out of her skull, splashing in to a small dark puddle, and through her now gaping stomach, that was merely a cut a few hours ago, many of her organs also spilled on the grass. Shocked, and unable to process her inevitable end, she stuffed what she could back inside, holding the broken down mass in with her hand. Her liver went back almost whole, but her spleen ran out from between her fingers. She put as much of her half dissolved guts back in that her delirious brain deemed enough, and continued her journey on all fours.

   Soon however, the shivering, sick otter was forced to change to a crawl, as one of her knees liquefied enough to leave her lower right leg behind. Still, she carried on, her head almost devoid of coherent thought; only the drive to get to the town was still present in earnest. After a few hundred meters, the crawling suddenly became easier. Like as if strength returned to her arms. A glimmer of hope flared in her mind. Maybe the infection can be beaten? Maybe she can overcome this? She allowed herself a smile, and tried to press herself up to see how far she is still from her destination, but something was wrong. Her body bent in a weird angle, and as she looked back, she saw her lower-half, slowly dissolving hips and legs roughly twenty meters behind her, meticulously stuffed back organs, left behind inbetween. At that point Celia's mind cleared just enough to realize her inevitable end, and with a final shiver, she fell to the ground. She heaved, and coughed up more of her lungs. When the infection reached her brains, she lost consciousness, and spent the last few moments of her existence in nightmares in the darkness.

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