#Ullane Wistim

[cloudbattrolls]

Right Now You're Mine

Ullane Wistim | Mobile Wellspring Clinic | Present Night

TW: Brief mention of vaccines being administered, a non-consensual kiss, non-consensual surgery & brain modification.

“There you go.” The artifice said in a soothing tone to a young patient, one getting some shots for the first time. 

The child - maybe five sweeps old - kicked their feet nervously as they sat on the medical table while Ullane finished administering the vaccines. 

It was late in the night, and this was the last patient of the evening; the sun’s light would soon start to peek into the sky, though it wouldn’t rise for some time.

Arty had suggested asking Chimer for some funding in exchange for taking on a few projects for her and Ullane had to admit, it was working out well so far. They’d been able to afford more things like tetanus and rabies shots for lowbloods who would likely never have access to such things otherwise.

She finished putting the band-aid on the slightly sniffling young redblood’s upper arm, and nodded encouragingly. Arty did as well.

They hopped off the table and left, their extra-large sandpiper lusus fluttering after them. The clinic was empty except for the pair of them now, and Ullane locked the door behind her fellow lowblood.

She narrowed her currently yellow-disguised eyes at her assistant, who blinked back at her indifferently with its teal ones.

“Do you need anything else?” It asked her politely.

Too polite. It hadn’t smirked or laughed or done any of its inexplicable whimsical behaviors in a few nights now, nor made any non-troll vocalizations.

Something was wrong. 

“Why have you modified your behavior?” She asked bluntly.

“I was tired of being emotional.” It answered placidly. “So I erased them.”

“Too bad.” She retorted. “Put them back now.”

“No.”

“That’s an order.” The yellowblood tightly, glaring at it as her ears flicked in irritation.

It blinked. “You don’t have permissions for that modification.” It said in a pleasant tone.

Its smile lacked any of its usual eeriness. A peaceful, empty expression.

Ullane gave it a morbid one of her own in return.

“Manual it is then.”

Ullane tackled it to the clinic’s hard gray floor, strengthening her muscles with her psiionics. Luckily this was one of its fairly organic bodies, as it to be to keep up appearances among the troll patients - not quite as fast or strong as its more technological ones with lightning reflexes.

Not that the artifice made it easy regardless - it writhed hard, yet aimed no blows at her, not wanting to hurt the medic. 

Exactly as she’d suspected.

She covered her hands with bone claws, hard and layered, strong enough to tear through her assistant’s synthetic flesh and blood to the blades within on its face and neck.

“What do you think you’re doing?” It said, tone still pleasant as she gouged deep into its flesh. It had stopped writhing, but she knew it wasn’t done resisting her; it never gave up so easily.

“Really, Mal, what are you trying to accomplish?” It added calmly as imitation teal blood pooled on the floor and its skin hung in tatters. 

“I’m stable this way. I’m behaving like a regular construct, courteous and hardworking. What could you possibly have a problem with?”

“It doesn’t get to be this easy for you.” She grunted, putting her hands to the blades gleaming with drops of blood and the moisture of the flesh she’d recently torn through.

“Oh, it’s about jealousy. I’m afraid I cannot assist you with that. I advise seeking counseling.”

She laughed sharply as she revealed more blades, and grasped at them eagerly with her bone-covered hands like they were something precious.

“Is about Glas too. Selfish creature, you think nothing of them? They’ll be hurt by this.”

“They have many friends. I am more of an entertainment anyway. The loss will be minimal.”

She laughed again, almost cruelly.

“You wish it were so easy. It’s never easy! They keep caring! They won’t let you go!”

The Maledict’s eyes flared a glowing red-pink, and the blades in her hands began to change to flesh -

Then Arty kicked her clean across the room, hard enough that she rammed hard into the wall and gasped for air, sure her whole side was bruised. She’d been lucky to escape a cracked or broken horn, or a sprained ankle.

“Psiionic violation of autonomy registered. Please cease your attempts to alter me, or further retaliation will be forthcoming.” It chirped.

“Question.” She panted as she dissolved the bone, letting the collagen-filled liquid drip to the floor. “You have courtesy protocols.”

“Courtesy protocols in active service.” It confirmed.

“Are autonomy violations prioritized over courtesy?”

“Yes.” It confirmed.

Damn, she thought. It made sense, but still.

Then an idea occurred to her. 

“How do you enact courtesy requirements if a troll attempts to violate them?”

“Encouragement to cease. Violence is only permissible if a certain level of violation is achieved.”

Ullane’s eyes glowed with psi and calculations, her mouth set in a grim and angry line.

“I’ll take those chances.” She said softly, and with a wince and curse picked herself up and threw herself at the artifice, which had begun trying to repair the holes she’d torn in it.

This time, she didn’t try to tackle it or keep it down - instead she dragged it up with her, gripping its t-shirt.

She wrapped one arm around its middle and one around its neck as they both stood up together in a struggling duet.

