#which. undergrowth is still incredibly obscure

[sprout-senior]

i refuse to abbreviate when i’m talking about undergrowth bc i don’t want someone who’s unfamiliar to come across one of my posts and have to do any kind of sleuthing to figure out what the fuck im referring to.

if you’re stumbling across my post and don’t know about undergrowth, it’s my undertale AU! check it out if you would like! everything’s on my pinned post :]

[activate-shadow-of-the-window]

Day 6 of No One Except @mr-orion Asked November (NoOneExOriAskNov). I’m really coming to appreciate the ‘auto’ edit button on Apple devices.

Five and a half of the Hermit Civilizations in my Horizon au, because I’m tired as hell. From top to bottom, there is Bdubs’ Land of Livingstone, Cub’s Climbing Spires, Doc’s Maw, False’s Umbra, Gem’s Evergreen, and unfinished Scar’s Technicolor City.

I kinda just chose random sections of each hermit’s aesthetics and building styles to make these civs.

I’m gonna draw these places a lot more for landscape and building practice, of which I have almost none.

In-depth descriptions below the cut. They’re what I based these sketches on.

There are two great hills, steep and rocky, that surround the vale at the center of the Land of Livingstone. Straddled by two great bridges of white rock and creeping vines, their arches swirl with carvings and gradients. Similar odd shapes dot the valley, anchored into the sides of the hills: rusted buildings of metal and brick, adorned with half-crumbled chimneys and long shut doors. Nature has reclaimed this place, as the flower forest grows closer every year, and even the great bridges look as if they are about to buckle. But the ancient buildings persist, unwilling to yield to the land. Some still halfheartedly belch smoke, spooking the birds into flight.

The sun is hot and inescapable in the southern realm of Climbing Spires, its beams blanketing the red sand and enormous rock formations that give this kingdom its name. Adorning these spires are buildings, spindly and delicate yet sturdy enough to cling to the colorful rock. Perilous staircases and thin walkways of metal and wood are contrasted by robust columns and arches of sandstone and brick. What little fresh water can be found here is carefully shuttled about through pipes and waterfalls, adding a sense of movement to the otherwise eerily still architecture.

Whether the Maw got its name from the great spines of ice on its surface or the toothlike rocks of its underground is unclear, but wherever it came from, this land has a fitting name. Icy and inhospitable, the surface is deceptively barren of buildings aside from a few circular boreholes reinforced with iron. But these are no mere pits; they are the entrance to the subterranean complex below the snow-covered landscape above. Practical and brutalist, the underground buildings of this land are home to many strange machines that farm food without light and produce material in seconds, making this underground world one of the Land of the Sunrise’s best kept secrets.

The simple name for the land of Umbra is fitting; forested and shady, the thick canopy of trees hide the incredibly advanced yet eerily dark civilization whose inhabitants are almost never seen. Smooth buildings of dark stone and tinted glass manage to be imposing in their small size, draped with strange foliage that glows unnatural colors of red and blue. Towers that mimic trees and doorways like metal cave mouths are obscured beneath years, if not decades, of underbrush. This realm is closed to most outsiders, and not even traders may come any closer than the upper canopy.

True to its name, the queendom of Evergreen is completely forested in pine, spruce, and fir trees. The deep green canopy is broken by tall castles, their pale tiled spires and dark wood halls evoking a sense of regality and wonder. Thin, arcing bridges connect stone tower to stone tower, allowing their inhabitants the ability to cross rivers and valleys without ever touching the earth. Below these great structures is a dark, fertile ground from which mushrooms and sweet berries readily grow, a thick layer of undergrowth that houses foxes and wolves alike.

Too big to be called a city, yet too small to be an empire of its own, Technicolor City seems to have been plucked straight out of a painting. Every building is unique and colorful, yet they all perfectly meld into a skyline that seems to be made of jewels, aided by perfectly swooping hills covered in flowers and trees. Wide boulevards share space with quaint streets and footpaths, each and every one lit day and night. Every inch of the city seems to reach out in welcome to all comers.

[meadowmood]

Destiny of Damascus

This is the second short story upload I will be doing for all of the work I did for my senior show centering around my own stories and characters. If you would like to view the entire exhibition now, click this link! It includes a number of short stories, illustrations, and character bios for your viewing pleasure! 

Read the full story below the cut!

Briar clutched her limp sister’s body against her chest, her vision blurred, tears streaking down her face. She was relieved to hear Bracken’s heart as she held her tightly, the feeble beat the only sound she could hear in the deathly quiet throne room. The battle they had just endured had been so loud, a cacophony of love, survival and rage as they had blended forms and defended themselves from him, but now, only the weak beating of Bracken’s heart could be heard. A soft, echoing epilogue to an audience of one. It was a quiet melody, but Briar had never heard a more beautiful sound. She was alive. They were both still alive, despite everything. They were together, and they were alive...

Miles away, a ragged and bloodied silhouette staggered his way through the edges of the redwood forest. The figure leaned heavily on one of the trunks as he looked fearfully behind him, catching his breath only for a second as he pressed onward. The trees eventually thinned until he reached an open meadow, and for the first time in months, he saw the open sky. Damascus kneeled on the soft grass and looked upward, taking a deep breath as the soft light of dusk washed over him. He had escaped them. He had not been able to reach the end of the forest unscathed, and his body ached with cuts and bruises. But he had escaped. Escaped. The revelation that he was safe quickly turned from relief to blinding rage. It boiled from deep inside him, hot and searing within his bones. He had escaped, run out of the territory like a whipped dog with his tail between his legs. He bore his fangs to the open sky as he threw his head back and screamed, slamming his fists into the dirt and wincing as his wounds ached anew. He had lost everything. All that time wasted on courting and scheming only to be chased back to where he had started. It had all been for nothing. Damascus stared down at the pale dirt and soft grass. He had been here before, staring up at the massive redwood trunks lining the edge of the forest. Back at the beginning. He had peered into the trees, his ears pricked with excitement as he anticipated who he knew he would meet within. This territory belonged to two elusive spirits, twins, who reigned over this massive forest teeming with magical energy. Twin nature spirits were rare enough, but two sharing their magic and residing within the same territory was even rarer still. This meant there was twice as much power surging through the land, and whoever ruled the forest had control of it. He knew everything he deserved was hidden within those trees, and he was willing to do anything to get it. Damascus took his first steps into the forest, and the further he walked the denser the canopy became, enclosing upon the golden sky like a pair of talons. Soon the path he walked became dim and quiet, and he began to wonder if he could find his way back. He conjured a swirling ball of light in his hand, splashing light onto the dense thicket around him as he turned around slowly, trying to peer through the endless layers of trees. As the light danced across the surface of each trunk, he stopped when his light suddenly illuminated two pairs of eyes staring back at him. Two large deer stepped soundlessly into the sphere of light he had created. The first was slim and incredibly pale, almost shining in the glow of his magic. The second followed close behind, its fur long and a deep russet brown, the two huge black antlers it sported forming a dangerous crown above its head. Damascus froze, not daring to move. Were these the spirit’s familiars come to greet him? “I am looking for the spirits who reside in this territory” he addressed them coolly, hiding his fear. “Can you take me to them?” The creatures stared back at him blankly, showing little reaction. “I wish to speak with them. Do you understand me?” he demanded, raising his voice slightly. Finally, the larger brown deer stepped forward. It slowly walked closer until Damascus could for the first time see the beast at its full height, its antlers towering over him as its gaze met his. Damascus held his breath, and the deer curled back its lips to reveal a mouth full of pearly white fangs, glistening as the light hit them. Before Damascus could say anything, the deer spoke, its voice deep like the roots of a tree and soft like the moss that clung to it. “Run.” The deer lowered its antlers and tensed its muscles, ready to strike him down. His eyes widened, and before he had time to think his light was extinguished and he was dashing through the dense brambles of the forest, desperately searching for a path out of harm’s way.

The trees blurred around him, low hanging branches whipping at his face and brambles tugging on his legs as he ran. Flashes of the deer’s forms appeared all around him as they chased him through the trees, echoes of laughter taunting him from all around as he stumbled and floundered his way through the dense undergrowth. Dread washed over him as he realized that he couldn’t hear where they were, and in his panic he burst through a wall of brambles, the thorns tearing through his suit and his skin barely registering as he tumbled to the ground in a heap. Suddenly his eyes were filled with light, and to his surprise he had broken through the dense forest and entered an open clearing. He covered his face under the force of the bright light, his eyes adjusting as he lowered his arms and saw where he was. He had run straight into a huge circular room, its high ceiling only barely visible from the ground. Damascus slowly raised himself to his feet as he observed the room in awe, its walls a dense woven thicket of thorns, the floor beneath him soft warm soil, and the air around him glimmering with light streaming in from the canopy ceiling above him. The room teemed with life, small jewel-like beetles adorned the flowers they rested upon as hoards of butterflies obscured entire sections of the tree trunks in which they gathered. Small forest dwelling creatures scattered at his abrupt entrance, rabbits, songbirds, and squirrels all fleeing into the safety of the thicket from his presence. 

In the center of the room was by far the largest tree Damascus had ever seen, its magnificent girth appearing more like a castle spire than a tree. A spiral staircase wound up along the length of its trunk, its steps disappearing before Damascus could see its destination. At its base sat two thrones, composed of the tree's thick and twisted roots, sitting oddly still and empty compared to the rest of the room. As Damascus took in all that surrounded him he realized there was no clear exit, the hole he had entered through having disappeared. Panic filled him as he remembered he was still being pursued by the deer, and he looked around wildly for somewhere to run. Before he could move, the wall behind Damascus shifted, and the thorns parted on either side of him to reveal his tormentors. They came forward calmly, passing him with heads held high as they walked toward the thrones, and as they moved their forms shifted from beast to humanoid, possessing the faces of deer but the bodies of humans. They wore long silken dresses adorned with flowers that dragged along the ground behind them as they walked. The spirits approached the thrones and sat down, reclining in them comfortably before staring him down. The pale spirit spoke first, her voice quiet and stern. “My chosen name is Briar, and this is my other half, Bracken. We heard you wished to speak with us. You may do so now.” Damascus stared back at them in utter shock. Before him sat the powerful twin spirits he had longed to meet, who he had traveled days to find, and they had just chased him through their forest like a stupid foal into their inner sanctum. He remained silent, struggling to contain his immense feelings of humiliation and anger as they sat quietly in front of him. He couldn’t ruin his chance, not now. Not when he was so close. “Y-yes” he began, slowly regaining control over his words. “I was in the nearby town and heard of your beautiful forest, and I wanted to see it for myself.” He stood up straight, returning to his usual tall confident stance as he fixed his jacket and brushed his suit off. The twins looked him up and down, and this time Bracken spoke, resting her chin on the palm as she did so. “What a strange thing to say,” she said cheekily, a small echo of laughter in her tone. “Do you usually barge into someone’s home simply because you will think it would look pretty on the inside?” Damascus smiled and replied, “Sometimes, if I don’t think the residents will hunt me down and eat me.” Bracken giggled. “You’re funny for someone so stupid,” she laughed, and Damascus tried his best to hide his indignation at the comment, subtly gripping his claws to his side. ”Well, now that you’ve seen the forest,” she spread her arms wide as she stared him down, “What do you think of it?” Damascus knew he was walking a thin line, and chose his next words carefully. “It’s absolutely brilliant, everything I imagined and more,” he breathed, letting his genuine awe shine through. “Can I see more of it?” Briar curled her lips back in anger. “I think you have seen enough,” she sneered, her expression full of contempt as her fangs gleamed in the light. “You are a bold little fool to walk into our woods with so little respect, and now you ask to see more? You might as well be a rabbit crawling down a fox’s throat, excited to see what he may find in it’s stomach.” She paused and folded her claws in front of her, her face returning to a more thoughtful expression. “But I suppose you knew that when you came here, didn’t you?” He couldn’t hide the bristle at her words, and her smirk widened. “Tell me, little rabbit, what do you think is hidden in the belly of our woods that the fox’s teeth don’t scare you?” Damascus shuddered slightly, wishing he was dealing with Bracken’s playful banter instead of Briar’s scrutinizing stare. However, it seemed she was curious to hear his answer, sitting with her ears pricked in anticipation of his reasoning. Panic washed over him as he realized that his original lie wasn’t convincing them, his mind reeled searching for a better answer. “Fox got your tongue?” Briar asked, her expression unfaltering, and as Bracken giggled to herself, Damascus realized something. They were young. They had power and the advantage of the home court, but they were young, with all the naivety and arrogance that came with it. His original lie wouldn’t convince them, but a half truth might. “Power,” he answered, finally breaking the tense silence. “You are the most powerful spirits in this region. I want to learn from you, understand your magic, and know your ways so I may better myself.” Briar tilted her head, her expression shifting from distrust to interest. He had her attention. Careful to maintain his composure he continued on. “There are not many spirits in this world that have what you have, I want to influence the world and to do that you need power, teach me so I may become what I deserve to be.” He stopped, eagerly awaiting their response. The spirits looked at one another and then back at him, and for a moment, Damascus thought he had gotten through to them. His confidence faltered as they raised their hands simultaneously, and the moment they did so brambles sprung from the earth and tangled themselves around Damascus’s body. He gasped in terror as he fell to the ground, his vision becoming obscured by the thick layers of thorns intertwining around his face and body. Bracken stood up and walked over to him, crouching down just as the last few spots of light began to disappear. “You don’t toe the line between charm and foolishness as well as you think you do,” she whispered. “But just between you and I, come back soon and try to convince me again sometime, hm?” In his last moments of consciousness, Damascus felt the spark of an idea. A feeling that he would get everything he wanted before everything fell into blackness. Damascus woke with a gasp, lying on the ground outside of the forest, the brambles constricting him long gone. He sat up and stared into the trees, taking in all that had just happened to him, and he grinned wolfishly. He planned on returning very, very soon.

[eapers-eaters]

Tarse x Reader: Alpine Wood-Work

In which a skier gets lost in the woods and needs rescue after a grisly injury, when originally mistaking Tarse as something dangerous.

The shouts and excitement from the trailhead had all but been silenced by the trees and heavy snow. While many skiers and snowboarders liked to show their stuff on the rails and ramps, you preferred the quiet and long scenic route—a gentle slope punctuated by occasional sharp turns and slightly steeper angles. You’d come out by yourself this time, confident in your knowledge of the mountain, and happy your skis alone left tracks in the soft powder.

About a third down the trail, you began to notice the trees becoming unfamiliar. You had been here just last season, but the trees seemed to be older, taller, and closer together. You pulled off to the side and dug into your pack for the map you habitually picked up from the lodge. You stared confused, only now noticing the once well-marked trail had seemingly vanished, replaced with minimalist outlines of danger. Bears, rockfall…avalanche. But that didn’t explain why the trees were different. You knew this trail, you knew you didn’t take a wrong turn—there was no other turn to take once you started. You decided you were too far down the mountain to trek back up, so continued down the slope, knowing you would still reach the bottom all the same. Or maybe not.

The trees continued to grow stranger—needles were the wrong shapes, branches looked more like twisted arms than the rigid, rough boughs normally seen at these elevations. Too, you began to notice brambles and herbs lively and green, as if for them alone summer never surrendered to the bite of winter snow. The forest continued to encroach upon the trail, until you were finally faced with a wooden wall broken by deep, obscured shadows. You began to pant as you searched for any sign of a break in the forest, but eventually accepted the trail had completely vanished.

You decided you had to continue on foot, so unstrapped the skis from your boots and wrapped them tight to your pack. With the poles gripped tightly in your hands, you entered the dark, cold forest and followed that invisible line you once knew so well. No snow made it to the ground, but is was still unnerving how lush and pristine the undergrowth was. Had you not been so concerned, you would’ve loved to sit and stare, but you were on a mission. You didn’t want to be out here when night inevitably fell.

