An Epitaph
Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite.
It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.
Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in.
Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.
Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement.
His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.
Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.
Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.
A hand.
His hand.
His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.
This wasn't real.
The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.
For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.
His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.
In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.
He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.
The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.
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Scrimbly Jacqueline 29/52: adult supervision does NOT go according to plan...
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"Right. Okay. So. Let me get this straight." Jacqueline took a brief, long deep breath in. "You think you've finally managed to perfect your sleeping elixir and Ken's going to test it for you."
"Yep."
"That about sums it up, yes."
"And you decided it'd be best to have an adult on hand, despite both of you being adults."
"I mean...is nineteen hundred really adulty?"
"YES."
"I dunno, Jacqueline. I don't feel very adulty. Ken's way more mature than me."
"Not nearly as such."
"You're too hard on yourself, dude! You're super mature."
Ken blushed. "Oh! Well. Thank you, Fino."
Fino grinned. "Of course!"
"Right. Okay. So you both decided an adult would be wise, despite being mature," she enunciated the T, her voice popping up an octave. "but are still going through with this despite, y'know, all the red flags."
"Yep!"
"Correct."
"And you can't like, test it on like, a mote, because?"
"Motes have a very different physiology from magibeans, Jacqueline."
"And it already works on them! So Ken said he'd give it a try!"
"Us orcs have very high constitution, after all."
"It's true! I've seen him nearly poison himself four times this week alone and seventy-five percent of the time he had zero side effects! Didn't even know he'd ingested poison! The worst thing that happened was a gnarly case of diarr—"
"We don't need to give your sister all the details."
"He's just being a supportive partner!"
"I know how much it means to you to master all facets of magic. I can make sacrifices."
"Right. So. Why me? Why not Mom or Dad? Jack? Lucy?! I mean, she's a MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL, Fino."
"Yeah, and would probably tell us to not do this."
"Debatable. Woman loves her science. She'd MAYBE protest in case, you know, the side effect to sleeping potion is DEATH. But she'd probably stay on site and be able to, y'know, HEAL you BOTH if anything untoward happened."
Fino squinted. "You turn more into mom every day."
"I can't tell if that's an insult or a compliment."
"Just an observation."
"Compliment," Ken clarified.
"Right. Okay. So you decided, quite idiotically, that Lucy was a no. Mom and Dad?"
"Didn't want them to worry!"
"Jack?!"
"Didn't feel right!"
"So you settled on me."
"Yeah! I dunno, I guess I just thought, y'know, out of all the more adulty adults in my life that aren't Ken—"
"We're the same age, Fino."
"Yeah, but maturity! Anyway, the niblets do crazier things—"
"—goddess above, don't remind me."
"So I figured that for something like this, you'd be ideal! You've got the experience, Jacqueline. So? What do you say?"
Fino grinned. His eyes got very, very big and for a brief moment Jacqueline was reminded of when he was much littler and asking for her to pretty please keep the cat, he really likes your room—
She sighed. Rubbed a spot on her temple. "Okay. Fine. But I do NOT approve."
"Don't even worry about it, Jacqueline!"
"There's a very good chance it doesn't work on magibeans yet, after all. Potions and witchcraft aren't Fino's strong suit."
"A fact you will never let me live down," Fino teased, scooping the sunset reminiscent liquid out of the cauldron and pouring it into an uncorked jar. He swirled it; the pinks and oranges gave way to purples and blues, the mixture sparkling.
"I got the colouration right! Yes!"
"Hmm. Perhaps I stand corrected. Well, bottoms up, eh Fin?" Ken took the flask from Fino, lifted it into the air, and chugged it in one go. Placing it down on the counter, he swallowed the last droplet, smacking his lips. "Tastes like gobstoppers."
"Unexpected but delightful result! And how are you feeling?"
Ken licked his lips. "Fine for the most part, though my tusks are a little bit tingly—" his eyes snapped shut and he fell down, face hitting the corner of the island as he plummeted to the floor and landed on his knees, tilting forward until his chin landed on the dirt floor, arms alongside him, ass in the air.
Jacqueline gasped, gently stepping back. Fino lifted the flask. He flushed, looked down at his partner, then up at Jacqueline through the empty vial. He chuckled, embarrassed, and scratched the back of his neck, his fiery locks warm on his skin.
"So, uh. Heh. I guess it worked?"
Ken began to snore.
"Yeah! Maybe a little too well!"
Ken snored louder, the dishes in the sink behind them rattling gently.
"That's probably not a comfortable sleeping position."
"Not unless you're like, five."
"I have a levitation spell for this—"
"Absolutely not! I think he's had MORE than enough magic for the day. I'm calling Donnie. She can lift him easy."
Fino placed the flask down and cleared his throat. "Good call."
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hehehe huehuehue hahaha. Meet orc friend! And 1900 year old ish Fino, FULLY REALIZED! And the RETURN of MILF JACQUELINE. FEATURING STOCKING GARTERS. She's only getting Milfier, guys.
Anyway I love Orc Friend (Kenothy, aka, Ken,) sooo much you guys. You don't even KNOW. Today I decided he has the most luscious, wavy, L'Oreal shampoo commercial hair. One day I'll draw him in cleaned UP scrimbly format! But for now, BEHOLD! A BUTT.
Design Notes:
I really did give Fino a goddamn mullet. He's working it.
He alternates between vest and no vest. Since he's at home practising potions, it's a no vest day. This is deffs NOT code for "I forgot he wears a lil vest sometimes. a lil waistcoat, if you will"
Milfline's bun is poofier because it is closer to the end of the day. That thing is five seconds from pulling a Mrs. Claus up-do explosion, and Ken being KO'd by a sleeping potion certainly doesn't help!
K and I were talking about garters and stays and such today and adding them to Jacqueline's fit hit me so hard my desk chair wheeled back on me! More on this next week.
I got a really cool pair of boots in Dreamlight Valley and if I don't adapt them to Milfline I may die about it, more on that next week too!
I RIPPED the PAPER bc I originally had Ken drawn like. Across the page? But I was picturing him butt in the air the way kids pass out. I got home from work, looked at it, and went no wait. this is how it should be doodled, and voila! Orc Friend Butt
Orc Friend Deets, if you're curiouse :3 (under the read more)
Post Colouring Thoughts:
I forgot how. In theory. Fino's patterned dress shirts and rainbow lined cloak are cool as FUCK. But in PRACTISE. Make him look like a bowling alley carpet.
You know what tho? It matches the mullet >:)
Which I am wildly proud of tbh!
Decided that orc friend DOES dress fancy! hence the (matching) green coat with golden buttons >:3
His hair is SO luscious and I put the gold in just to see the lines bc after I coloured it it didn't really show, but now I'm like. idk! I kinda like it!
His right hand got eaten? I sketched it. And now it is gone. I think it's under all that hair.
He also has a BUTT TON of earrings, ya girl just got sleeby and forgot to add them in! But he has like. 5 on each ear and one of the earrings is two studs linked by a chain bc it's NEAT
Maybe I'll do like a proper scrimble of him! I really like Orc Friend you guys :3
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