Then Ullane kissed it - with a lot of teeth and very little lip - on the mouth.

It froze, and she wrestled it down onto the operating table as an automatic request to stop came from the artifice - though its eyes were empty of feeling, its face still lacking expression.

She detached herself from it and it sat up. She shoved it down again and quickly strapped one arm down - with restraints designed to hold down fuchsias. 

It writhed, saying this was not its intended use, but the medic ignored its words and her own aches to keep it pinned down and fasten the other straps.

The Maledict panted as she finished, sweat running down her face and limbs, tail limp from her efforts.

It lay on the table, each limb restrained, still and indifferent as any other piece of machinery.

“Fully manual, then.” She said with a bloodstained mustard grin, eyes still reddish pink.

She’d bitten her tongue during her struggles with it, but she was going to enjoy what happened next.

“Attempts to reconfigure my coding will be retaliated against.” It warned her in flat tones.

“Just need to fix your body.” She said, taking out surgical instruments and putting a medical mask on so she could delve back into the wounds she’d already made.

“Attempts to destroy my internal - ”

Then, setting her tools aside, Ullane grasped the blades in its neck with her bare hands again, bleeding in dark highlighter yellow tones, gloriously bleeding as she stroked them almost lovingly and Arty fell silent.

“No.” She whispered, then used her psiionics on her dripping blood to grow flesh from it over the blades, flesh to join with the metallic cells that were the construct’s most basic unit.

She did not alter the thing itself. But now she was growing into it, binding them together on a biological level, creating a new substance that still remained part of the artifice’s body.

Then she turned it into a virus, released her power from it, and set it loose in the creature’s insides.

The Maledict watched her creation convert gleaming tech to complex biological matter, working its way up to the artifice’s brain, as she sealed her wounds with her power and waited.

Ancestral spirits, she ached, and her hands would be sore even after healing them. 

Yet it would be worth it.

The artifice shuddered and twitched, its body reacting while its face was still expressionless, until -

Feeling sprung back into its eyes as its entire self was overwritten by her virus - its body unable to reject something partially made of its own being.

“Ohhhhh, Mal…” It groaned, now knitting its wounds back together as it lay there, including the fang marks around its mouth. Its teal eyes found her face as it shook its head.

“You’re a terrible kisser.”

“Wasn’t trying to do a good job.” She deadpanned.

“I’d rather have Glas again.”

She scowled.

“You won’t.” She accused, voice slightly threatening.

“I won’t. I just want it on record.”

“Anyway.” She said, brushing past that. “You have to feel. No getting out of it.”

“You know I have other bodies, right? You can’t win this; I’ll develop a resistance and reconfigure myself.”

The medic grinned savagely.

“I’m the Maledict. Try it.”

“I’m the Guardian Artifice. I will.” It said, bored and unimpressed as its ears flicked.

She took out her phone.

“Texting Glas and saying you tried to not love them. They’ll be so sad.”

“Hey!” It protested, sitting up and swiping at the device.

The medic dodged its grabs with a wince, then smirked.

She knew she’d only won a battle and not the war. She knew this would be a difficult victory.

But it didn’t get an easy way out when she didn’t either, and neither of them got to abandon Glasya, or anyone else who cared for either of them. 

No matter how tempting it could be.

[raitrolling]

Just remembered I still had a photo on my phone sO

an Ullane I snuck into @cloudbattrolls Christmas present this year :] we love unhinged women in stem here

[trolloled]

Yarrex taking leave to go Not Sniping

[anontrolls]

Tink: Bite off more than you can chew.

@cloudbattrolls

You’re not unfamiliar with the experience of slowly coming back to your senses after an extended period of hunger. Izzy tries, but there’s only so much competence you can expect from someone that would probably turn his wallet over to the first person that asked for it firmly enough, and sometimes you have to do without.

It’s a pretty gradual process, generally. When you’re mostly gone, there aren’t many thoughts passing through your mind other than ‘meat,’ ‘sun,’ and ‘family.’ Those last two were happening a lot, now that you think about it, in your recent memory. The past few hours, though, it’s mostly just been ‘meat’ on repeat, which, frankly - you didn’t know you could be retroactively annoyed by the incompetence of your own thought processes, but there you go.

Anyways. You generally go from that, to more complicated thoughts and ideas, and get stuck sorting through your memories for a while as you chew on whatever hunk of someone that Izzy brought you before you hit the point of contextual awareness. You spent this period of reflection mostly being miffed at how bland your meal is. There isn’t even any blood in it, and it’s all this weird pale color that looks like its never seen moonlight.

When it clicks to you where you are and what you’re eating, you will never, ever let anybody know, but you scream. And also fling a chunk of grey whatever-the-hell across the room, where it slaps against the wall anticlimactically and oozes to the floor.

You, meanwhile, shoot to your feet and press your hands to the plexiglass viewing aperture of what you have just realized is your well-lit, white, fantastically sterile cell, eye wide.