A breeze blew through the branches, a wave that shook the trees which creaked and moaned in protest. But the forest was healthy—no weak roots threatening to drop a massive trunk on your head, no dead trees losing limbs as they rotted away. You had heard of eternal forests, ancient and still, but they were all far off, not to mention on the opposite side of the mountains. There were rumors, of guardians who used unknown magics to will the plants to grow, and to rid any intruders. But those were tales. They had to be…right?

A different noise made you freeze in place. It was the snap of a hefty branch, and it was close. You slowly turned your head, but saw nothing to make such a sound. Then you heard a log being split open and loud crunching. You snuck silently to the closest tree, and just barely peeked around the rough bark. All you saw was a furry shape, absolutely massive and foreboding, before you quickly turned and attempted to sneak away.

Oh god, it’s a bear, you thought, I just need to stay calm, it’ll leave me alone. It’s too busy with…whatever it’s doing.

You swore you had been deathly quiet when the crunching stopped. There was a swishing sound, different from the needles in the wind, and you looked back for just a moment. It was staring right. At. You.

Your instincts won over as you ran. You didn’t know where, just away from that thing. It was not a bear’s face you saw. You had no idea what ‘it’ was, only it should not be here. You weren’t sure how far your sprint carried you when you saw the forest’s edge, bordered by bright, soft snow. What you didn’t see, however, was the rock obscured by snow-covered ferns.

The sound that escaped your lips was halfway between a gasp and an ear-splitting shriek, whilst from your ankle came a sharp crack. You moaned in pain as blood seeped from your boot, soaking into your pants and staining the snow around your feet. You shivered as you felt your body struggle to keep conscious against the shock and pulsing agony from your broken ankle. But you didn’t hear any pursuer.

You listened over your hammering heart, and was met with silence. You weren’t sure to be relieved, or enraged at the carelessness that got you in this situation. You tried to sit up, only to fall back, face-first, into the snow. You’d never had a high tolerance for pain—not that you suffered many injuries—so this was utterly incapacitating.

You remained still for some time, hoping there was a chance someone would find you, when you heard vegetation being crushed and something coming towards you. Your heart quickened again as you attempted to play dead, which was fairly convincing as you laid limp, face-down in the powder and smelling of blood. You felt your stomach sink as a loud, chuffing breath warmed the back of your neck. Any second now, you expected long, sharp claws to dig into your back, and were pleasantly surprised when you felt fingers press into your shoulder. That too, however turned to dread as a heavy, hand-like paw landed near your face, barely visible in the corner of your visor.

The thing moved around you, sniffing, until it retreated back to your injury. At the gentle touch, you couldn’t stop from weakly moaning, “Agh! It hurts…”

The pressure immediately lifted, and sweat threatened to cascade down your brow as the thing shuffled closer to your head. You could feel it kneel down to be at eye-level, and surprisingly softly, it said in a rumble, “You can speak. Good. Will you let me help you?”

You found it hard to reply, not just from surprise, but the growing lightheadedness. You finally managed to push out a small, “…Okay,” which seemed to satisfy the creature.

“Good,” it moved back towards your feet, adding, “I won’t be able to fix internal damage, you’ll need your human doctors for that. I will close the wound and ease the pain, but I doubt your ability to walk.”

At that, you anticipated another wave of agony, but when pressure pressed close to the wound, that was all you felt. There was a feeling of your skin being tugged at, but that didn’t hurt, either, despite how strange the sensation was. By now the sun was hidden behind the surrounding trees, and you began to grow cold as the light receded.

The creature seemed to finish tending to your injury, then rumbled, “Allow me to keep you warm,” as you felt a furry, thick coat begin to wrap around you. It lifted you from the snow into the coils as you finally got a good look at the thing.

Its long and thick body was covered with the ragged-looking pelt, a deep grayish-green with occasional splotches of what looked to be moss or lichen. While one large, muscular arm helped in supporting you, the other appeared to be a  limb of vines only superficially resembling that of an arm. It had no legs, its chest down a slowly tapering core of muscle, which led you to assume it might be a naga, but the face—in addition to the aforementioned details—told otherwise. It wore a wooden mask, with prominent but harmless teeth engraved around its rim, and two white eyes that looked back with an almost disinterested expression. You truly had no idea what this was.

You did begin to feel warmer, but you still felt incredibly apprehensive with this thing wrapped around you. Its voice remained gentle, however, as it conversed, “You appear concerned. I will not harm you, like any fellow creature I’ve previously met. You do not have to fear me. I will keep you safe. You may call me Tarse.”

Your voice threatened to die in your throat, but you eventually croaked, “…w-what are you?”

The emotion in Tarse’s eyes didn’t change as he replied, “I am a Wyrm. My kind does not normally frequent here, and I only desire to pass by on my journey back home.”

All you did was nod. Tarse held you close as night began to fall, covering all except your face so you could still breathe. It sounded as if he had fallen asleep, for his breathing slowed and muscles relaxed, but still kept a secure hold so you wouldn’t slip. You looked at the stars, wondering if your friends knew you were even here, but slowly, too, drifted into unconsciousness.

You were awoken with a start as an explosion rocked the mountainside, and without a word Tarse wrapped around you entirely, bracing his body as you were trying to make sense of things. You could hear wood breaking, rocks colliding, and an ungodly roaring as the whole world outside seemed to fall to pieces.

As soon as it started, the chaos was silenced. All you could hear was the breathing of Tarse and your own heart beating out of your chest. Moments of relative silence dragged on, and was only broken when Tarse began to speak.

“The snow and rocks have us completely buried. It I move too much, this space will collapse. I can dig my way out, but you would not be fast or strong enough to follow. However, I will not leave you to perish. I need your trust and understanding.”

You slowly nodded, knowing you had no choice either way.

“I have disagreed with my kin on their actions, but still have the ability to consume things whole,” Tarse continued watching you with his luminous eyes, noticeably much softer now, “I am more plant than animal, but still possess a digestive system similar to yours. I usually only eat plants, and when I do ingest an animal, it is never to kill or provide myself sustenance. I can protect and transport you this way, if you are willing.”

Far, far slower this time, you nodded. If Tarse left you, you’d be crushed by the debris, and though a visceral instinct told you this would also lead to certain death, you were in no position to deny and expect your desire be seriously considered.

Tarse nodded in turn, the rumble in his voice now a gentle purr as he advised, “I do not want to cause further strain on your injury. I will ingest you head-first, and though I understand you will likely struggle, the more still you remain the easier and faster this will be.”

You heard creaking, and felt fear rush through you as Tarse’s mask had a part break off on each side, which extended into long, flexible jaws. He moved slowly and minimally, straining under the weight and attempting to keep you calm despite the horrified expression under your visor.

With jaw fully extended, he asked, “Should you remove your bag? It may be uncomfortable to have it with you, and I fear I may damage it due to its dimensions and shape.”

You had forgotten it was still strapped to your back, and quickly pulled it off with a half-hearted sigh. You untied the skis and laid the poles beside them, saying, “I still want this, but I don’t need those.” Thankfully, they weren’t your favorite.

Tarse nodded, “Once you have settled, I will deliver your belongings to you. It will likely be somewhat cramped, but I’ll try to be accommodating as possible. Tell me when you’re ready.”

The words hung in the quickly vanishing air, and you struggled to come to terms with what was to happen. However, since the Wyrm was letting you decide when, it gave a minimal sense of reassurance. Eventually, you resorted to telling yourself, it’s just another adventure. If this Tarse guy wanted to kill me, he’d’ve done it already, and wouldn’t care if he hurt me more. Godammit, how did I get myself into this…

Tarse watched you with patient eyes, and only nodded when you told him you were ready. With his arms raised to keep from being crushed, he used his tail to gently lift you up to his face, still only squeezing hard enough to keep you stable. As he opened his jaws wide, you could hardly see anything more than a black abyss yawning back at you. This is it, you thought, and the jaws descended over your head.

You didn’t realize how cold you were until Tarse’s warmth washed over you. You couldn’t help but shiver as your once soggy, freezing clothes were now drenched with warm, slippery saliva. You also shook as a wave of revulsion hit you, spurred by the action of Tarse’s tongue coating your neck and chest, and couldn’t help as you squirmed with discomfort. The Wyrm paused, sensing your distress, and after a few moments of you mostly reassuring yourself, continued.

You felt yourself tipped forward as Tarse tilted his own head back, and whimpered as your head entered his throat, thankfully only further drenching your visor and helmet. In your ears, you could clearly hear the sound of gulping as you were swallowed, but also heard something like creaking wood as the esophagus grew tighter. Tarse began to swallow with more force, and after seeming to push your shoulders past this point, once again resigned to gently easing you deeper into his body. When you finally felt your feet taken in by his throat, you found yourself wondering how much longer until you were in his stomach. Soon as that thought arose, you were pushed into a chamber far looser, and within half a minute, you were completely sealed inside.

You couldn’t help but press your hand into the plush—but highly textured—walls, which pulsed and shifted around but never once encroached further upon you. It seemed fairly sudden when you heard another gulp and your bag slid inside the stomach with you, also soaking, but thankfully it was waterproof. You held it close to your chest as your position shifted, and you felt the muscles around you flex as Tarse likely began to burrow through the debris.

You expected the heat and lack of oxygen to send you to sleep, but your mind was surprisingly alert as your surroundings continued to shift with a noticeable wave-like pattern. You remained silent, and nearly squeezed the bag from your arms as Tarse spoke to you.

“There is a human residence further down the mountain, but when I arrive it shall be mid-day and generously occupied. I would only be able to deliver you there when night falls. While I can regurgitate you a minor distance away so you may arrive on foot, I do worry your injury may impede you. If you would allow me, however, I can heal you far more effectively with you inside me, though there may be permanent, albeit harmless, side-effects.”

“Like what?”

“You may lose pain sensation in that limb, you may acquire an unforeseen defect, or part of your body may be replaced altogether. I do not doubt my ability to treat you, but as you’re awake, it may be disturbing and painful.”

“But,” you began, “I’m not tired, I can’t sleep…”

“I have been supplying copious amounts of oxygen to you,” Tarse explained, “however, I can supplement a kind of anesthetic into the air around you that will put you to sleep. Will you let me do this?”

“I can’t make you either way, so…yeah, I guess,” you replied, and felt the walls shift around you again as you became aware of a sweet smell. You weren’t sure how much time passed, but eventually you felt the laced air fill your lungs and your eyes grow heavy. Your speech grew slurred as you asked, “You, prromis you’re not gon’…I’ll still wake up? Laterrr ‘course…right?”

“Of course,” was all Tarse said, and you slipped from consciousness.

    Your eyes flew open as you sat up and gasped, wincing as bright light entered through your visor. Breathing quickly, you tried to recall how you may have gotten here, propped up against a tree along one of the maintenance roads with your bag awkwardly situated in your lap. You distinctly remembered taking the path you normally took, then getting lost, but then…?

The memories flooded back, and you relaxed against the tree, breathing a relieved sigh that you seemed safe, but most importantly, Tarse kept his word. You reasoned he must have let you out while you still slept, then as you remembered your ankle, tore off your boot and gasped. Instead of the pinkish flesh or a scar, your ankle and foot was completely replaced with a wood-like substance. You touched it, expecting there to be no sensation, but besides the smooth, hard texture and color, it still felt, and looked, like how it normally would. You gaped at this, flexing your foot and then standing, finding it to hold your weight perfectly without any sign of the past injury.

You couldn’t help but smile as you pulled your sock back on, then your boot as you thought of how your friends would react. Surely, you would have to come up with a tale that sounded less farfetched than what truly happened, but it was a challenge you were willing to take. Looking around you, you tried to see if Tarse was still around, but there was no sign of the Wyrm. You wanted to thank him, but reasoned you would have to get back to the trailhead soon, or risk him being discovered by someone else.

With a grateful sigh, you picked up your bag and slung it over your shoulder, using the sun’s position to decide which way down the road to take, and began your trek. It was only a few steps when you groaned, bec

[whisker-biscuit]

Starry-Eyed

*Based on the beautiful artwork by @crysptrsh, please go check it out!*

Summary: Skout accidentally encounters the Nomad when everyone else is too far off to be of assistance. They share a bit of an unwilling soul search, and the spittoon girl learns that the world is a lot more complicated than she wanted to believe. 

And some things shine brighter than the stars.

Skout had done it. She still couldn’t believe it, that she’d managed to accomplish what so many others had failed to do for over a century, but here she was, standing in front of a simple animal snare that had caught prey unlike any she’d ever expected.

Skout had captured the Nomad.

It was a bit of a lucky thing though, if the girl was honest with herself. She and the crew had been traveling into near-sunset when they had found a rare patch of cactus and desert shrubs, spanning a good several miles at least and very difficult to navigate. Toth, spirited and impatient, had ordered the majority of her group to start working through the undergrowth despite its treachery. The Y’dala woman herself took a smaller team to split up and ride around the perimeter – a task that would take the rest of the evening.

Of course Skout had begged to join, but ever since the encounter with the beast in the Nowhere storm, Toth had been bouncing between avoiding her spittoon girl in harsh silence and hovering over her like a mother hen. It was confusing, and frustrating, and Skout was just about ready to tear her hair out.

Jethro had been the one to suggest that someone stay behind with the larger wagon and set up camp, since it was obvious they’d be here for possibly a few days. Toth was against the idea until she realized it’d be a good way to both keep Skout out of harm’s way and ignore her at the same time, so she had assigned the poor girl the job with no room for further argument. One other Dandy-Lion was voted to keep her company, “just in case”, and then the group had departed.

After the tents were set up and a fire was built, Skout was left to her own devices as her companion decided he was taking an afternoon nap. He told her, settling himself onto the dusty desert ground, that the likelihood of the Nomad being here – or anyone really – was pretty slim. Skout was usually optimistic but she felt a little inclined to agree with him.

So now, two hours after arriving, she could maybe forgive herself for being a little slack-jawed at the sight.

The Nomad was stuck in a bit of a squat, his right arm inside the low-hanging, hollowed-out cactus arm Scout had set up to snare an animal for dinner. He was very still and very wide-eyed, left hand still gripping at the crook of his elbow in an interrupted attempt to pull out of the trap.

“You, yer arm’s stuck,” Skout said quietly, dumbly. She shook her head to snap out of her shock. “What’re you doin’ here, Nomad?”

That was enough to pull her catch out of his own freeze up, because he started tugging more frantically at his trapped appendage. The girl scampered up quickly in order to stop his struggling and the Nomad flinched back so violently he fell on his behind. His arm was bent at an awkward angle, uncomfortable but probably not painful.

“Hey, hey now, don’t be doin’ that! You’ll pull a muscle or somethin’!” She lightly scolded. “What am I s’pposed to tell everyone if you go gettin’ yerself hurt?”

But the Nomad wasn’t listening. He looked terrified, keeping as much distance between them as he could while still tugging desperately at the cactus snare. When Skout inched closer his shoulders jolted up to his neck and he tried to clap his hands through the plant. It didn’t work and the poor thing got a gloveful of prickly needles for his efforts.

Skout wasn’t really sure what to do at this point. She could go back to the camp to grab her fellow sleeping Dandy-Lion, but it was a fifteen minute push through the brush one way and leaving the Nomad alone was just asking for him to escape.

She could shout for help, maybe, but the search party had set out hours ago and would have good distance, careful searching or not. It was also starting to get dark, and she didn’t have a flare or anything to signal where she was.

The best option would have been to bring the Nomad back herself, but she faced two problems with this. First, she was recovering from her injuries. The moment the girl had gotten off her crutches she had demanded to jump back into the fray, and it was the only debate she’d managed to win against Toth since the incident. The exertion of walking alone for this long was difficult, much less hauling along an unwilling companion.

