He had been brought back to life in the shallows of the beach, saltwater idly licking at the massive wound in his shoulder (once healed as a child, now festering with writhing tissue and muscle), and pressing its soothing coolness into the hardened plane of his cheek. He had come to stand, realizing that his eyesight had not been restored the way that his spine had been; Maugrim could feel coagulated blood - dark and rich and sticky - drip generously from what would be seen as empty sockets, void of eyes all together. His blindness caused him to wander for days, coughing up blood and limping on his weakened shoulder, sickly and disease-ridden.
But he knew the path home - the way to his water - and eventually, he found it.
Summer had hit Sylva and besides the feeling of sunlight trickling down through the thick canopy, Maugrim would not have known. Relying only on his sense of smell (and his intuitive desire to slink back into the blackness he was born in), he found himself finally at the edge of his familiar lake, the sweet goddesses of the deep crooning his name in sick voices only he could hear. The drowned god does not hesitate to enter the still, untroubled waters - it swallows him up and he disappears beneath the surface as if he had never existed.
He stays there a long time; until daylight has waned away and the grumble of hunger brings him to the surface. Dripping, the murky water sloughs off his skin into muddy pools beneath his hooves, his hollowed out eyes still actively bleeding while the flash of pale white on his shoulder reveals the unhealed slice from his time with Carnage. His lips ripple unpleasantly at the still sensation of being unable to see, tumbling and tripping towards the familiar smell of his cavern that awaits him with open arms.
At its mouth, a wet cough riddles his lungs and esophagus, spouting brilliant red rubies from his pale, calloused lips. The sound is disgusting and devastating as the disease-infested stallion then continues his way through the familiar clink of bones scraping against the damp stone floor.
Suddenly, however, he freezes. His head lifts, unseeing eyes attempting to peer around the cave, his bloodied nostrils twitching as the scent of another - a scent of a woman - fastens his attention. Blocking the mouth of the cave with his presence, there is an idle smile that crackles across the blood-stain of his lips, wondering just who it is that has unknowingly made their bed for the night with a monster.
What a terribly unlucky choice.
“Where are you, dearie?” comes his terrible, rancid voice - thick with mucus and the lining of his lungs bubbling in his throat. He inhales deeply, swinging his head slowly from left to right - much like the viper he is - the silver of the moon catching the deep hollows of his eye sockets as he attempts to find her with scent alone.
god, make me pay like the devil i am
@[Teal]