It’s a lab of some sort. Well-used, not quite new, but pretty fancy-looking as far as you can tell. There are other cells, mostly with strange-looking animals in them. One of them is eyeing your meat hunk contemplatively, and you bare your teeth at it through two layers of plexiglass. It backs off.

You shake your head, blinking, and try to swallow past the lump in your throat when you beat on the wall of your cell and shout.

“Hey!” you yell, “Hey, hello, I seem to have been trapped in a cell with a bunch of bloodthirsty beasts! I would like to request some assistance, please!”

[mirkstrolls]

[LOG] dumpster days, pt 2/3

[A short time after the last post, Widsth swings back into the chat and takes a selfie. Hadean and Ullane do some shipping at low, low rates.]

IT: I have aCquired a temporary refuge IT: MN -- Emerel, I presume, given thy exposure to Pheres's amorous inClinations? -- I am some thirty kilometers west of CasCara, yes

JM: What is Cascara like

MN: its onE of thE biggEst finE art and historical cEntErs on thE continEnt its prEtty awEsomE MN: okay cool orphEo tEll .ME. whErE you arE and what you look likE and .I.ll comE pick you up

JM: From what you say JM: He is around your height JM: His horns are large and I wonder he does not wreck doorways

MN: aw shit what a rack

JM: He has glasses and a JM: damn JM: cup cut? JM: No JM: ... JM: His hair goes to the middle of his neck about JM: That's about it

MN: dEscriptiVE

JM: he has an accent

IT: as it may be diffiCult to follow the desCription given IT: here is a photo!!

JM: now I get to feel redundantJM: oh wellJM: my pumpbiscuit will go on

-- inspiredTalesmith sent sgdsjk.jpg [a rather blurry selfie taken as he runs down the street. The ceruleans are visible over his shoulder--

MN: jm thats a bowl cut

ID: run nerd, run.

MN: no kidding about thE horns wow

IT: i am headed down ironCold lane, and I am

MN: ironcold MN: okay thErE should be a sErVicE station nEar thErE somEwhErE MN: hidE out in thE toilEt thErE and .I.ll bE oVEr in a flash

IT:  About that IT: I remain on IronCold lane, however IT: I appear to have taken up residenCe in a dumpster IT: This surprises me as muCh as it may surprise you

ID: ahahah did you jump in.

MN: ....okaaay stay in the dumpstEr MN: and .I. will find you in thE fucking dumpstEr

IT: I didst not jump in, ID, for thy information IT: I didst not WILLINGLY GO IT: I was PUT

ID: ahahah classic.

MN: this is why wE dont stEp on toEs hErE

JM: into the trash with you

ID: welcome to your new hive.

IT: they are trying to deCide whether to send someone after me IT: I am enshrined in half-rotten produCe, like a gutter saint IT: I Can pelt them with tomatoes, should the need arise IT: Unfortunately my Chosen weapon is of no use in this environ

ID: you throwing tomatoes will just piss them off more probably.

IT: I do not, in faCt, Care about their feelings IT: Given that they have THROWN ME INTO A DUMPSTER

JM: tsk JM: rude

ID: i mean. pissed trolls are more likely to cull you but whatever.

MN: hold on .I.m still on the way MN: just kEEp thEm distactEd or whatEVEr until .I. gEt thErE MN: dudE just moVing to thE dumpstEr might bE thE safEst placE for you by this point

IT: I have invited them to duel me in my new hive IT: one-on-one, of Course, as is right and honorable

ID: well emerel, your new buddy is fucked.

MN: a duEl in a dumpstEr sounds likE a littlE morE than a duEl if you gEt what .I.m saying MN: .BUT STOP CHALLENGING THEM YOU WINGNUT. MN: .WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.

ID: he wants to die in battle. not pounded to death while hiding in the dumpster.

JM: I begin to see how you came to me with such wounds

IT: SiC transit gloria mundi IT: u0u

ID: what.

JM: something world

ID: hatched a nerd, die a nerd i guess. =:I

MN: dont you giVE .ME. that MN: yourE going to liVE if .I. haVE to drag you back from hEll damn it

IT: why Emerel, I barely know thee IT: ;O

JM: pfft

ID: <>?

JM: wouldn't bother, Orpheo JM: I think it's born of irritation

MN: wEll normally .I. giVE no fucks MN: but .I. already said .I. was picking you up and damn if .I. look likE a liar now MN: uh no MN: no <>

ID: boo. ID: you're ruining the rom dramaness of this chat right now.

MN: plus .PHERES. is fond of you so

ID: if i had popcorn i'd be throwing it at the screen right now.

MN: .I.ll ruin your facE nExt ;)

ID: you're welcome to try. =;) i mean you'll fail, but more power to you.

MN: bitch try .ME.