Secondly, the Nomad was acting…much more skittish than the last time she’d interacted with him. Sure, they’d been pursuing and evading each other for weeks now, and there wasn’t any doubts about which members of the group were willing to bring him back in less than one piece, but something about this was…different.

Wrong.

So, with a quiet resigned huff and a painful sigh, Skout sat against a brittle shrub to consider her dilemma. She brought up her legs halfway to her chest and draped her arms tiredly across her knees, eyes distant while the Nomad heaved and panted in front of her.

“What’m I supposed to do?” The girl near-whispered. “If I go messin’ this up again, Toth could get in a whole lotta trouble again.”

The two made brief unexpected eye-contact before the Nomad’s face turned abruptly to the side, still clearly terrified. Skout huffed again and picked absentmindedly at a scab on her thumb.

“And you ain’t been helpin’ things much, Friend. Actin’ all afraid a’ me like that. I ain’t that scary…am I?”

The Nomad blinked up at the girl and gave a tiny, timid shake of his head, and Skout frowned.

“Ya say that, but I’m not much reassured, Mister Nomad.” She looked at him again, studied him a little more closely. “Why’s everyone so upset at you, anyhow? I know you’ve been doin’ magic and all that rule-breakin’ stuff, but…what makes ya so special to get everyone up in a tilly?”

The words made her captive tense as a rattlesnake. He stopped struggling to stare at her, an expression on his face that was half pleading, half disbelief, and mixed together to form 100% distress. Skout would have been unnerved, but everything about the last few weeks had been unnerving and she was sick of the feeling.

“And, why ya gotta be bundled up so much too? The desert is plenty cold enough at night for that, but it ain’t so kind durin’ the day.” She scooted up to him on her butt, green eyes starting to fill with the inquisitiveness she used to be more famous for.

Whatever the Nomad was seeing, however, he wasn’t liking at all. He tried to kick backwards, and when his trapped arm stopped the movement he instead tried to hide fetal-position behind the hollowed cactus. Skout was having none of it.

“Come on, Friend, I ain’t gonna hurtcha! I just wanna,” the girl paused. “Actually, I don’t really much know what I want. I guess. Maybe…” She chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe I could just see yer face? Is that alright?”

Her captive uncurled just a bit to watch warily. His gaze drifted down her body, and Skout realized with a start that he was looking for weapons. She almost snorted in irritated amusement.

“Nah, I ain’t got nothin’ dangerous on me, Toth has been real weird lately, not lettin’ me do nothin’ useful. I dunno why she still wants me here, if I’m bein’ honest.”

The Nomad leaned around the snare, closer than he’d been willing to get before, and Skout’s breath almost caught at the brightness of his eyes in the growing dusk. She tentatively reached a hand out, not quite closed into a fist.

“Can I? Please? Just one look?”

Her fingers brushed against the rim of his hat, but he didn’t wince away. The Nomad remained completely rigid, with a slight twitch to his body like a reluctant marionette with no other way out. Skout took the hat off and turned it this way and that, respectful but curious. She didn’t notice nervous tears forming in her captive’s face.

Next came the bandana, wrapped so tightly around the Nomad’s face and neck it was a miracle he wasn’t suffocating, in her opinion. She gently pulled it down and made a startled noise when she couldn’t see an obvious mouth.

“Uh, well.” Skout stammered as the Nomad made himself a little smaller. “I uh, I’m sure lots a folks don’t have mouths! It ain’t that uncommon, promise!”

But she was even more eager to see the rest of his face now, and the head scarf was grabbed a little faster, with a little less consideration of his comfort level. The Nomad jerked back at her action and ended up coming right out of the headwear. It remained stuck in Skout’s hand, but she didn’t notice.

Because the sight before her was nothing short of incredible.

Pitch, fluffy hair swept up in a current of soft innocence, highlighting a slim, childlike face. Eyes, once tempered by so much faded orange, now glowed in beautiful brilliance against the deepest of dark skin, and the tears still prickling at their corners added the illusion of liquid light circling two dazzling moons. The lack of mouth and nose were no longer disconcerting, but ethereal. As if to complete the celestial picture was the sky, finally reaching that point of showing stars but not so opaque as to obscure everything else.

It was unlike anything Skout had ever seen before.

It was magical.

“Flippin’ flapjacks,” she breathed, drawing the scarf close to her collarbone. “That’s, this – you’re beautiful.”

The Nomad remained still, tears threatening to spill and shimmer down unmarred cheeks. He – they – made a move as if to take the scarf back, then stopped and recoiled. Skout blinked dazedly and slowly came out of her trance.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she passed the piece of clothing back and the Nomad accepted it gratefully, managing to wrap it back on properly even with only one hand available. The bandana came back up to cover the bottom half of their face, and with a hesitant tap they took back their hat, pressing it snugly on top of their head like a security blanket.

The girl tried to get the amazing image out of her mind, but no amount of blinking or headshaking could do it. She picked at her scab without looking at it.

“So uh, I don’t s’ppose yer gonna come back with me if I ask nicely, huh.” Skout grimaced when she received an incessant ‘no’ in all forms of body language. “That’s what I thought. Dang it, How’m I gonna explain this to everyone?”

Her captive seemed just a little less fearful for their life, because a half shrug was her answer. The spittoon girl sighed and looked up at the evening sky.

“You know, there’s so many stories ‘bout before magic disappeared. Sometimes Toth tells ‘em to me, when she’s in a good enough mood. It always sounds so amazin’, and I’ve always wanted to see it with my own eyes.”

Skout went quiet for a few seconds and just watched the stars twinkle. “And then I gotta chance to meet you, and – now don’t get me wrong, those little critters you make are right plum outta the fantasy books, but this…I ain’t never realized how special it really is, I guess. You’re really special. Honestly. And I wanna help Toth and help her people, that’s why I’m still goin’ with her even though…even though she ain’t been too happy with me lately. But I don’t…what happens after all that? Where do you go? Why does El Ray want you so bad?”

Something anxious and troubled leaked into the Nomad’s eyes then, and if Skout didn’t know better she’d say they knew exactly what would happen to them. But that was impossible. It was probably just the fear talking.

“When we came here today, nobody really thought we’d see you. I think Toth’s the only one who wanted to search this place. Maybe…just this once,” she hesitated, and stared into the subdued radiance of the Nomad’s eyes. “Maybe I could just…not find nothin’ in this trap. Maybe it just sprung by itself somehow, cause that, that happens sometimes, right?”

The Nomad’s expression was bordering towards disbelief and the first inkling of hope, even as tears still glimmered along their skin. Skout wanted to cry too, at the unfairness of it all. She took ahold of her captive’s free hand and clasped it in her own, willing them to look at her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Twenty minutes later, the sleeping Dandy-Lion woke to find Skout stumbling into the camp, dirty and tired and rather listless. He propped himself up on one arm and watched her.

“Did the traps catch anything?”

And Skout looked at the night sky again, at stars that were once so inviting when she had been younger, and more naïve to the complicated nature of things. They weren’t like that anymore.

“Nah, nothin’. I think you’re right, ain’t nothing worthwhile here at all.”

They weren’t like that, because she had started to lose that naivety, that stupid belief in a black and white world and her ability to know the difference.

But in return, she had received a glimpse of something even more magnificent. Something worth protecting even if she didn’t know how to do it yet. And it wasn’t just a visible sight, either.

Because after she’d freed them, before the two parted ways again and she’d started the trek back –

The Nomad had hugged her.

I love this series and I love crysptrsh’s amazing talent and I love the fluffy-haired Nomad theory. I just love everything tbh - thanks for reading!

[wildheart-warriors]

Timelines: Chapter Four

Fuzzypelt, Goldenflower, and Whitestorm stood atop the ravine, gazing down at their apprentices. Mosspaw shared a glance with her littermates, apprehension and excitement buzzing between them. Stonepaw was the first to move, scrabbling upward. Mosspaw took a deep breath, and both she and Mistypaw started their ascent.

It wasn’t a sheer drop, but the steep hill had been worn smooth by generations of cats coming and going, and none of them had done anything more difficult than scale the highrock. There was an awful lot of slipping and stumbling before the three apprentices dragged themselves over the lip of the ravine.

Fuzzypelt purred with amusement, his whiskers twitching. Mosspaw glared. “It gets easier,” he assured her. She snorted and got quickly to her feet.

Mosspaw’s gaze turned to the forest, and her breath caught in her throat. Laid out before her was an entirely new world, unexplored and full of possibilities. She couldn’t see far, her line of sight obscured by thick swathes of trees and dense undergrowth, but she could sense the vastness of it all.

“Woah,” Stonepaw breathed. Mosspaw hadn’t noticed her siblings move, but they were all standing shoulder to shoulder now, peering into the shadowy forest. Whatever was out there, they would discover it together.

“Alright then, where to first?” Fuzzypelt broke them out of their reverie, drawing Mosspaw’s attention back to the task at hand.

“How about we go past the great sycamore to the thunderpath, and walk the borders from there?” Goldenflower suggested.

“Perfect,” Whitestorm agreed. “I wonder how far we’ll get before they get too tired to go on.” His tone was teasing, but the three apprentices still bristled.

Fuzzypelt hummed, eyeing Mosspaw mischievously. “I give it until Tallpines.”

“Can we go already?” Mosspaw snapped. “I’m ready to prove you wrong.”

Mistypaw looked mildly horrified, but Fuzzypelt only laughed and nodded. With a wave of his tail, the senior warrior was leading the way, padding into the trees in what Mosspaw assumed was the direction of the Great Sycamore; and, more importantly, the Thunderpath.

Mosspaw fell into line beside her siblings, the three warriors ahead of them. The trees quickly closed in around their patrol, and it wasn’t long before she didn’t know which way was home. Everything was unfamiliar now, shadows and sunbeams dancing over brambles and ferns, every pawstep further confusing her sense of direction. It was honestly frightening, being thrust so suddenly into the thick of the forest.

Fuzzypelt exuded calm confidence, though, and Mosspaw reminded herself that the warriors knew every bit of this territory the same way she knew the camp. Still, being in the rear was a little unsettling, and she picked up her pace so that she trotted at Fuzzypelt’s flank. Mistypaw snorted, but a few heartbeats later she too was walking side by side with her mentor.

“What’s so great about this sycamore?” Stonepaw finally asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s one of the oldest, tallest trees in the forest,” Goldenflower replied. “We’re almost there, you’ll understand once you see it.”

“Is it as big as the oaks at Fourtrees?” Mistypaw inquired.

“No, not nearly,” Whitestorm said. “Fourtrees is a place blessed by Starclan. Each oak represents one of the four clans, and our ancestors care for our respective trees, so they grow much larger than any others in the forest.”

Suddenly the trees started to thin out, opening into a clearing and revealing the subject of their conversation. The sycamore was indeed great, with sprawling, twisted roots and branches stretching high above the canopy.

“The great sycam-” Mosspaw darted forward, knocking Fuzzypelt off balance, and leaped at the trunk of the tree.

“I bet I can climb highest!” She exclaimed, pushing her way up the trunk a little further. No one responded, though, and she looked back to see both her siblings unmoved. Goldenflower looked disapproving, and Mosspaw wilted under her gaze. She slid back down the trunk and looked for some sign of support from her littermates.

“That was rude, Mosspaw,” Goldenflower chided. Mosspaw deflated completely, suddenly incredibly embarrassed and ashamed. She quickly rejoined the group, glancing at her mentor bashfully.

Fuzzypelt cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the great sycamore. We practice climbing here, and sometimes you can find mice among the roots. Nearby is Snakerocks, but I think we’ll save that for another day.”

They didn’t linger, the warriors quickly leading them onward. Mosspaw was glad to leave the sycamore behind.

“Who’s embarrassed now?” Stonepaw whispered. Mosspaw glowered. He looked absolutely delighted with himself.

The earth beneath their feet started to hum, and then rumble. An acrid scent began to taint the air, and even Fuzzypelt looked on high alert as they grew closer.

“Stay close!” He yowled, a roaring - like thunder - nearly drowned him and any other sound out.

They pushed through the last of the brush, and stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction was a swathe of black stone. Mosspaw wrinkled her nose, ears flattened against her skull. They were a good fox length or so from the edge, but when a monster roared past on their side she felt as though they were far, far too close.

Everything about this place was unpleasant. The grass under paw was sparse and oily, leaving a residue on their fur, and the smell was atrocious and overwhelming. They didn’t have to endure it long before Whitestorm ushered them back into the trees.

“That, as you can probably guess, is the thunderpath,” Fuzzypelt announced, once they were far enough that the sound wasn’t deafening. “It’s not always so full of monsters, but it IS always dangerous. Never get closer than this without a warrior.”

“Always be on high alert,” Whitestorm added. “My mother, Snowwhisker, was killed by a monster. She was chasing off a Shadowclan cat and it pounced on her like we would a mouse.”

The apprentices shivered. They’d heard the story from Bluefur before, of how her sister died, but it felt much more real now. They had seen where she died and what killed her, and it was still a danger now, one they would have to face.

“It does provide protection from Shadowclan, though,” Goldenflower added. “They aren’t eager to cross either.”

Whitestorm seemed eager to move on, and quickly took the lead. Fuzzypelt fell back, alongside Mosspaw. “We’ll climb the sycamore, just not today,” he promised. Mosspaw looked away, glaring at her paws. “I bet you won’t get higher than my record, though.”

Now that was interesting. “Record?”

“When I was an apprentice we always had contests to see who could get higher. Everyone clawed a mark in at their highest point, and mine is still the highest there is.”

“I’ll beat you first try,” Mosspaw mewed, and immediately kicked herself. That was so stupid! Fuzzypelt snorted.

“We’ll see.”

***

By the time they reached the houses, Stonepaw was flagging. He lagged behind Goldenflower, pawsteps heavy. Mosspaw was feeling slow too, but she refused to let it show; they weren’t even at Tallpines yet!

“The border here isn’t very dangerous,” Goldenflower informer them. “Occasionally a rogue or loner will trespass here, but it’s mostly kittypets.”

“We’ve had some trouble with a tomcat called Henry trying to hunt here, but he’s no warrior; even you three could probably chase him off,” Whitestorm chuckled.

“Fat lazy kittypets are no match for a Thunderclan cat,” Fuzzypelt agreed, whiskers twitching. “Sometimes, if a winter is really harsh, we’ll send warriors to hunt in the gardens here. Twolegs put out food for the birds and squirrels, so they’re here in any season.”

“Isn’t this where Pinestar went?” Stonepaw asked. “Tigerclaw’s dad?”

“Yes,” Whitestorm’s voice went cold. “He betrayed Thunderclan and abandoned Tigerclaw when he was only a kit, to live the life of a kittypet.”

Mistypaw’s lip curled. “Who would want to do that? It sounds boring, and lonely.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anything but a clan cat,” Mosspaw agreed.

“Good. There’s no room for doubt in a warrior’s mind. You must always be loyal and true to your clan.”

“Do you ever see him?” Mistypaw asked.

“No. Lionheart knows where he is, but no one else has ever bothered to look,” Goldenflower replied.

“Good riddance,” Stonepaw spat.

“Indeed,” Goldenflower agreed. She gazed up at the sky, eyeing the sun. “It’s almost sunhigh. How about we do a little hunting and rest here before we move on?”

Stonepaw’s sigh of relief was audible, and both Mosspaw and Mistypaw fell into a fit of giggles. Fuzzypelt nodded his approval.

“Goldenflower, how about you and I catch something while Whitestorm teaches the apprentices the hunter’s crouch?”

“Sure thing,” the fluffy molly replied, and the two disappeared into the brush, leaving Mosspaw, Mistypaw, and Stonepaw under Whitestorm’s supervision.

“What if, instead of practicing, we just nap?” Stonepaw suggested, already flopped over on his side. Whitestorm chuckled.