[12thperigeeball]

Ball King Nominee NR 7 - Vadaya Urvata

Submitted by: Ullane Wistim

I want to nominate Vadaya Urvata to be the

[x] Ball King

[ ] Ball Queen

of the Ball of 12:th Perigee Eve 2018 because ….

He’s an extremely loyal and true friend serving our Imperial Psiionic Corps with incredible skill. He’s clever, and while reserved, he is always courteous and honorable. He looks very good in his suit. That is why he deserves to be king.

He dances well. The queen will be lucky. And his kismesis will be irritated, as he deserves.

[ase-trollplays]

hannah and ruvlin

This is gonna be long, so I'm putting it under a spoiler

Hannah

01. Full name: Hannah Descur

02. Best friend: Hydran Yepaki

03. Sexuality: Demiromantic demisexual

04. Favorite color: Blue

05. Relationship status: Open in all quads

06. Ideal mate: Someone honest, patient, reliable, and shares their interests. Appearance and caste are irrelevant

07. Turn-ons: ???

08. Favorite food: Grubloaf

09. Crushes: None

10. Favorite music: Classical

11. Biggest fear: Freezing to death

12. Biggest fantasy: Finding a cure for their curse

13. Bad habits: Grinds their teeth

14. Biggest regret: Killing Llymic

15. Best kept secrets: They used to be a cannibal

16. Last thought: (((Hydran would like this meme.)))

17. Worst romantic experience: N/A

18. Biggest insecurity: Not being able to pick up on tone and nonverbal cues very well

19. Weapon of choice: Handheld mini circular saw

20. Role Model: Ullane Wistim

Ruvlin

01. Full name: Ruvlin Descur

02. Best friend: Probably Nebale. He doesn't have many close friends

03. Sexuality: Biromantic bisexual

04. Favorite color: Black bc he's boring

05. Relationship status: Pale with Kelona and currently dating in flush, but open in pitch and ashen

06. Ideal mate: Someone direct, willing to take the lead, and patient, mostly. He's passive and doesn't always communicate well, so someone to counter that is good for him. He also loves people that are affectionate.

07. Turn-ons: Energetic, passionate, kindness

08. Favorite food: Lobster

09. Crushes: Proxus and Smiler (both flush)

10. Favorite music: Heavy metal

11. Biggest fear: Being killed/eaten by undead

12. Biggest fantasy: Seeing his former quads again

13. Bad habits: Bottling his feelings and brushing them off when brought up

14. Biggest regret: Killing his lusus

15. Best kept secrets: Honestly, I couldn't tell you. With the exception of talking about his feelings, he's pretty much an open book.

16. Last thought: \\What should I do for dinner?//

17. Worst romantic experience: While on a date with his former pale, some other trolls started harrassing him, and Ruvlin got his ass kicked trying to defend him.

18. Biggest insecurity: He worries that his job and becoming so jaded as a result makes him a bad person

19. Weapon of choice: Guns, to put it simply. Which one he uses depends on the circumstances.

20. Role Model: He doesn't really have one.

[cloudbattrolls]

@raitrolling @nihilistic-body

"Thank you. Will cherish your advice forever."

You then proceed to do none of that and stay silent.

[cloudbattrolls]

Enchanting Ghost

Ullane Wistim | Northern Reaches | Present Night

Ullane finished up some paperwork in the clinic, looking out its nearest window to where she knew Arty was standing.

It had been standing there for some time - nearly an hour. At first, she’d figured it simply needed some time on its own, and had let it be.

Now, late in the night and with dawn not far off, she was starting to get a little worried.

Technically, she had more she could do…but most records were updated for the moment, and she was settling into a more…well, if she had to be honest, sustainable routine for her paperwork. The clinic was settling into a planned route, with future checkups now. 

It finally felt…viable. Stable. She could take a few moments to check on her assistant; this wasn’t normal behavior even for the artifice.

Right now they weren’t too far from Tuuya’s cavern, funnily enough. It was cold; she threw on a jacket before she went outside.

Arty hadn’t even grabbed one. Odd, it usually dressed as trolls would for the ambient temperature, so it would blend in better.

“Hello.” She said, knowing it could almost certainly sense her coming, but wanting to warn it anyway as she walked over, shoes stepping through cold ground and dead grass.

It didn’t respond.

She got closer.

“Arty?” Her tone was a bit concerned. “Are you all right?”

There was a pause. Then it sighed deeply, and she noticed its ears were very low, drooping against its hair.

“...I’d love to say I am, but you’re not stupid.” It said, with a slight, grim chuckle. “No, I’m not, but don’t worry about me. I’m being dumb, that’s all. Even I wouldn’t want to humor myself right now.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Won’t force you to talk, but that worries me.” She said plainly, but not harshly. “You seem very…down.”

“I am.” It admitted quietly. “I’m…” 

It finally turned to face her, looking rather forlorn.

“I don’t…I don’t ever want to hurt Glas again. I’m worried I’m influencing them to keep ignoring their safety, even though I don’t want to do that at all.”

Ullane looked into its worried teal eyes, its sorrowful expression, and felt something thaw in her.

She reached out and put a hand on its shoulder.

“Can’t always stop from hurting people.” She said calmly. “No matter how you want to. I hate it too. I hate what I can be like.”

She looked up at the sky, far enough from any cities that many stars were visible.

“It doesn’t mean you aren’t a good friend. Yes - I admit it. Glas clearly likes you, you were there for them when I couldn’t be. When Thrixe couldn’t be. They need that, even if they won’t admit it. It’s wonderful they have Mikail, but they need friends too, good ones.”

It eeked softly in surprise. The yellowblood kept talking.

“You must be careful. So must I. We all have things to be careful of, Arty, no matter who and what we are. There’s never…” She sighed. “Much as I hate it, never comes a time when we can stop. But…never comes a time we shouldn’t enjoy what we have either. I’d forgotten that too, I understand.”

She tugged on it gently with the hand on its shoulder.

“Back inside, hm? I’m not so immune to cold as you.”

It followed her obediently as she guided it back with her hand, wearing its common wide eyed expression.

As they walked back into the warmer clinic, she let go of it and took her jacket off, sitting down in one of the waiting room chairs. Arty sat opposite of her, still wide eyed, clasping its hands in its lap.

“Glas can make their own choices. Much as I might not approve, know there’s nothing I can do.” The yellowblood said with soft snort. 

She leaned back in the chair. They were more comfortable than many waiting room chairs; somewhat padded, though still covered by a layer of flexible plastic so they could be cleaned easily.

“I know.” Arty said quietly. “But I can’t always fully control myself. There’s so…so much of me, and even spreading myself among a lot of bodies can only somewhat help, when my feelings are so strong sometimes. I…it’s selfish, being among trollkind. I shouldn’t. I should -”

“Stop.” Ullane cut in, firm but calm. “Stop, Arty. Please. I understand the temptation - more than anyone, I understand - but you can’t. Like it or not, you’ve made a place for yourself - several - and you have to respect that. You can’t just leave if it’s difficult.”

She got up, stepping over to it quickly, and put both hands on its shoulders. 

“Would be more selfish to disappear. To take the easy way out. I’ve wanted to - you know I have - but I can’t. You can’t. Horrible as we can be, we have to stay. Unlovable as we might be, we have to stay. Or nothing can ever get better.”

The yellowblood’s mouth twitched in a slightly morbid smile as the artifice looked at her, even more wide-eyed than it had been before.

“I don’t…I don’t really make anything better, do I? Aside from being useful.”

Its voice was so hesitant, it almost frightened her. So different from how it usually was. So vulnerable.

For the first time, Ullane looked at the artifice and did not hate what she saw of herself there.

“That’s not true.” She said, gentle. “You make Glas laugh. You remind me to take care of myself.” She admitted with a grudging smile. “Yes, you’re annoying or difficult sometimes, and very strange. But not without worth, as yourself.”

“A.” Said Arty, apparently incapable of saying anything besides that one sound. Its ears were flicking back, forward, up and down, as if it had no idea how to feel.

It was cute. She’d admit it, even if only to herself - the artifice could be a bit cute, sometimes.

She took her hands off its shoulders and turned around, only to find herself gripped around the middle as Arty pressed its face into her back and miaoued. 

“Don’t go.” It said. “Please?”

Ullane sat down in the chair next to it, and Arty clung to her, curling up and placing itself inside her outstretched arm, still wide-eyed.

She scratched its head between its horns, lightly running her fingers through its wavy hair.

It didn’t purr like it did for Glas, but it closed its eyes and seemed, if not relaxed, then content for the moment.

Ullane would - silently, only to herself - concede she felt the same way.

[cloudbattrolls]

So Far to Fall

This drabble is preceded by To Stave Off the End and followed by In Cold Blood.

Ullane Wistim & Epsilo Volant | Present Night

Late twilight hung over Chimer’s estate in a beautiful dark shade of blue, the color of relief from a recently set sun. 

The hive cast in warm glow and dark shadows was elegant without being opulent, a more lowkey building than one might expect to belong to a fuchsia. It had some well-maintained trees and a wild lawn, standing a short ways from other, similar hives also owned by highbloods in the rural area. 

In this part of Alternia, the dangerous local wildlife was kept under careful control by those who enjoyed hunting them. There were very few murders; most trolls around had what they needed. Lusii that ate trolls were forbidden, and culled if brought in. 

Ullane sat by the duck pond near the hive on a long low-set wicker lawn chair, watched the birds bob peacefully in the water, and was so bored she felt like she might start screaming.

She should be grateful, she knew, as she idly shredded grass with her hands. She was as safe as she could be, and had gotten off far more lightly than she deserved.