“Warriors can’t afford to be lazy. Besides, I bet Oakclaw already showed you the hunter’s crouch a thousand times. Show me what you know and then you can rest.”

“Stonepaw’s lousy at it,” Mistypaw snickered.

“That’s why he doesn’t want to show you,” Mosspaw added. “He can’t keep his balance for anything!”

Stonepaw glared, and hauled himself back to his paws. He dropped low to the ground, haunches slightly elevated and tail straight out behind him. Mistypaw did the same, and Mosspaw followed suit.

“Looks like Oakclaw’s already done my job for me,” Whitestorm mock complained. “You’re all already fully trained! Might as well do your warrior ceremony this evening.”

Stonepaw flopped onto his side again, grinning tiredly. Despite her teasing, Mistypaw soon followed, sprawling out on her back in a shady patch. Mosspaw fought against her own aching paws and stayed on her feet a few moments longer, but soon she was stretched out on the ground too.

By the time Fuzzypelt and Goldenflower returned, the three cats were dozing, Stonepaw snoring obnoxiously. Despite their obvious exhaustion, the smell of fresh-kill roused them. Mistypaw’s stomach growled.

Fuzzypelt dropped a mouse and a sparrow. “Well, this doesn’t look like training to me,” his tone was stern, but his twitching whiskers and warm gaze gave away his lack of real anger. Whitestorm shrugged.

“They already know their hunter’s crouch,” he replied.

Goldenflower chuckled, adding a robin to their little fresh-kill heap. It was hardly a meal for six cats, but it’d get the newly made apprentices through till evening.

Mosspaw didn’t move, despite her hungry belly and watering mouth. She didn’t want to be the rude one again. She sat still while Goldenflower and Fuzzypelt settling down in the shade, waiting for some sort of okay.

At last, Fuzzypelt nodded, and she immediately grabbed for the mouse. Stonepaw and Mistypaw snagged the vole to share, and Whitestorm retrieved the robin.

The first bite was a welcome relief, and Mosspaw groaned aloud. Some of her exhaustion ebbed away as she ate, replaced by a sluggish desire to nap. The warriors seemed to have a similar idea, though; once they’d passed around and finished their robin, Fuzzypelt yawned and stretched, making himself comfortable half in and half out of a sunbeam.

“Once we’re done here, it’s only a little way further till we reach the river,” he yawned. Mosspaw’s stomach filled with butterflies, but she was already half asleep where she lay. Soon they’d see the river, where their father came from.

[beelieveinfandom]

A Better Birthright - Chapter Five

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9                          AO3 Link

The post-storm plane was a strange place. Fallen grass stocks were strewn about like bodies on a battlefield; long enough had passed that the majority of the grasses could no longer deny the reality of their own death.

Things were still. The wind was calm. The humidity had evened out to something fairly reasonable.

Despite the stillness it was impossible to miss the storm’s absence. The scattered plants were intermingled with the frozen stone replicas of their former brethren. Small amounts of ash drifted through the air from an unidentifiable source. A fine layer of crystal covered the ground, cracking and crunching when disturbed.

Plessy led Nav and Mizar with a modified compass. A few flakes of rust on the needle tip would ensure that it would always point to the sled. At least, it would under normal conditions. It was currently being difficult, skittering away from whatever direction it had been facing whenever it seemed to get a fix. Plessy was leading about as much by memory as she was with the device.

“So…” Nav said, as they passed a strange mound of crystals and greenery that smelled disturbingly meaty. “Fred. She’s got to be the Stormwaker, right?”

“What?” Mizar exclaimed. “No way. There is no way that they’re real.”

“Are you sure about that?” Nav put a hand on their hip. “Cause I have it on the great authority of a friend of a cousin's sibling-in-law that they’re definitely real.”

“Isn’t the Stormwalker supposed to be like, a twenty-foot-tall Dryad?” Mizar crossed her arms.

“I don’t think so; the Stormwalker’s definitely supposed to have horns.”

“There are horned dryads,” Mizar said, carefully walking around a pile of sharp petrified grass. “I’ve met a few. They’re great!”

“You’ve met multiple dryads?” Nav stared at her disbelievingly. “Multiple strange dryads to boot?”

“Well,” Mizar shrugged, “they do tend to live in groves, so If you run into one there are likely more around.”

“Plant things aside, Fred’s gotta be at least part of the origin of storm-parter legend.” Nav spread her arms apart. “It’s too big of a coincidence.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, feet crunching on the crystal covered ground.

“So,” Nav said, “do you think she knows?”

Plessy shook her head, smiling. “She has no idea.”

“Should we tell her?” Mizar asked.

“What, just go up to here and ask if she knows there are folk songs written about her?” Nav laughed.

“Ma'am, excuse me ma’am,” Mizar said quickly, “are you aware that you’re actually a massive dryad?”

“I can’t believe I met the Stormwalker and she’s shorter then I am,” Nav said.

“Her horns are pretty long.” Mizar pulled on a piece of bright orange ex-grass as she passed it, stretching it for almost a foot before it snapped. “I bet things started with describing her as having huge horns, and then she grew with the tale.”

“I’ll buy that.”

“So,” Mizar flipped her palms over, “what do you think’s the deal with the hand thing?”

“There’s a hand thing?” Nav asked.

You haven’t heard the hand thing?” Mizar leaned towards Nav. “There’s supposed to be like a bunch of hands that follow the Stormwalker around.”

“Follow her?” Nav scrunched their face. “As in they exist near her but are unconnected? Just wrists for days, stretching off into the void?”

“I think they’re supposed to be cut off at the wrists?” She frowned slightly. “I was never really clear on that.”

Nav crossed their arms. “That sounds incredibly fake.”

Mizar laughed. “Everything about her seems fake! Excuse me for not bothering to rank how likely each part of the ‘Massive horned parter of storms’ myth was.”

“Is that the sled?” Plessy asked.

A massive mound blocked the path ahead of them. It was easily twenty feet of mostly dirt, which presumably came from the moat-like pit that encircled it. Interspersed with the dirt was torn grass, small crystals, and the occasional limb of an unidentifiable animal. The pit was filled with a suspicious clear liquid whose fumes stung their noises and made their eyes water, even from the distance that separated it from them. The sled was stuck in the mound about two thirds down, underside strobing bright blue lights of distress. The front of it had been entirely subsumed by the mound, hard packed earth slightly cracked around its pathetic twitches.

Outside of some mild crystallization around its ancient control panel, the sled looked to be in pretty good shape. Or at least in comparable shape to before. It would, admittedly, be a pretty significant feat for the old machine to manage to get into a significantly worse condition without being cleaved in two.

Its useless twitching became frantic at their approach.

Mizar pulled her staff out of her belt pouch.

“Overkill much?” Plessy said.

“You know it! Or at least, you know it would be if I was gonna smash it. This staff’s absurdly enchanted - it wasn’t even a staff when I got it. The thing just became one because it’s what I wanted. It can absorb magic from other things, which is part of how it’s so damn effective against corruptions. Not that unlike Fred actually, just a smaller scale…”

*Nope. It has over a thousand years of enchantments on it and it’s much too small an area of effect for your purposes. Wouldn’t be able to make another one in your lifetime, either.*

She narrowed her eyes and glowered at him. “Anyway. Should be absolutely no problem to subdue the shit outta that cocky old board.”

Mizar took a few steps back and charged the moat, slamming her staff into the noxious liquid to pole vault over. With a firm yank she freed her weapon and, like a monarch conferring knighthood, bopped both of the sled’s sides with the star-shaped tip.

The sled went still.

Mizar eyed the mass of dirt that bound it to the mound and set to work freeing it. It was pretty firmly stuck, but with bit of work and some staff prying it slid out.

“So how do you work this thing, anyway?” She asked. “It’s a little bit big to throw back over.”

“On the left side there’s the control panel,” Nav shouted back.

“You mean this grid of identical and unlabeled buttons?”

“That’s the one,” Nav said. “The top left one will turn it on. After that there’s a sequence of three buttons you want to press, the first one twice -”

The sled roared to life and shot backwards, its bottom blazing bright green. Mizar barely managed to grab onto it before it raced over the moat, absconding with the priestess from its owners.

“THE POWER BUTTON,” Nav shouted. “YOU NEED TO PRESS THE - she can’t hear me anymore, can she?”

//I’m sure it will be fine. The sled is very durable.\\ Plessy was grinning. //I must say I’m impressed though, I didn’t even know it could go that fast.\\

“I know, right? What did she even do? Just, nyoomed outta town.” Nav stared after where the sled had gone. “So we should probably go after that, huh?”

//I suppose.\\

Mizar had managed to turn the sled off again fairly quickly, so catching up wasn’t much of a challenge. From there it was little effort to return it to its normal settings and go back to the others. And then they moved on.

The storm-wrecked field was still now, and full of strange monuments to the storm’s presence. The area was almost entirely dead, but the plants that had survived were enlarged, thriving, and in some cases eerily animalistic. A swarm of flies, flying in eerie synchronization, moved past. A few of the unnaturally large ones carryed those who hadn't fared the storm so well. The wreckage covered everything in view, like the whole world had been irreversibly altered in the process of a few hours.

And yet they passed through it quickly enough. Grass, normal golden stalks swaying in the wind, started sporadically appearing along the path again. Soon it was all the horizon contained, the storm’s path not even a dark blotch behind them. Birds returned to fill the air with chirps and caws, screaming out in greeting and warning. The taste of smoke on the air was replaced with that of the late flowers and the slight decay of autumn.

The seemingly endless grass became peppered with small trees. The distant mountains were starting to loom.

On one side of the road the grasses and undergrowth sharply cut off, replaced by a field of tall orange flowers. There was no currently tending the field, and no other clear signs of a settlement, but the small, dense grove of trees obscuring the road ahead could easily be blocking a town from view as well.

Barking could be heard from ahead. Most were high pitched and in quick succession from one another.

The trees all looked to be the same species and were crowned in colors. They carpeted the ground in their red and gold. Ivy with soft pink blooms clung to bark and hung down from branches. Clusters of deep purple bushes bunched against the trees, hiding shiny red berries beneath their leaves. Iridescent bees bumbled from flower to flower. They weren’t very large for bees, only a bit over an inch long.

A large puppy, about knee height, tumbled through the trees into the path in front of them, watching a bee closely. They could hear more barking in the woods behind it. Slowly the pup turned towards them, and jumped up when they caught its eye before running in a small circle yapping.

Nav stopped, gesturing at the others to stop as well.

“Isn’t that a wolf?” they asked.

“No.” Plessy answered. “They-”

Before she could finish her thought a massive wolf barreled through the undergrowth, sliding between them at the puppy. It was grey, mostly, with patches of red-brown. It wasn’t growling, but it was hunched over the pup in a very protective manner, eyeing them cautiously.

“Hello.” Mizar held her palms out passively. “We mean no harm to you or your child. We were simply following the path. May we pass?”

The wolf crouched low and growled, taking a step forward. Most of the party took a step back. Mizar reached into one of her pouches, whipped out her staff and held her ground.

The wolf started to grow, but unevenly. Its front grew out and larger and its stomach bulged out and segmented itself, becoming a brighter orange and shiny. The front legs had moved upwards as the front grew, and the rear legs were now shooting forward, leaving the creature supported by its weird stomach bulge, which finished splitting into two rows of fleshy prolegs. An extra set of legs had sprouted somewhere along the line, and rested between the other two pairs.

The whole thing took less than a minute, but it was an extremely gross and uncomfortable less than a minute.

The werewolf started laughing. With their larvaesque rear, ridged carapace, tiny vestigial wings and dual tails they could now be identified as a goblin, even if their midform was covered in fur and had a wolf head.

“Oh man, you should have seen the looks on your faces! Ya’ll really thought I was going to-” He turned to Mizar. “You’re terrifying, by the way.”

“A girl does her best.”

“I’m Swift.” He smiled. “He/him. And seriously though, it’s a good thing you ran into me first - there’s some nasty characters in these woods.”

“Really?” Fred asked.

“Oh yeah. The woods mauler. He’s this HUGE wolf who roams about, wears a coat made of the skins of everyone that he’s offed. They say that his skins hide him from anyone who shares their species. And he’s not the only one, there's also-”

“No there’s not,” said someone coming from the trees behind the goblin. They looked human, although were quite short, barely breaking four feet. Their proportions matched up with that of an adult human, not those of a dwarf. They had olive skin and wore purple robes accented in gold. “I don’t know what he was telling you but he was almost certainly lying.”

“What?” said Swift in a mockery of offense. “I would never lie about something as horrid as the Stillgrove Thrasher.”

“There is no stillgrove thrasher. Please stop trying to scare travelers.”

“Outright denial, eh?” Swift put his paws together. “That sounds exactly like something the Thrasher would say.”

“I hate you.”

The goblin dramatically gasped, covering their heart with a paw. “Such lies! And in front of children no less. I was so wrong, the Thresher would never stoop to such lows.”

A fit of giggles exploded from the pup in the road, who was lying on their back in a humanoid form.

“Hey kiddo,” Swift nudged the youngster with his foot, “what have we said about being bipedal without pants?”

“But you’re not wearing pant…”

“And I’m not bipedal. You know the rules. Less legs, more covers. You go from four legs to two legs you gotta wear pants. If you go to zero we put’cha in the sac. You go to fourteen and well…” He looked away from the kid towards the person he had been arguing with earlier. “Then you ask your bestest sister in the whole world if she brought your skirt because it’s actually pretty cold and you weren’t planning on needing vocal cords while on this outing.”

“You know one day I’m not just going to plan ahead for you without you asking me to,” she said, pulling out a large piece of cloth from her pack.

“Sure you will, Lorny dearest. Because you love me, and are the greatest sister in the world, and if you don’t I’ll just embarrass you even more.”

“Please never call me ‘Lorny’ again.” Lorn turned to newcomers. “You’ll have to excuse my brother, he’s-”

She stopped, staring at Mizar. At her staff.

“Swift, what were you doing?”

“Um.” Swift looked from Mizar to Lorn. “Is this some kinda trick question?”

“I’m…” Lorn was looking around quickly. “I’m going to go get the Bright One.”

“What’s so important that you need to get Malissa involved?”

“You would know if you would ever paid attention!” She shook her head. “And I realize the concept is foreign to you, but please try to be polite in the meantime.”

Growing wolfier by the second, Lorn dashed off into the woods.

Swift stared after her for a moment, before turning around.

“You’ll have to excuse my sister, she just… does this sometimes. Gets it in her head that something Matters and nothing can stop her.” He shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Who’s the Bright One?” Mizar asked.

“It’s a title, passed on to whoever has the strongest affinity for the beelessed instrument. She’s a pretty big figure in our pack, I guess,” Swift said. “She communes. Mostly with bees.”

“You can talk to bees?” Fred asked. “‘You’ in the general sense, that is. I wouldn’t think from that sentence that, personally, could talk to bees, although it would be pretty neat if you could.”

“Anyone can talk to bees. The hard part is getting the bees to understand what you are trying to say,” Swift said. “And it’s only sort of talking. We have a magical instrument that can be used to get basic ideas across. We’ve been using it for generations to live closely with them.”

“So if you’re using an instrument,” Fred said, “wouldn’t that mean that they can’t talk back?”

“Bees generally only really want to be able to tell other species to back off and are pretty good at doing this without any help.”

“You live closely with bees? Aren’t you worried about the kids?” Nadeau said.

“Not really.” Swift shrugged. “That’s the whole point of the instrument. Bees are only so aggressive because they don’t know our intentions and are trying to protect their hives. We can let them know that we don’t mean them any harm and they let us be as a result. We’ve also been breeding them for a while, so they’re a lot less aggressive than normal bees.”

“And the bees just trust whatever you tell them?” Nadeau asked.

“It wouldn’t be much of a spirit forged magical instrument if the bees didn’t believe it, now would it?” Swift put his middle paws on this hips. “Anyway, I don’t think bees really have a concept of lying. With most of what they use their communication skills for, any lie would be pretty quickly exposed and just waste everyone’s time. And bees are pretty intelligent but I don’t think they are quite smart enough to appreciate a good prank.”

“Considering the aforementioned lack of communication methods, that’s probably for the best,” Nav said. “I have trouble picturing bee pranks that aren’t ‘hey, let’s go sting that guy, it’ll be hilarious’.”

“I was thinking about pranks bees would play on each other. ‘Cause again, they don’t really interact with others outside of telling them to buzz off.” Swift tilted his head to the sky. “So like, one could tell the others she found some great flowers, just the perfect blooms, and when everyone goes to get them it turns out there’s just a bunch of rocks or something.”

“That seems kinda cruel.” Fred said. “I don’t think that bees would do that to each other, even if they could grasp the idea of it conceptually. I like to think that bees are full of love.”

Nadeau took a hard look at Fred. “Bees kill people.”

“Well, yeah but like Swift said, they don’t know what we are. We’re just huge lumbering things that crush their hives with our huge lumbering feet. But bees live in very close contact with each other, and I would hope that anyone living in that close of quarters really loves those they’re with, and I don’t see pranks fitting into that very well.”

“I don’t see what love has to do with not pranking.” Swift crossed his upper arms. “Maybe that wasn’t the best example in the world, but pranks don’t have to come from a place of malice. They’re just a way to have some harmless fun, and sometimes try and get someone to relax and stop treating everything like it’s of absolute importance. Not that that always works, but what can you do.”

“Who gets to say what exactly counts as harmless?” Nadeau asked.

“I mean, you gotta gauge your audience. One man's laugh is another's panic attack, and that’s no fun for anyone involved. It’s an art, and like any art it takes practice and sometimes you make a mess of things and you just gotta apologize and clean up after yourself.”

The sound of footsteps came from where Lorn had dashed off to.

Still in wolf form, she dashed back, followed by another goblin. There was no question that she was the bright one. She carried herself with exquisite posture, seeming to glide rather than walk over the ground. She had similar coloration patterns to the less wolfy parts of Swift, but she was darker and had light green spots scattered across her body, like freckles, that glowed softly in the low light of the woods. She was adorned in dark silks patterned like the night sky with golden stars. The light fabric flowed around her in the light breeze.

She looked Mizar over.

“I can see why Lorn requested my presence,” she said. “It would seem that we have an ally in common.”

“Hey, Dog Star.” Alcor popped into the physical plane. “Fancy running into you here, in this place that you live.”

“And hello to you as well, Star Cloaked One.” The Bright One bowed her head. “What brings you to our humble woods?”

“You should probably ask them that; I’m just along for the ride. It’s nice to see you again though.” He drifted closer. “The kids are looking well.”

“It is always an honor to be graced with your presence. The times have not been kind, but we have been blessed with good health.” She turned to Mizar. “You must forgive me, for it seems I have been ignoring you. I am Melissa Rex, Bright One of the Pack of Even Hands. Might I have your name?”

“I am Mizar, High Priestess of Alcor. My companions and I are simple travelers, passing through.”

“It seems you sell yourself short.” The Bright One smiled. “It strikes one as unlikely that travels with the Light in the Darkness could be described with such a word as ‘simple’.”

“There is certainly truth to your words,” Mizar conceded. “My goals are lofty and my ambition high, but I still have a long journey before I can achieve what it is I seek. In the meantime, I strive to do what I can along the way. These three are seeking a new place to spread their roots, and I am to make sure that they find it.”

The Bright one cupped her hands together. “If you would have it, I gladly offer to you the hospitality of the Pack of Even Hands.”

“Nothing could please me more than to accept. Our path has been a harsh one.”

The bright one led everyone down a well worn path through the woods. The prints of many species cut deeply into the moist soil. There were a disproportionate number of paw prints, but also humanoid, avian, equestrian, goblin, and the long treads of the legless. The tracks came in a wide array of sizes, and from the gaggle of children around them it wasn’t hard to guess why.

Mizar fell back and started talking quietly with Swift.

“So just to be clear, not everyone talks like that here, right?” she whispered.

“Nah,” he said. “Mum’s just weird.”

“She isn’t being weird!” Lorn interjected. “It makes perfect sense to default to more respectful language when dealing with a large number of unknowns. Part of her job is to maintain our relation with the Star Cloaked One, so it stands to reason that she is going to make an effort to not offend someone who bares his symbol.”

“It’s ‘cause Mum’s weird.”

*It’s ‘cause they love me.* Alcor floated incorporeal behind Mizar. *It turns out that actually honoring deals even when you aren’t magically bound to is a great way to get a dedicated following; other demons are dumb.*

“Well as long as I’m not expected to keep talking like that. I hate having to think before I say things!”

“You’re really going to leave that out in the open?” Plessy asked.

Mizar shrugged. “I’m comfortable with who I am.”

“I’ve never really understood what people meant about thinking before you speak.” Fred slowed to walk closer to them. “A lot of the things I say are because I think too much before I speak and can’t keep up with it. Talking slows me down a bit so I can understand what I’m thinking.”

“It’s less about whether or not there are thoughts so much as how much focus is put into the exact words you’re using. I like to just say things as the ideas pop up in my mind, you know?” She scrunched her face. “Wait, since when is this a group conversation?”

“You,” Plessy said, “are really bad at whispering.”

“That’s fair.”

The undergrowth opened up into a large clearing. The carpet of leaves thinned out, becoming occasional boats in a sea of dark green and purple groundcover. A small pocket of trees was in the center of the clearing, with a huge oak reaching for the edges of the town with its massive branches. Buildings made of stone and wood were scattered across the clearing, placed very haphazardly towards the center and arranged much neater along the edge of the treeline. Waist-high hexagonal structures were placed periodically along the edge of the clearing.

The village was bustling. People of every species hustled about, many turning to watch the group come in before returning to their business.

A cluster of eyes watched them unwaveringly.

A group of kids charged at them, talking all at once.

“Swift!”

“You’re back early. You said you wouldn't be back until the evening.”

“Who are they?”

“Did you get me anything?”

“Why is Mall- I mean why is the Bright One here?”

“Now, now.” The Bright One spoke out. “These are our guests. Let us give them some space.”

The children took a few steps back but still watched the group intently.

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I don’t mind.” Mizar said. “I like kids.”

“You’re really tall!” A child cried.

“Yeah I am.” Mizar grinned at the kid. “It’s great!”

“What’s it like to be tall?”

“Can I touch you?” she asked.

The kid nodded.

“It’s like this!” Mizar scooped the child up and put them on her shoulders. “Except you hit your head on things way more often.”

“Hey,” a kid whispered to Fred. “I like your horns.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “It’s nice of you to say that.”

“Are you a tree?”

“I don’t think so, no. Which might be a point in the favor of me not being a tree, because I don’t think trees think, do they?”

“Trees can think!” The child stamped their foot. “The First Mother knows everything and she’s a tree and she has big horns like you but not like you hers are more branchy and smooth but she said that there were others like her but you obviously aren’t because anyone like her would know everything including that they were a tree.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah!” They gave Fred a wide toothy grin. “I wanna be a tree when I grow up!”

Fred squinted in thought. “Is that really a thing that you can be?”

“Why not?” They crossed their arms. “I can be a wolf.”

“Not that I’m anything but a frog two skips from the swap about this sort of thing, but I think wolves are a lot more complicated than trees are, so if you can turn into a wolf it’s probably also possible to turn into a tree. Although, wolves are a lot closer inside-ways to most people then trees are, so that might make them easier to turn into? You wouldn’t have any guts anymore if you turned into a tree, which might be a problem...”

“I don’t care about any of that. I’m gonna be a tree and it’ll be great!”

Stepping away from the mob of kids, Nadeau went up to the Bright One.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, “why is it that there are so many children here? Unless I’m missing something the adult to kid ratio seems off.”

“Our community has a strong affinity for children, and we have the resources to take in those who are unable or unwilling to raise their own, or who walk paths unsafe for little ones. It is not uncommon for scavengers to have us watch theirs while they go on an expedition, for instance.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, I grew up rather sheltered. What is a scavenger?”

The Bright One shook her head slightly. “You have nothing to excuse, we have people from all walks of life pass through. A scavenger is one who seeks out artifacts of the ancients in the ruins they left behind. Between the physical hazards of decaying structures and the potential for corruptions, it is a dangerous path to walk, but the rewards can be of tremendous value.”

“There are enough things that still work after all this time that people are willing to risk their lives to get them?”

“Our ancestors had a unfathomable mastery of craftsmanship.” She turned her head upwards. “It is said that they shaped the Earth and sky to their liking; to manufacture a few trinkets that could last the centuries would be nothing for them.”

“Magic can really do a lot, huh?”

“Indeed it can, however little of what they left behind that still works is magic. Mechanical things are much less susceptible to corruption, and were far more likely to survive the Calamity.”

“What was the Calamity, do you know?” Nadeau asked. “Beyond just the end of the ancients.”

“I know not. You would have to ask that of the First Mother if you truly want an answer.”

“She knows?”

The Bright One nodded. “She was there for it.”

“Really? I didn’t realize it was possible for anyone to be that old.”

“As you so succinctly put it, magic can do a lot. That said, her age has been catching up with her of late, and she spends most of her time in deep sleep. Regretfully there is not much hope for you to meet her soon.” The Bright One paused. “But that does bring me to something I’ve been meaning to ask. The High Priestess said that you were looking for a new place to settle; I realize that you have just arrived, but have you any idea if you would like to stay with us?”

“I’m not sure, really, “Nadeau said. “The bees do make me a bit nervous, even if they are relatively safe. And I don’t think I’m really ready to start worshiping a spirit.”

“Then don’t. We require nothing more than respect for the Star Cloaked One; respect it is wise to give to any being of such power.”

“Really? He doesn’t think it disrespectful for people to lack veneration?”

“He has done much for our community, and there is definitely a communal reverence for Him as a result. However, individuals are free to feel how they wish.”

“That’s a very different way of looking at things,” Nadeau said. “I think I like it.”

“Well.” The Bright One tilted her head. “It is not really true devotion if you are forced into it, is it?”

“I’m not being forced to join this community,” Nadeau said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t be unreasonable to have it as a condition for who is permitted residence. I’m rather surprised you don’t, actually. How do you ensure homogeneity?”

“That isn’t really something we value.”

“Then how do you ensure order?” Nadeau said with surprise. “Especially with all the outsiders that you permit entry?”

The Bright One Laughed. “The opposite of homogeneity isn’t mayhem. We still have rules, we just don’t think beliefs should be regulated. And there is a traveler's code of conduct that most of those ‘outsiders’ hold themselves to, so incidences that threaten the status quo are very rare.”

“And that works?” Nadeau asked skeptically. “How long has this community been around?”

“The pack was formed shortly after the Great Calamity. The precise date the pack abandoned nomadism to form the larger community has been lost, but was within a generation of the pack’s formation.”

“Huh,” Nadeau said. “Hey, would it be possible to sit? My legs aren’t really happy right now.”

“Of course it would be.” The Bright One covered her mouth with one of her upper hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it. It isn’t your job to know what my legs need.”

The Bright One led her to a pastel green hexagonal table that was near by. Cool shade was provided by a flower shaped parasol.

“Are these chairs a good height?” The Bright One asked. “If not I could-”

“It’s fine.” Nadeau interrupted. “They’re fine. I’ve been wedged in a pile of stuff for the past two days. It doesn't take much to be an improvement.”

“Right. Well, let me know if there’s anything I can get you.”

“Can I be curt with you?” Nadeau leaned towards the Bright One.

“Of course you may.”

“Would you actually want someone like me to join your community? These are hardly decorational,” she waved at one of her crutches, “and I don’t want you to take my brother and me in just because you feel some weird debt to Mizar. And don’t get me wrong, I am completely able pull my own weight, but I don’t want to live someplace that acts like I can’t again.”

“Of course you would be welcome here. Why-” She shook her head. “If I were only willing to let you join us as part of my role as liaison to the Light in the Darkness, I wouldn’t have offered without being asked to. As a community we are perfectly capable of supporting additional people, we have no reason to contrive such arbitrary barriers for membership as walking endurance.”

“Is this just some kinda magic thing? You don’t care because you can fix it?”

“Not at all. Magical healing is tricky at best. If you weren’t born with whatever it is that ails you then you could be Turned, but such a ritual should not be undertaken lightly. An attempt at healing could be made with magic if you so desired, but it is a slow and painful process, and depending on what exactly causes the problem is not guaranteed success.” The Bright One smiled slightly, “Unless the circumstance is dire, we tend to stick to the mundane methods such as crutches, braces, and stretching.”

“Braces? What are those?”

“They must be called something else where you’re from. It’s a device that corrects bodily positioning to help with movement and reduce pain.”

“Seriously?” Nadeau exclaimed, “you’re telling me that there are completely mundane methods of helping with this that are relatively well known?”

“You’re telling me that they didn’t even have the concept of them where you are from? It’s a very widely spread knowledge! Manufacture can be a little complicated, but... “ The Bright One shook her head. “No matter. Come with me, we’ll get you fitted for some at once.”

“Wait, what?”

“Unless you don’t want any?” She paused. “I shouldn’t presume, I suppose, but I’ve been told they are immensely helpful.”

“No, it’s not that I just… you know I haven’t settled on staying here, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You would waste communal resources on some outsider?”

“It is hardly wasteful to give someone something that will improve their life,” the Bright One said. “And anyway, it’s just some cloth and plaster or something. I hardly know the specifics, but it is nothing we cannot afford to part with at any rate.”

“But you said manufacture can be difficult.” Nadeau was looking at the goblin like she was slowly transforming into a sculpture made of goslings taped together, as unidentifiable and strange as only such a technique could produce.

“That’s why we have specialists, dear. Now come on, Glory’s always excited to start with someone new.” She held up a finger. “Just give me a moment to let everyone know I’ll be leaving them.”

With a quick word to the others, the Bright One briskly lead a bewildered Nadeau through the crowd towards the center cluster of buildings.

“What was that about?” Ladik asked, waist deep in some puppies he had started playing with.

“Sounds like something activated Mom’s mom mode.” Swift shrugged.

“But she didn’t look that much older than Nadeau…”

“Oh, Mom will mom anyone.” Swift laughed. “I’m pretty sure she’s fussed over the First Mother before, and she is ancient.”

“Gotta have a pretty strong mom game to mom someone with that title,” Nav commented. “And if you don’t mind me asking, who is the First Mother? They sound important.”

“The First Mother is the founder of the pack of Even Hands,” Lorn answered. “She’s a survivor of the Great Calamity. She was the first one to contact the Star Cloaked One, and has lead our pack with her wisdom throughout the centuries.”

“Can everyone here turn into a dog?” Ladik asked.

“If I had to guess I would say that only two thirds of the pack is actually comprised of werewolves. Getting Turned changes who you are. It’s a very personal decision, and we don’t want to pressure anyone into it.”

Ladik’s eyes went wide. “You can make it so that other people can turn into dogs?”

“Yes, but the ritual of Turning is taken very seriously here. It isn’t, well, under normal circumstances it isn’t something that happens quickly.”

“I wanna be a dog,” Ladik said, not really to anyone.

“Well like I said, it isn’t just being able to take a canine form. It adds a whole new layer of instincts that can be hard to control, which alters your personality permanently, even when you’re still in your original form. We aren’t just going to bite someone who doesn’t understand the consequences.”

“I can’t believe I could be a dog,” Ladik said. “I wanna be a dog.”

“You checked out at ‘yes,’ didn’t you?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt.” Farha shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “But, do you… like living here?”