Yet she couldn’t contact her friends. Couldn’t make any sort of communication that could be tracked by the grey mob. 

They might still be hunting her.

She had made the trip here about a perigee ago disguised and under cloaking tech, but after the trial, they certainly would have put together how one of their number had been imprisoned. They may have also realized how another had lost an hour of his memory. 

Ullane now dressed in hemoanon colors whenever she stepped outside, and had swapped her symbol for a different one. She had stopped dying her hair and covering the marks on her face. 

She had - with slight reluctance - stopped wearing her contacts, letting her true violet-tinged eyes show. One could never be too careful. 

Her tail, too, flowed unbound behind her.

The former clinic administrator stared up at the stars starting to appear in the sky, a slight breeze rustling through the trees and tossing her ponytail.

She wasn’t sure what was more fantastical; having once been willingly possessed by a horrorterror and working with him to wrench her clinic away from the gang she had worked for, or being pursued by a different criminal syndicate after successfully escaping their attempt to frame her for murder.

The yellowblood thought of the lost Varzims. She’d seen Zanzul last when the violet had talked to Calcit for her, and Thrixe some time before the whole business started. 

Why was she safe, and they were trapped in the furthest ring? 

Nothing about her life made sense.

Only science ever had.

The lowblood fed the ducks some lettuce, scattering it over the water as they quacked and gathered to eat it, jostling for the leafy scraps.

Then she got up, and walked back inside with a blank expression. 

Hours passed in which she tried to read research papers, then cleaned the hive in the vain hope any excess dust had manifested since last night. She exercised, ate without really thinking about it, and fed her lusus his own dinner. 

Eventually, as dawn began to creep over the hive, she slipped into her recuperacoon and went to sleep.

Ullane sat bolt upright, gasping. Salt water welled from her mouth. She was - she was -

The water surrounding her rippled darkly, crushing down on her back and shoulders, yet she was not crushed. Violet tinged the liquid, galaxies of glowing lights slowly rising out of its depths, as if appearing from fog. 

She floated, suspended in this strange abyss, yet something about it was intimately familiar.

“Uryali.” she whispered.

She felt a rush of confirmation, of…relief?

What relief could she bring the Muted?

My DeScENDAANTSss are imPrISONED in the RING, came the voice that rose and fell in layered harmonies, a deep undercurrent of sadness welling through it. 

YoUUU heLPEd Us OOnCEE, MEDIIC. hElPP mE AGAAINN, foRR PESTILEnCE caaNNOT. THe fAEE have baRRED theiR reALMSss. buT yoU and I coULD opEEN thE wAY. 

“I am no medic.” She said softly. “Stripped of my title, my license.”

She felt…amusement? Amusement, and a hint of disdain.

alWAysS a mEDIC, medICC. yoU hEAL wITHoUT lAW. 

Ullane had no retort to that, and felt Uryali’s satisfaction.

sOO yOU wiLL Go. YoU WIlLL haVE to CRoSS ALl FOUR cOURTSS to fIND TOBRIA.

“Who?” She said with a frown.

hE PREDIictED theSE eVENTss. He Is a POWErful PRophet…or WAs.

Sadness again crashed over her like a wave.

“Why should I find him?”

oNlY hE cAN guIDE my DescENDANTS hOME. 

Ullane sighed and figured trying to ask more specific questions was probably pointless. 

It was a miracle to get this much sense out of the horrorterror…though, she supposed he had once been a troll. Thrixe had been able to stop him from destroying Nott Station in his anger, by appealing to what was left of his compassion. 

She’d watched as the horrorterror piloted her body, nearly killing her as an unintended side effect of his possession.

In light of this, a different - saner - person might have hesitated.

Ullane Wistim did not think of disobeying. The thought never entered her head.

“How will you help me?”

A vast starfish tendril reached up from the dark waters and placed its tip gently in her hand, leaving behind a small, unknown plant bud. 

tAKE pART of mE wiTH you. I wILL sPEAk in YoUR dREaMS, yoUR PsIiONICSs bOLSTERED by My poWER. 

We WiLl UnLock The WAy. I wILl gUiDE yoU.

She woke up heaving for air in her sopor slime, clawing at the edges of the cocoon. 

A dream. 

She licked her lips. They were crusted with salt.

Slowly, with dread, she turned her hand over.

A black bud lay tattooed - no - scarified on her palm. It…moved. The edges of it moved over her veins and the lines in her skin, rippling with her breaths, changing in the light as she tilted her hand. 

How had she bound herself? Could it be undone?

No - could she truly rescue the Varzims? Had the dream been real?

She took a deep breath and climbed out, green slime gently steaming away as she took off her day clothes and got dressed. 

Yes. Yes, she would accept it as true. She would question Uryali when she slept again. 

Ullane changed into clothes she hadn’t worn for a long time - her traveling wear, sturdy and full of pockets, warm and water-resistant. Her tail flicked, still unused to being free of clothing layers.