Lorn blinked. “I… yes. It’s much, um, friendlier, then where I came from, which was a little hard to adjust to at first, but I do like it here. Even if I did end up with the world's most annoying brother.”

“What community did you come from?” Nav asked.

“I’m not sure, actually. My parents were trying to send me someplace via magic and I ended up getting caught in a storm nearby. It was very different then anything I’ve encountered since. The plants weren’t green and there was something wrong with the rain. I was caught in a rainstorm once and got fairly badly burned. I was afraid of the rain for years after that, even after getting Turned healed the scars.”

“That sounds like a pretty bad place to have to live,” Farha said.

“It wasn’t all bad.” Lorn looked distant. “I don’t remember the corruption having any significant presence there. I don’t think we had magical storms either - part of what was so terrifying about the one that I got caught in was that I had no idea what was happening. And from what I recall the magic there was significantly beyond anything I’ve witnessed here. There were really neat interactive illusions all over the place, that would tell you stories or play games or teach you things. I still have one, actually! Only I can see what it’s displaying but it remembers everything I tell it. It’s really quite useful for keeping notes on things.”

“That sounds a lot like some of the things the ancients had,” Mizar said slowly. “Do you remember how you got here?”

“Unfortunately I don’t know anything more specific than that it was some sort of magic. My parents were very secretive about what they were doing. They were worried that something would go wrong and someone would stop them before they could get me away. I don’t even remember what was making them so desperate to get me out - I suppose I shouldn’t discount the possibility that I never knew - but they spent years working on what it was that got me here. I doubt I will have the knowledge or skill to reverse engineer it for some time.”

“You’re trying, though?” Mizar asked excitedly.

“Of course I am!” Lorn clapped her hands together. “With how dangerous travel can be, a proper teleportation spell would be revolutionary. It would have to be modified of course: even ignoring how I presumably missed my intended destination, the journey was rather unpleasant to the point that people might not be willing to undergo it, but I’m sure by the time I get that far into development it will be a cinch to fix that little issue.”

“How unpleasant would this have to be if you think people wouldn’t tolerate it for actual teleportation?” Farha asked.

“It felt like someone stabbed an unfathomably cold trident into the very core of my being, triggering total paralysis. Everything burned and I couldn’t move or do anything. It could really be a deal breaker for the whole thing, but it might not have been the fault of the original spell, just the storm’s influence.”

“And you’re still... you want to do it again?” Farha asked.

“Well yes.” Lorn waved her hand. “You can’t let one bad experience shake you from something this big.”

“I’m pretty sure you can, actually.” Swift muttered.

“Anyway, the unpleasantness was actually useful. I’ve thought a lot about what happened and I’m pretty sure the reason I couldn’t move was because I had been pulled into the Mindscape and was trying to move a body I didn’t have.”

“Why’s that significant?” Mizar asked.

“Because the Mindscape is the key!” Lorn pounded her hand with her fist. “Other experiments I’ve heard of about teleportations have focused on moving things through physical space and how to overcome the severe physical limitations of that. But by utilizing the Mindscape you’re operating under different rules so you bypass those limitations completely. It brings its own challenges to the table to be sure, but they’ll fall into place in time.”

“So.” Farha shuffled his feet. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Lorn asked.

“Living here,” Farha said. “You said that it was friendly… well friendlier than where you were before. And that probably means friendlier than where I’m from. But besides that. What is it like?”

“Well,” Lorn tilted her head back. “There’s a lot of room for me to pursue my research, which I appreciate. Um. The full moon can be rather obnoxious because pups tend to lack much self control over their wolf instincts. We’re basically the only supplier of honey, which brings in a lot of trade, so there’s almost always new people and we get a lot of news about other areas. Things have been a bit busy lately because a sickness passed through, but normality is steadily returning.”

Swift shook his head. “Lorn, no offense, but you suck at this.” He swept his six pawed arms wildly. “It’s great here! The community has a rich history stretching back to the Calamity. We got lots of really nice people who know lots of awesome things. More honey than the rest of civilization combined. The gardens are wonderfully scenic, the young pups keep the rodents out and the kids are always a blast to be around. There’s -”

“I don’t think he was looking for a sales pitch, Swift.”

“He’s looking for a new place to settle down and I just wanna make sure that our wonderful community is given its proper due.” Swift turned back to Farha. “The long and short of it is this is a good place to live and we would love to have you.”

“What I’m seeing so far does seem, well, it certainly looks interesting, I’m just.” He shook his head. “I’m worried about what happens if it turns out I don’t fit in well. I don’t want to be stuck like that again.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out you could always just head out with a trading caravan to somewhere else. They’re normally pretty happy to have an extra set of hands.”

“They would let me just leave?”

“Well yeah.” Swift said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What kinda place would force someone to stay in it? Outside of the weird hell dimension that Lorn came from, that is.”

“We don’t know it was a different dimension,” Lorn corrected.

“I guess that is a little weird.” Farha’s neck was pushed down into his body. “But are you really… have you ever left? Personally?”

“Nah, I like it here too much. But lots of people leave, even people who do like living here, because they want to do some trading with our neighbors or made friends with some travelers, or just want to see the world. Many of them come back, but someone’s always finding somewhere else to spread their roots.”

“Would it be possible to stay a few days? Just to, you know, try and get more of a feeling for this place?

“I was assuming you’d be. Mom doesn’t joke around about offers of hospitality, if you aren’t in a huge rush she would probably be a bit offended if you just ran off right away.”

“I was hoping to stay a bit,” Mizar said. “We could all use some real rest after that storm.”

“I suspect it will be awhile before Mom returns,” Lorn said. “Do you want us to show you to where you’ll be staying?”

“That’d be good.”

"We have some fairly nice accommodations you can use," Lorn said.

"It's just a really nice bit of the woods,” Swift cut in. “Softest bushes around."

"Because nothing says hospitality like ticks." Lorn shook her head. "No, there is an inn, complete with walls and other normal inn things."

Weaving through the crowd, the siblings led them to a large building towards the center of the town. It stood out from the surrounding structures, both for its unusual three stories of height and the fact it was grey and yellow brick rather than pale wood. Even with the crumbling edges of the aging bricks, the building had a comforting solidness to it, a stability that transcended architecture and made everyone feel a little more in place just with its presence.

Inside was quieter, but there was still a number of people milling about. The lower floor was open, with large, soft looking couches and chairs scattered about. Around the room on small tables were a handful of mid-sized crystals, each roughly a foot from end to end, which gave off light and heat.

Making a magically formed crystal give off energy was easy, although making them release it at a slow and steady pace was a bit more complicated. It was very easy to make crystals explode. As such it was slightly rare to see them used like this, to do so safely required a level of stability and confidence in magic that many places lacked. The degree of comfort that crystals could provide was enough to make it worth the effort, though - fire couldn’t provide the same even warmth and was hard to read by.

A nixie man greeted them, and after a quick discussion with the siblings led them to three rooms. The rooms weren’t the largest in the world, but they had enough beds for everyone, and after sleeping on the road, soft mattresses were really all it took to make them the best of all possible accommodations.

They slept. It was good.

They stayed in town a few days. Mizar and the Bright One talked a lot. Farha, Nadeau and Ladik decided they liked the place enough to try staying. Even if Nadeau hadn’t started to like the place - and she actually did, to her own surprise - she really liked the idea of not traveling with Mizar anymore.

And before they knew it, it was time for the rest of the party to move on.

“It’s been an honor having you.” The Bright One put a hand on the center of her chest. “I am glad fate crossed our paths.”

“The honor is mine to be had.” Mizar bowed her head. “Your hospitality has been beyond generous; is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“Your company was payment enough. I wouldn’t dream of asking more of you.”

“Uh,” Swift cut in, “actually, there is something.”

“Swift,” Lorn whispered loudly.

“Don’t ‘Swift’ me, This is important.” Swift intently gazed into Mizar’s eyes. “How serious are you about that offer?”

“I don’t say things I’m not prepared to commit to.” Mizar said. “What is it that you need?”

“I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do this, you don’t owe us anything for staying, but we can’t currently do it ourselves and it’s really important that it gets done.” Swift stopped and took a breath. “There is a child that found his way to us, and he wasn’t in a good place before and at some point his emotions were Taken by the Unkindness. He’s doing a lot better now and I want to get them back, but we just had a sickness pass through and can’t really afford to send an expedition to the Unkindness.”

“What does the child want?” Mizar asked.

“Nothing. He said that he was fine with doing this but…” Swift shook his head. “Wanting things requires emotions. He literally cannot care one way or another about this, or anything else.”

“So how do you plan on getting them back?”

“The Unkindness has a home not too far from here where they keep the things that they Take. Apparently they can be convinced to return things if you want them enough.”

“They actually have a physical base?” Fred asked. “I always figured it was something more abstract then that. Is there just like, a mountain of things surrounded by guard crows, constantly growing as a stream of crows brings in forks and couches and stuff?”

“I’m not sure how physical the place is. There is certainly a physical entrance, but it’s been described as an impossibly deep hole. I haven’t heard anything about what’s at the bottom, it might be all that.”

“So,” Mizar said, “you want to just walk into crow city and ask really nicely for them to give this kids emotions back?”

“I know it’s not much of a plan, and I understand if you aren’t willing to just go in on so little.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mizar practically shouted, “that sounds awesome!”

“Really?” Swift took a step forward. “You’ll do it?

“Heck yeah I will. I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to go to the heart of the Unkindness for the world.” She paused and put a finger to her mouth. “Well, that’s probably a lie. I wouldn’t pass it up for much less than the world though.”

“That’s great!” Swift was bouncing on his many legs. “Let me get Jorge and we can head out whenever you’re ready.”

He scuttled off, returning after a few minutes with Jorge. Jorge looked to be in his early teens, with long black hair hanging messily around his pale elbows. He glanced at Mizar and the rest of the party, but didn’t react in any observable way.

“Jose, this is Mizar, and the people behind her are Fred, Nav, and Plessy. We’re going to be traveling with them for a bit.”

“Okay.” Jorge said quietly, and then after a moment, like he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, “hi?”

“Hello.” Mizar smiled at him. “Are you ready to face the Unkindness?”

“Um.” Jose Shrugged.

“Fair.” Mizar said. “How’s everyone else feeling? Ya’ll want to do this?”

“Not gonna lie, I’m actually pretty psyched about the potential to see where the Unkindness is based,” Nav said.

“I’m with Nav,” Plessy said.

“I agree with them too,” Fred said. “It never even occurred to me before that there might be an actual place that the crows bring things, and it’s really a ripe snipe that there is.”

“Alright then!” Mizar grinned. “Let’s do this.”

Swift led them for about a day to the Unkindness’ stronghold, in the foothills of the mountains. To say that there were a lot of crows was like saying that someone's gut has a lot of bacteria - not inaccurate per se but completely understating the scale of the situation. Crows lined the many trees like leaves, holding fairly still and staring at the travelers. Dense streams of crows would periodically move through the sky, blocking out everything behind them.

The entrance was impossible to miss. It was a massive hole, lined with a thick metal exterior that rose about a foot out of the ground. The hole was so large a house could probably fit in its circumference. The metal was unidentifiable, about six feet thick, seamless, and silvery, and the interior of it was hugged by a narrow staircase. A wall of crows was perched along the edge of the metal, and those near the stairs parted as the party approached.

The late evening sun cast a bit of light down one of the sides, which did little to alleviate the pitch blackness of the hole. There was no indication of how deep it went.

A thin stream of crows entered, and clouds of them flew out in bursts.

Since no one seemed particularly determined to climb a presumably huge number of stairs into a pitch black hole after a day of walking, they decided instead to set up camp, and prepared themselves to enter the unknown.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 

Sorry that took so long, this chapter really didn't want to come out. I'm still not really thrilled with it but hey, it's done.

Melissa, Swift, and Lorn are reincarnations of Hank, Stan and Ford. I figured souls would be more likely to jump species when there are just less options in general, so long as they can be something similarly cognizant.

The next chapter should be out much faster. I've been excited to write it since last summer and already have some large chunks of it done.

[virovac]

Create a Kaiju Contest Entry 4

Hagayag

Date discovered: September 1st,1954.

Place of origin :  Hagayag’s Garden:  near the Thuringian Forest of Germany.

Height: 65 feet

Powers:

Super Strength

An enhanced healing factor

Immunity to radiation

“Tobacco” like gunk spit, which also seems to assist in preventing immune response when grafting tree parts together

Flare loogie

Can exhale various kinds of flammable gas, able to precisely control composition to the extent she can can choose what color it will burn.

Powerfupl jumper

Ventriloquism (more of a skill than a power)

Biology/Combat capabilities

This unnervingly humanoid like kaiju looks nothing less than a warty-skinned gray organgutan with the face of an elderly woman and a overall build like that of Tweedle-dee or Tweedle-dum, except for the fact her narrow shoulder contrast comically with the rest of her bulk. Her physique has been compared to a mountain, broad for most of its build only to suddenly narrow at the to. Many have stated they are thankful for her coverings of  dark gray fur and hair obscuring the more .. “indecent” parts of her body. Her nostrils are sunken,and arranged in the shape of the letter “v”.

Hagayag’s guts are a vast chemical factory. She can secrete gunk from glands in her gums that gives a sicky tobacco like spit. While not able to produce this gunk in quantities capable of immobilizing kaiju opponents, it can be useful for blinding an eye or two.The same goop is also used by her in her gardening efforts, to assist in performing grafts on the yamaneon mutated plant life she tends to. Some scientists studying its composition believe it may have use in suppressing allergic reactions.

Her “flare loogie” is a hocked projection of bright but not very hot flame. While it can’t harm other kaiju with heat, the bright flash can render them  (and humans) blind for several minutes. After the projectile has collided with an object it dims but is still on fire.

Hagayag may chose to grab what she can of the flaming slime and spread it on her fingers or face. She then uses it to ignite the various gases she belches to make colorful fireworks threat displays. She can generally only use three loogies per combat.

With her foes disoriented from flashing lights, Hagayag may then make use of her most unusual ability: ventriloquism. After she has blinded a foe with a hit from a her brightly glowing mucus fire, she will misdirect and and dance around an opponent, mocking them the whole time while she gets her licks in.

Personality and home

At the base of mountains of the Thuringian forest lays a unique Yamaneon cavern  While mostly barren, under the care of its guardian over millennia i has been developing into a well managed forest or park.The caretaker of this garden is the bizarre yet reserved  Hagayag. It is not known exactly what induced Hagayag to leave the Yamaneon tunnel systems (as her home was quite isolated from most of the megaquakes heralding the beginning of the Age of Monster) but her purpose is clear: to find new and interesting forms of plants from the surface to add to her garden

Multiple kaiju have shown to be tool users, Hagayage is rare in that she is a tool crafter, though most of the tools she creates are storage containers for the vegetation to collect and add to her garden, or tools to assist in making the containers. Such containers are generally crude bowls crafted from stone or fallen trees. She does not lack at using improvised tools either. When first battling armed forces, she was fascinated at how her foes exploded when destroye. In later encounters has captured military vehicles intact, to carry around and crush when wants she wants to set something on fire more easily than using her natural abilities. Thankfully she generally encourages the driver to leave the vehicle before doing so, but this is not guaranteed.

The  garden may be the first yamaneon ecosystem intentionally created by another kaiju. In many ways the garden would resemble a grove if not for its diversity and the amount of undergrowth.  While much of it is still barren (it is a cavern about the size of Tyrantis’s home and she seems incredibly selective about she adds to it) she has been seen planting vegetation  she has collected in her travels through Europe and  much  of already present vegetation (which is quite diverse) may have come from other yamaneon caverns. Sometimes Hagayag will even  bury a yamaneon crystal next to newly planted prizes, but the purpose of this is unknown. It is possible these crystals are dug up and reused once a certain level of growth is achieved, but it has not been witnessed, The garden contains a spring of water and various hydrothermal vents that Hagayag uses to make sure new specimens are watered. Though of course like many Yamaneon ecosystems, the cavern is large enough to have its own weather system so the plants do not require elaborate channel systems.  she has also been seen performing plant grafts on yamaneon mutated plants in her garden; while her attempts are arguably too crude to possibly work on less hardy plants, with yamaneon boosted regeneration abilities they have been successful. Unfortunately discovery of her garden has led to a black market for yamaneon based fertilizer, which will likely cause all sorts of problems in the future.

While most of the vegetation she collects have been fruit tree, Hagayag has also been known to collect grains, vegetables, or trees that she just likes the looks of. Of most interest to botanists though may be plants that have been described as “flowering ferns” and may offer a better understanding of the evolution of modern plants. Hagayag’s collections seem often well planned in advance she almost never collects specimens on her first trip to an area, since she can only carry so many home at a time. No other kaiju are confirmed to inhabit the cavern as of now, but rumors have spread of of giant insects (though still on the small side of kaiju) watching intruders from the cover of vegetation.

When travelling, she tends to taken one pot and  bag or two, the bags likely made from the hides of other kaiju.  Given the fact she seems to have no access to tanning facilities, one researcher suggested they may have been gifts from a hominid kaiju that is either undiscovered or long dead.  Many researchers are convinced Hagayag is sapient and of near-human level intelligence, pointing out how some of the plants in her care have had their growth carefully manipulated to be like kaiju sized bonsais.  

Towards humans, Hagayag has been consistently non hostile except when attacked by the military, gently shooing out human intruders from her cavern. Many of the plants she cultivates do not appear easily edible to  a primate, giving rise to the possibility she cultivated them them just for the enjoyment

In combat, Hagayag mostly relies on misdirection and trickery, and intimidation. While she is an expert at utilizing her modest (by kaiju standards) bulk to wrestle foes into submission she prefers to keep things from escalating to that point, attempting to drive off challengers with her flaming threat displays or by being incredibly annoying. With more curious opponents she has successfully used her trickery to resolve situations peacefully. She has ended several fights with intelligent kaiju by performing a magic trick, and then showing the former foe step by step how they accomplished it. However, if any of the precious plants she is transporting back to her garden are damaged in a fight, her opponent will likely wish they had never been born.

While mainly ambivalent towards most creatures, any organism with a cry similar to that of a child primate throws her into a state of heroism. This is not always appreciated, as she has appeared before settlements looking for the distressed child, not leaving until she sees they are being attended to by their parents, or she is driven off by military aircraft.  This protection of children has brought her into conflict with other kaiju and helped gain her public support in some regions. In her home territory she pays little mind to human intruders unless they cause trouble or approach her bag of tools. If the latter occurs , she will gently shoo them out of her cave,

As Hagayag’s wanderings grow farther and longer in length, more and more countries are starting to collaborate on the question of what to do about her. Ever since she emerged from her home, Hagayag has been a public nuisance. While seems to have enough respect for human’ territory to stick to the outskirt of crop fields when travelling to minimize trampling, her activities have been known to scare off tourists (though her home in Germany has actually seen increased tourism) or interrupt trade. Despite her benevolence she shows little restraint when fighting off armed forces. The current strategy by most governments is to only engage her with aircraft that can fly high enough to avoid her leaping abilities.

Inspiration:

Loosely inspired the trolls of myth that were big as mountains, as well witches like Baba Yaga. In all honesty though, she has as much link to real life legends as Calvin’s from Calvin and Hobbes Tracer Bullet persona (as in barely any). I placed her in Germany because it's bordered or close to so many other countrie, giving her a lot of different governments to interact with in her wanderings, which would lead to a lot of complicated feelings and politics.

A big idea of this was to create a benevolent kaiju that can still cause problems for humanity, if only because she’s a scary giant whose presence can impede trade relations even if its a boon for some tourism.

Flowering ferns are part of  slavic folklore,granting magic powers. Even nonmagical flowering fers and would be a huge boon as a botanial missing link. Technically they arent ferns but fernlike flowering plants.

A big inspiration for her was that  guy who performed a card trick at a zoo to the shock of a baboon. The idea of a kaiju magician started to come from that.

The proposed explanation for the origin of her bag, while possibly true is based partially in human chauvinism, presuming that a primate closer to humanity must have been the one to create the bag. This explanation also neglects the possibility that just because she doesn’t have tanning facilities in her current home doesn’t mean she didn’t always have acess to such materials. But in all honesty, the bags may come from the Lost Epoch and just been preserved by yamaneon glow (though losing whatever mystical abiliteis they may have ever once had)

@tyrantisterror

[hurt-spock]

Beast- Chapter 1 & 2

I was requested to write this a while back and I did the first chapter, then started a second before going iffy about it. 

As I’ve revisiting some of my older stuff, I re-read this and dded some more to it. It became a bit of a debate between Spock & Kirk and about the importance of reporting a rape- something I agree with. So, not sure I’ll post this to A03 but time will tell. 

Warnings: Non-con

He could call out.

Ensign Anderson was close by. The trees and undergrowth were thick and the wildlife within was teaming with life. The noises of the forest had been enchanting. But he still recognised that if he yelled, Anderson would hear him above the sounds of nature.

The Ensign was a young, mostly inexperienced, crewman who had been on two landing party missions so far. The first had involved said landing party bringing back a slightly toxic specimen as Anderson had misread the decimal point for safety. The second time he had caused offence to the native people and it had taken some work to convince them that they were there out of respect and to learn about their people.

Spock had been certain that this assignment would be much better for him.

Previous reports and exploration had found no hostile natives, no dangerous specimens in this area, just a lot of interesting and safe species to collect data on.

He wondered if it had been one of the other members of the Science crew here if he'd have already called out for assistance.

Yet he doubted he would. He would be putting that crew members life in jeopardy and that was unacceptable.

The humanoid males had surrounded him, four of them who stayed in crouched positions as they watched him with dark eyes, long hair obscuring most of their features. They were smaller than most human males, from what Spock could observe, and they wore no clothing. The planets atmosphere was warm with two suns present, one a little further than Earth's own and one much further out.

It kept the planet in a constantly warm state with long hours of daylight.

They told him in their native tongue that they had been watching them since their arrival. Spock was their leader.

Two of them moved in on him with incredible speed and he did not fight them off, allowing them to go through with whatever ritual they had. They pulled at his arms until he fell to his knees and then a third, strong and powerful for such small humanoids, was grabbing his legs and the first two pulled him down by the shoulders.

His lack of fight to start with, he realised, had been a mistake and even with as much effort as he could manage, he could not move them.

The fourth of the group lowered itself down beside him and pulled at his trousers. It clearly didn't understand the concept of clothing and merely pulled on the fabric with rough hands until the fabric ripped beneath it's almost claw like hands.

He could feel the air, cool to his own temperature preferences, against the exposed flesh of his stomach. Then he heard the sounds of ripping as they continued to remove his clothing. They stopped when they exposed his genitalia, they seemed confused for a moment, before they quickly flipped him over and continued with the removal of his clothing. He felt his underwear being shoved down, exposing him.

He kept his head to the side, the smell of soil rich as he breathed it in as he gasped for breaths. Terror clung to his heart but he forced himself to breath calm, deep breaths.

Panicking would not help the situation.

The ones holding him down gripped tighter and he couldn't help but tense himself at the inevitable.

The pain was almost enough to make him call out. He wanted to crawl away from it, but he couldn't move an inch, they held him so tightly.

The male made small, animal like grunts as it thrust forcefully. Spock could hear his own grunts of pain in his throat and forced himself to stop, concentrated on anything but the pain, took his mind away from what was happening to him and thought about the situation logically. It was nothing more than a show of dominance. An animal like urge to show who was stronger when threatened.

He kept his mind away from what was happening, let himself be washed over with a numbness, like his mind and body were apart from one another. He could feel his body moving with the thrusts but he could not feel the pain of it.

He could taste the soil, he realised dimly. The earthiness as his mouth opened to draw in shallow breaths, everything felt far away and distant.

He wasn't sure if it was some sort of shock from the attack or trying to keep his mind off of his own pain, but he was alarmed by his minds own slowness. He felt pain in one arm as sharp nails bit into his flesh. Confusion from one of the humanoids as green blood trickled from the slight wound on his arm and then the hot mouth as the same one that inflicted the wound tasted the blood.

It scowled at the taste and wiped its mouth messily, green blood smearing across it's face.

Spock wondered how much longer it would last. It seemed like he had been enduring this for hours, though he knew it was minutes. The humanoid impaling him made frustrated thumps on his back with its fists. Spock felt hollow as he felt the bruising fists vibrate through his body. He pounded on him again before he shifted his position slightly and continued the abuse.

It finally came to an end as he felt the hot fluid spurt out inside of him. He had a brief flash of fear as he wondered if they had actually finished with him, but then he pulled out and stood over him and Spock's arms and legs were released. The others stood and they silently crept back into the undergrowth.

He couldn't move at first. But then his logical mind kicked back in and he knew he needed too. He pulled himself off the ground and crawled over to a tree and sat with his back against the bark. He pulled his clothing to cover himself the best he could. He was decent though he would be unable to move without risk of exposure however for the moment, he did not care.

He needed to sit and piece himself back together. He needed to be logical, he needed to suppress his emotions and he needed time to be able to achieve it.

“Commander?” Came the shaky voice of Ensign Anderson.

Spock knew without a doubt that the Ensign knew what had happened here, and judging by the look on his face, he witnessed some of it. “Ensign,” Spock acknowledged because he didn't know what else he could say right then.

He crept a little closer, kept low and quiet, cautious and alert.

Spock noted he still had his sample case with him and he moved over to where Spock's had fallen to the ground. He took Spock's case which was full of samples already and removed his communicator.

“This is Ensign Anderson, requesting one to beam up from my location.”

“Received Ensign. Standby.”

Anderson closed the communicator. “I'll be right back. Don't move.”

And with that, Anderson was gone.

Alone, and grimly aware of the fact after having the comfort of a fellow crew member briefly, Spock pulled out his phaser and set it to stun.

~

Anderson headed quickly to the science lab, thrusting the case into one of the others working there. “Orders of Commander Spock, can you record and file these for him.”

Ensign Jones looked somewhat confused that Anderson had been picked to do a task for Commander Spock, but thought nothing else of it. They all knew that Spock believed they all had potential for greatness.

Sighing, Jones got to work.

Anderson picked up a new empty case and removed the compartments for the samples. He then retrieved some standard pants, checking the computer for Commander Spock's size, and stuffed them in the case. He let out a nervous breath before heading to sickbay.

It was busy enough in there. Not with patients, though there were a few, but general work being completed by the staff. He sought out the CMO and headed over, intercepted by a nurse before he got more than a few paces.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” she asked politely.

“I need to speak to Doctor McCoy.”

She glanced to where he was looking and smiled sympathetically. “I understand. I can get you a male nurse to ease your discomfort,” she suggested helpfully. He scowled at her and brushed her aside.

“I need Doctor McCoy.” he insisted, raising his voice to get the man's attention.

The Nurse blushed as all eyes were on them. “I'm sorry Doctor,” she said as he came over to them.

“It's fine, I'll handle this,” he said, his face serious. The nurse departed and he turned to the Ensign. “What's the problem?” he asked, his eyes running over the young man looking for injuries.

“I need your help, Doctor.” He said seriously.

“What's wrong?” McCoy's tone was a little impatient.

Anderson started to walk out of Sickbay and indicated the Doctor follow him. He sighed but followed him anyway. Once outside, he didn't stop walking, but he stayed close to McCoy, speaking quietly even though the halls were mostly empty.

“It's Commander Spock. He needs your assistance down on the planet.”

“He's hurt?” McCoy noticed weariness in Anderson's body language.

“Yes.”

“Did he send you to get me?” McCoy asks.

“No, Sir. But he needs you.”

McCoy didn't ask anything else, just followed the Ensign's lead.

~

Spock was aware that he was shaking. He couldn't stop himself, no matter what he tried.

He could feel the dampness from the leaked fluids below him and he wanted to move, to sit somewhere else, but it seemed such a waste of energy, so he stayed where he was. He closed his eyes, he was certain it was just for a moment, but he jolted when he heard the sound of the transporter, indicating Anderson's return. He felt reassured by his return, although he realised he was going to have to come up with a plan to get back to the ship at some point.

It took him a moment to register two bodies that had beamed back. His confusion was clearly evident.

“It's McCoy,” The Doctor said, wasting no time in getting the tricorder out. Anderson stayed a few steps away, keeping a look out. “Kid, where's the rest of the landing party?”

“They were off checking out a clearing near some water.”

“I think we should get them back to the ship.” McCoy said.

“Yes, Sir.”

“They will want to know why,” Spock said.

“It's covered, don't worry,” McCoy assured him.

Anderson watched as McCoy waved a piece of equipment over Spock's lower abdomen. He let out a quick breath before taking his communicator out again. “This is Ensign Anderson. Myself and Commander Spock have discovered an injured animal of the planet with a sizeable wound. Commander Spock has called Dr McCoy down for samples and to get a look at the animal before we beam up. The rest of the landing part is to beam up on his command.”

“Received,” came the calls back “Ready to beam up, Sir.”

McCoy took out his own communicator and held it open for Spock “Energise.” he said, managing to sound close enough to normal.

McCoy snapped it shut before taking out some hypos. “Okay, this will get you past the pain, so you can walk back to your quarters with me and this will give you a boost of energy so you don't collapse on the way there.”

“All very well, Doctor, but my attire is going to be harder to explain.”

“No,” Anderson interrupted. “Um, sorry Sir, I took the liberty of dealing with that already.” He opened the case and removed the pants.

“Good job,” McCoy said. He turned back to Spock. “We'll give that a few minutes to work and then we'll beam up.”

While they waited, McCoy pulled the new pants up over Spock's torn ones. “We should go now,” he said.

McCoy nodded. “This is McCoy, Three to beam up.”

“Aye. Stand by.”

Within seconds they were back on the ship.

“Anderson, could you take these to the science labs, Spock, I want to hear more about your theories on what you think that animal was..” McCoy was saying, the whole time they walked through sickbay, not giving anyone a chance to speak to them.

Despite the Doctor's order to go to the science labs, Anderson followed behind them, feeling strangely protective over his Commander. He got to the door before Spock's quarters before he realised he should stop.

Spock wandered inside, but McCoy noticed the boy stop.

“I'll be right in, Spock.” McCoy said.

Spock nodded as the door closed between them. McCoy turned to Anderson. “I've  got to take care of him properly now, okay?”

Anderson nodded. Stupidly, he felt tears prick his eyes, as though all that had happened had only just hit him.

Adrenaline was wearing off and what had actually happened became all too real. He felt his lip wobble and felt an idiot for being so weak in front of the CMO.

“Everything you did- that was the right thing to do. Okay? Don't ever doubt that.”

“It wasn't though.” He said. His voice cracking. “I- I got there and saw what they were doing to him and I-I didn't... I didn't try and stop them.”

McCoy looked sympathetically at him, which Anderson hadn't expected. He expected anger or rage at his confession.

McCoy let out a sigh. “Look, they over powered him and let me tell you, a Vulcan is a hell of a lot stronger than a human. So if they over powered him you bet your ass they'd have beat the hell out of you too.” He let out another sigh. “I have to go and take care of him right now okay, but when I'm done, I'm coming to find you and I need you to tell me what happened, okay? So go to your quarters and wait for me.”

He swiped away the tears that had streaked down his face, sniffed and nodded his head, and in second he was gone.

McCoy turned and entered the room. Inside, Spock was stood stock still, doing nothing. “Spock?” he said gently. He took out another hypo and shot it into Spock's neck. It took seconds for the drug to take affect and Spock was slumped in his arms. He managed to get him to his bed and lay him down.