She had come from a town built over ley lines, a place full of undead, where magic had sunk into the roots of the place and things from daymares prowled.

Never had she imagined accepting a supernatural being’s bidding. Or asking one for aid.

She needed help, if she was to rescue the Varzims. She needed someone who she could rely on, though once she wouldn’t have dared trust him with anything.

She needed Epsilo Volant.

—

The violetblood was refining armor for his guild when he saw her, hands deep in a pile of monster samples - bone, horn, and carapace - that he was working with. He sat at his outside work bench, for the weather was fine and here he could see one of the island’s shores. 

At first, the former seadweller thought his eyes must be at fault when he saw her. He took off his glasses and squinted, wondering if he’d accidentally imbibed some sort of hallucinogen from his materials.

No, she was still coming closer, walking across the island, unbothered by any of the passing hunters or their palicos. He put them back on and got up, dipping his hands in the pot of disinfectant he kept nearby before he went over to meet the yellowblood.

“Wistim.” He said, neutral if respectful as she got within a few feet of him and stopped. “Why are you here?”

Last time they had spoken, he had asked for his fins and gills to be restored. For her to lift her part of the curse she and Uryali had laid on him. 

She had refused.

She smiled at him, a perfectly normal smile, yet the highblood found himself unsettled. 

Perhaps it was her violet-tinged eyes - a permanent remnant of her possession. Perhaps it was the way she looked at him - eager, fascinated, as if he was a particularly interesting specimen. It was not an expression he expected on a woman he had captured and given to a horrorterror. 

“I need you.” She said. “You’re a werehyena. Immune to horrorterror influence. Strong, and knowledgeable of animals. You want to be a seadweller again? Help me rescue the Varzims.”

Before he could respond, eyes widening in shock, the lowblood held up her hand.

It had a black bud inscribed on it. A…shifting…black bud, as if it moved in a wind. He could feel the energy from it; the same eldritch energy Vallis and all of Vernrot had. 

“Uryali has charged me to save them.” She continued. “I must cross the fae realms to seek aid - very dangerous, though I know something of their ways. I need a guard again. Will you help me?”

Speechless, the highblood couldn’t speak for a few moments, staring at her with a shocked expression, his mouth slightly open.

Then he shook his head and came back to himself, face settling into sheer disbelief.

“Wistim. This is suicide. The two of us in a strange land full of magical enemies? How will we eat and rest safely? How will we ensure we can return safely, or make it there to begin with? It is impossible.”

She stared back at him with those wide, strange eyes, as if he was the one who was being unreasonable.

Then she smiled again.

“I escaped you twice. I survived horrorterror possession. I have wrenched my clinic from the gang I once sold myself to. I have escaped another gang’s clutches, after I tracked and hunted two of their number. I once killed a whole gathering of corrupt jades.”

She raised and opened her arms.

All around her, the air turned headier with the scent of salt and life. The island’s plants curled and blossomed at her feet, roots rising up through the soil.

The hunters, attentive to any disturbance in bio-energy, stopped and stared, looking at the yellowblood and then at Epsilo. A few started to draw their weapons.

“Stop it.” He hissed. “They don’t take kindly to that here.”

He shook his head as she lowered her arms and the power waned, but he could still feel a crackle of it on his skin.

“Yes, I can tell you’re more powerful than before. Will that be enough?” He asked bluntly. “Having Uryali’s blessing doesn’t mean you can stand against every fae.” 

She raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t you want the Varzims back? For Vallis’s sake, if not your own needs?”

The former seadweller paused at the mention of his best friend. The man had been bereft when the other two horrorterror hybrids had left this world.

He scowled, thick arms folded under his light violet shirt.

The Varzims gone. Arty dead. Vannyn was away from Vernrot most of the time, and Lusien had the lighthouse to tend to…

He put a hand to his neck, where his gills had once been. Sometimes the places where they’d still ached at day, when he woke gasping for breath from a daymare of drowning.

“All right.” He finally said, turning around to walk back toward his hive. 

Sifrek wasn’t going to like this, Epsilo reflected as he thought of his primary guild contact and friend. Hopefully she would understand. 

Ullane easily fell into step next to him, her tufted tail waving back and forth. 

“I’ll go with you.” Said the highblood, waving to the hunters that everything was fine. The trolls and their feline companions heeded him, but their expressions remained wary.

“But first, I want more details. I’m not leaving unprepared.”

—

One night later, the pair left the island, taking a motorboat with one of the guild hunters back to the mainland. Winds tossed them about, making waves around them as they cut through the water, but the hunter’s control of the craft was steady and sure. 

They arrived on land none the worse for wear, though Epsilo looked like he was having second thoughts.

“Why you?” He asked Ullane as they set their feet back on land, thanking the hunter before they began to walk off. 

“Hm?” She said, almost absentminded, eyes ahead as she led them further inland.