He turned the temperature in the room up, to make sure Spock would be comfortable.

Chapter Two

“Hey, you mind if I sit here?”

Anderson looked up from where he was sat, breakfast uneaten in front of him. “Oh, go ahead.” He was tempted to get up, leave the newcomer to the table, but before he had a chance to do anything the young man in front of him was offering a hand. “I'm one of the new recruits. My names Charlie.”

He shook the offered hand. “Emmanuel Anderson. Everyone calls me Anderson.”

“Emmanuel's a great name.”

He chuckled. “I'm not so sure.”

“You look like you had a rough night. You been hitting the bar?”

“No, I just... had a bad night..” He spotted Dr McCoy enter the room, followed by the Captain and to his surprise, Mr Spock. He was clearly staring and the trio, enough for it to be a little odd.

Charlie looked in the same direction. “You a little awe struck by the Captain?”

He laughed nervously. “Yeah. I guess so. I erm, I need to go. It was nice meeting you Charlie.”

“You too.”

And with that Anderson abandoned his breakfast and headed out of the room.

~

When Bones stepped out of Spock's quarters after having spent the whole night making excuses as to why he shouldn't leave he didn't expect to literally bump into Jim just outside the door.

“Just the two I was looking for,” Jim said. “Join me for breakfast please, gentlemen.”

McCoy looked back round to Spock who raised one eyebrow and then gestured for McCoy to go first. He followed Jim as they walked to breakfast in a mostly comfortable silence, Kirk asking some pleasantries of McCoy as they went.

McCoy noticed Anderson's awkward exit shortly after they arrived, he looked to Spock who either hadn't noticed or had done an amazing job of acting like he hadn't noticed. Either option was entirely plausible.

“So Bones, what were you doing visiting Spock so early in the morning? I didn't think you liked anything before 7am ship time,” Kirk said, grinning at the man before taking another bite of his omelette.

“Just trying to coerce Mr Spock into his next physical exam,” McCoy said.

“That is a lie, Doctor.”

Kirk looked between the pair as McCoy glared at Spock, a silent communication happening between the two.

“Care to elaborate on that, Mr Spock.”

After continuing the eye contact with McCoy some more, Spock turned to regard the Captain. “Not presently, Captain. It is of no great concern.”

McCoy clearly had a difference of opinion to Spock about that as his face turned ruddy in anger and repressing said anger.

“I think I need to hear this, gentlemen.”

“Sir, now is not an appropriate time,” Spock intervened.

“Well my appetite is sufficiently ruined.”

“Not here, Jim,” McCoy adds, guessing that Kirk is expecting them to start talking now.

“Can we go somewhere then?”

~

In one of the ready rooms, Kirk agreed to sit while McCoy insisted in having a word in private with Spock outside before they spoke to Kirk. They eventually arrived back inside, Spock coming and sitting opposite Jim. McCoy lingered beside Spock before facing Jim. “What he has to say is his to say alone, Jim. I'll come and see you later.”

Jim frowned slightly. “Very well.”

Spock waited for the door to close then ordered it locked. Then, more surprisingly, he ordered the privacy code enabled for the room. No one but the Captain, Spock, McCoy or Scott would be able to access the content of the room, classifying the conversation that was about to take place.

“Doctor McCoy did not want me to discuss this matter with you. However, I feel that you should know, Captain.”

“Go ahead, Spock.” Kirk said, his face blank.

“Yesterday on the planet I did not encounter an attacked animal. I was attacked by a group of humanoid creatures-”

“Attacked?” Kirk repeated, his eyes quickly travelling Spock's body for a telltale injury he had missed.

“You will see no physical evidence, Captain. The attack was a primitive display of power, sexual in nature.”

The words stopped everything. Kirk just heard them. And nothing else. They rang over and over in his mind. “It was...” was all he muttered.

“The doctor said you would have an issue with this. Jim, I wish to assure you that I am perfectly fine-”

“You're not perfectly fine, Spock! You were just-” and he cut himself off, afraid to say the words.

“Jim, I received excellent care from Doctor McCoy. He was not visiting me early this morning, instead staying over night in my quarters. We spoke about the incident. About the way it is used as a weapon of power over others. It was a violation, Jim, but a violation of the body. The mind of a Vulcan is everything, and mine remains untouched. In fact, the skin to skin contact with the creatures allowed me an insight to the beings. The are simple. There was no malice except an attempt to frighten off a larger specie they did not understand. Therefore we should ensure that it is noted that this planet not be disturbed.”

“Spock, no matter how you have reasoned this, I can't just let this go.”

“Is it not my choice, Jim?”

“Yes, but-”

“In different circumstances, I agree that punishment is necessary. In this instant, where a specie does not understand complex social interactions as we do, I believe we would be doing more harm to them. Please, speak to Doctor McCoy. He does agree with me on this matter.”

“Spock, for years, this sort of thing was allowed on Earth. Women, who were weaker and more vulnerable, were made to suffer by man. And in the end, not just women. It can happen to anyone, male or female and by any one.”

“Yes Jim, I am aware of Earth's history.”

“You're missing the point. When all of that happened, so many times people would not speak out- for fear.”

“I can assure you Jim, I am not afraid.”

“But you won't make those responsible pay!”

“Because they do not understand. They are not civilised, not even slightly. You would have me take them to court? Do you wish for me to get my own revenge, or allow you to seek vengeance for me?”

“No-”

“That is what you are suggesting.”

“Spock-”

“Jim, please. If this had happened in a civilised society, I would seek a punishment. I do not believe we will achieve any satisfactory conclusion by going that route in this situation.”

“Spock, I promise I will discuss this with Bones, but I am still far from happy about this.”

“Noted, Captain.”

[lifeyard-misfit]

Dolls (working title) Chapter one, 8/12/2017

Fear lived in this forest. It hung thick in the air, twisting the ivy and petrifying the trees. It silenced the babble of the brooks and smothered the songs of the birds. A crow cackled somewhere just beyond the tree line, closer than most creatures dared to go. The noise grew, trapped in the decaying woods, bouncing off the trees and rubble and earth as though chasing the lithe figure racing through the undergrowth. As the ghostly echoes of the cry died in the night, the figure slowed to a stop, heaving breaths forcing her gaunt frame to convulse in protest. She knew her pursuers wouldn’t dare enter the forest; no, they had wives and children, families and homes waiting for them. This forest would not welcome them, would not return them unscarred. If those men crossed the border into the mist, the light in their eyes would fall prey to the shadows as they were ensnared by dead limbs and gnarled thorns that sought to take back the life they had lost. The vines would leech from them the memories of light and joy, leaving only suffocating, smoky fear.

Superstitious fools, she thought as she felt them leave, the dread ebbing away with their retreat.

A coughing laugh rasped out of her huddled figure, the sound twisted and harsh as it clawed its way through her heaving chest. Her ill-fitting clothes hung loosely off her starved frame in tatters, bare limbs etched with new scratches to cover old scars, her creamy skin a tapestry of silver and red. A cruel smile crept across her gaunt face, her features obscured by spikey, brown-black hair and covered in grime and fresh scratches. Those men with their crisp coats, who had never known true suffering, would never venture into these woods, but their target, with her sharp edges and bitter laugh, seemed to fit in with the forlorn forest. Alone she was safe; she was as feared as these woods, and so it seemed a guardian to her as mist swirled about her hunger-panged figure.

Turning her face to the full moon, she was struck by the realization that she could not remember having ever seen it before. She grinned into the gentle, silver glow that turned her into a creature of the woods, ephemeral and fey. Her angled, pitch-black eyes were bright as she basked in this forsaken place. She was finally free.

After a moment, she continued through the forest, graceful despite the heavy foliage. She did not know where she was going, but she knew she could never go back.

*    *    *

The night died slowly, the moon dipping into oblivion, the sun rising from it. As it broke free of the horizon, the golden glow encompassing the forest turned piercing grey, bleaching whatever colour still clung to the misty woods.

She had no idea how long exactly she’d been walking, her feet sore and eyes tired as she trudged steadily onward, a feeling of overwhelming sorrow beginning to take hold as though experiencing a great loss. It was not until she fell that she noticed that her surroundings had changed: petrified wood had turned into decaying ruins and twisted vines became entangled wires. As she realized that this place was the cause of her sudden sorrow, she felt curiosity win out over her urge to keep moving. She had heard of such technology, but had never actually seen it before; besides, what could have happened here to leave such a near tangible echo of pain?

Exploring the remains proved nearly impossible; the winding corridors and infinite dead ends left the girl wandering in circles. Without sleep she found her memory failing her, the frantic atmosphere and thought of getting lost in here causing anxiety to bubble up within her, until she heard a metallic clink that startled her into awareness. Taking a moment to calm herself, she wandered towards the noise to see what it was she had kicked. The room from which the noise had sounded was dark, mostly intact unlike the ruins surrounding it.

She felt her heart clench as she entered the area; the overwhelming sorrow of the ruins seemed to all be stemming from this room, the suffocating pain enveloping this room nearly bringing her to her knees as warm tears began to trickle down her face.

Steeling herself, she saw a glimmer of light out of the corner of her eye, and walked towards it, consciously fighting the wave of loss that threatened to envelope her. A single tile was missing in the ceiling, letting in just enough light at that angle to highlight the small object. The area was mostly untouched by the rust and decay that was claiming the rest of the complex.

She kneeled upon reaching the spot of light, leaning against the wall as she reached for what she now saw was a small golden skeleton key, which was attached to a long gold chain.

Eyes blinking open, she realized that she had passed out upon grasping the key. Her hand seemed to burn as waves of betrayal and loss radiated from the key that she was still holding tight. Thinking only to stop the pain, almost as though she was holding a hot coal, she slipped the chain around her neck, pushing aside the feeling of immeasurable weight now dangling at her chest, and stood so inspect the room once more.

The sun had changed angles as she slept, so now the light shone almost as a spotlight, illuminating  the center of the room and revealing what it was the room had been built to preserve.

A huge tube stretched from floor to ceiling, glass yellowed and opaque from time. Wires spiraled like a spiderweb from the ceiling, and at the bottom was a metallic base. She wandered over to it, looking over the countless buttons and screens. Without thinking, she pressed the center button and watched in wonder as the technology came to life, a soft blue glow emanating from the machine as it whirred to life around her.

She stumbled back as the sound grew, tripping over herself in the process. Sparks flew from the device, the room suddenly alive, and with a final, hurried spasm of light and the sound of shattering glass, it stopped as suddenly as it began.

The girl stood, blinking away the bright spots to see what had occurred. Shards of glass lay in a circle around the base of the machine, and she saw with some distant trepidation what the room had been built to preserve.

It had bright red hair--impossibly red, tied into high pigtails with impossibly tight curls. Half of its--her, it was clearly female--face was porcelain white, unblemished and beautiful, with a large, inquisitive emerald eye, the other half, however, appeared to be torn open, rusty cogs and bolts whirring and clicking around a glowing, mechanical red eye.

The girl was frozen in place, not sure of what to do. She suddenly couldn't feel anything--the deep rooted sorrow of this abandoned place wasn't gone, but felt faded, blocked somehow.

The creature blinked, its red eye refocusing on something behind her. It whirred to a stop, the green eye widening, and brought a hand to its face, the motion uncertain but steady as though to confirm some incredible truth.

It looked at her with a cool indifference before turning from her inquisitive gaze.

The thing looked down, gears grinding in her neck with a mechanical clanking. The left half of her body was stiff and cold, shining with her movements. It was as though a line had been drawn down the center of her body, cruel scars marking the forced union of soft skin with unforgiving metal. Against the stark, shiny bronze of her left side, her right half looked like a doll, lovely and fragile. She was in an elegant pink dress with lacy ruffles that had been yellowed by time, the skirt just past the knees in the front and covered with a long train in the back.

“My name is Antoinette,” the other girl tried, regaining her voice.

The creature--the girl--tried to respond, her mouth forming words without sound. She snapped it shut, fiddling with the dirty lace of her dress as a hand reached up to feel her throat.

Turning to the now bloodred light of sunset coming from the hole in the ceiling, Antoinette wondered how this girl came to be left here in such a state, and why the whole complex seemed to be grieving some loss, when no such feeling emanated from the girl it was built to shelter. When she heard a creaking noise, her eyes flicked back to the girl, who was struggling to tear free of the cords connecting her to the remnants of the machine.

“Hold on, let me help you,” Antoinette offered, rushing over to her.

She shuddered when she felt Antoinette’s hand on her, but had no other reaction. Most of the cords were easy to remove, although they both tensed as what resembled IVs were pulled gently from her right half, Antoinette tearing off strips of her shorts as makeshift bandages; however, one cord that sat between her shoulder blades had to be screwed off, which proved quite challenging. It wasn’t until the sun had almost set that the girl was free.

Antoinette tried to help the girl off the slight platform of the base of the machine, but the girl seemed to have no idea how to walk; they ended up on the floor, Antoinette lying under the girl.

“Sorry--you okay?” she asked.

The girl nodded, pushing herself back so she was leaning against the machine’s base. Trying not to gawk, Antoinette watched as the girl grabbed her left bicep, moving it against the sound of protesting metal until it moved smoothly, then loosening her elbow, wrist, and fingers in the same manner. She then loosened the joints in her leg in a similar manner, and, once she had finished with her ankle, reached out expectantly to Antoinette.

At the girl’s apparent request she stood up, taking her outreached hands and helping her to stand as well. She then, using Antoinette’s shoulder to steady herself, hopped twice on her metallic leg, then balanced on her right, flexing her robotic fingers and arm all the while. Once she seemed satisfied with her movements, she moved her right hand down Antoinette’s arm, lacing their fingers together as she started off confidently through the ruins.

Although it had taken Antoinette hours to find that room, the girl walked them out of the labs within minutes, leaving the two standing on the border between woods and ruins. In the open, bare trees not obscuring the moonlight, Antoinette saw in even greater detail the girl before her. She was perhaps 16 or 17, only a few years younger than Antoinette herself, and looked remarkably innocent. The metal on her face only reached down to her cheekbone, the rest of her face soft and, while not plump, looking as though she had never seen a day of hunger in her life. Her throat was entirely metal, interlocking plates covering the whole area to allow movement but ensure coverage. Every plate, from her neck to her leg, was engraved with beautifully intricate designs.

He loved her more than anything.

Antoinette blinked at the sudden softness of the thought--she felt the truth of it, but how could someone who loved her so just leave her there?

The metal of her neck stretched all the way to the collarbone, the right side fusing with skin directly above the bone and ending at the ball-joint of her shoulder. Nestled in between her collarbones, perfectly centered at her throat, was a heart shaped gold plate. In its center lay a small keyhole. Without thinking Antoinette traced the area of her own throat, the girl mirroring the movement.

“Sorry, there’s just a, uh, keyhole? Right there?” Antoinette explained, uncertain of herself.

The girl’s eye widened, the mechanical one whirring as it focused on Antoinette. She reached out towards her, Antoinette holding still to see what it was she wanted; she still couldn't feel anything from the girl, which unnerved her. She looked down to see a bronze hand grasp the golden key that still hung around her neck. Antoinette slipped the chain off from around her neck, watching it fall into the petite hand.

Carefully the girl placed it at the opening of the keyhole, lining it up before pushing it inside. Once it was in, the key’s base sitting comfortably at the center of her throat, she twisted it clockwise.

Clink-clink-clink-clink-Click!

Releasing the key, it turned gently, a noise like a harp sounding from her throat. After one rotation, she grasped the key and removed it--silence.

Putting it in once more, she let go; continued where it left off, the soft noise emitting from it as it unwound. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

“Awn-tah-natt?”

“Uh, just ‘Toni’ is fine,” she responded, uncertain.

“Mer-ry met, Toni,” the girl said, her voice growing in confidence. “My name is Doll.”