“Why can’t Uryali simply possess someone and find this angel-fae himself?” The violet asked pointedly. “Why does he need us?” 

“Their body would break down before they made it.” Ullane said bluntly. “I nearly died on Nott, and he wasn’t trying to kill me. I have just enough of his power this time to guide us and help protect us; you can treat me if it starts to overwhelm me.”

“How likely is that?” Replied the highblood acidly.

She looked away from him, smiling slightly as she stared forward.

“It’ll happen in less than a week, regardless.”

The violet dragged a hand down his face, then heard a rumble of thunder.

He looked up, noting the dark clouds.

“Wistim. We should stop for the night. Where did you plan on staying before we left on this fool’s errand?”

“We keep going.” She said, eyes briefly flashing a brilliant pale magenta.

Epsilo shivered as the wind picked up as well, tossing his shoulder-length wavy hair around his head. He took out a band to tie it back. 

Why did the Varzims glow the color of moonlit snow, not ink-black like Vernrot’s terrors? 

He found he didn’t quite have the courage to ask right now, nor argue with his lowblooded companion.

So he silently followed her as it began to rain, and the lowblood didn’t seem to mind it at all. She did not shiver, nor falter from her path. Water dripped down her hair and tail as she forged on, leading him through bushes and trees as he cursed and had to detach his clothes at times.

“Wistim, slow down - “ He called irritably, and she waved a hand.

The thornbush that had just seized him began to droop from the weight of gray fungus sprung into existence on it, clinging to its bark.

Epsilo sprinted away from it, catching up to her panting and flecked with mud.

“That was unnecessary.” He said between breaths.

Again those unreadable eyes looked into his own.

“It worked.” She said calmly, and turned away from him again, pausing after a few steps.

The medic looked down at…a mushroom ring, Epsilo realized. 

He was no mycologist, but he recognized the species, red-capped and white-stalked. Fly agaric, one of the most toxic species there was.

The yellowblood got down on her knees, examining the ring with keen interest, her ears and tail flicking.

Then she swiped into the air above it with her marked hand, the air crackling with white energy as she - she pulled the world apart, creating a jagged rent within the circle as its mushrooms withered and rotted. The fungi then grew together in a thickening black mass as the rift widened and stabilized.

Now it was a gap large enough for both of them to pass through, but Epsilo could not see what was inside it; all he beheld was fog. He leaned over, trying to get a better look -

Ullane jumped inside and grabbed his arm, pulling him with unnatural strength beyond her caste and build as they both fell into the portal.

He yelled curses as they plummeted through the hazy air, writhing, but her grip was firm.

The haze cleared…and Epsilo’s eyes grew wide as his breath billowed out in awe.

Below them - stretching for miles and miles - was a wild land. Frozen forests of vast trees, branches interlocking and grown into fantastical woven shapes. Waterfalls of moving, frothing ice. Lakes set in tundra with waves cast in perfect, glittering frost. 

The wind around them swirled with snowflakes and stranger things, glowing blue insects that buzzed about, leaving shining trails in their wake. 

Even in the ocean, he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Beside him, Ullane laughed long and loud, and he tightened his grip on her hand.

There was still so far to fall. 

[cloudbattrolls]

Out of context meme summary of my drabble planned for Saturday.

[cloudbattrolls]

@raitrolling

Can’t wait to hear Ullane drop some bars tbh 🔥🔥🔥

--

"I can't sing. Or rap. This is inane."

[cloudbattrolls]

Digging Deeper

This drabble is preceded by The Waiting Game and followed by Dead Silent.

You can see her slip, can't you? Start to reveal how paranoid she really is? It's a wonder she holds together, but I can't say I admire her for it.

--

Ullane calls a woman who works for her once in a while, one of the few people she trusts who isn’t fully troll: Zanzul Varzim, who for various reasons is a better reason to call than her signmate to the clinic proper.

The violet comes in several hours later, fortunately not too far from the clinic at the moment, walking in quietly and going to the yellowblood’s office.

The medic has asked the horrorterror hybrid here to use her marvelous ears; her bloodline’s various abilities include hearing ghosts.

The violet closes her eyes, focusing, her iridescent fins twitching slightly as her spots softly glow. When she opens her eyes, they are glowing slightly whitish violet as well.

Zanzul, notepad at the ready, asks Calcit’s ghost if he remembers how he got injured and who attacked him, what tip he was investigating, and how he acquired the information.

Unfortunately, shades of the dead are not always coherent; few hold onto their minds fully in death.

The blueblood’s remnant rambles that they took from his veins what they could not take from his purse, his pockets empty when what they sought was silver. 

Riches flow toward those who copy, he says. This crime was slight, their others greater. He was led astray by promises of truth and justice, but was delivered only emptiness and invisibility.

Ullane has Zanzul question Calcit about his silver further, but he becomes more incoherent, yet still somewhat eloquent. 

Before he fades entirely, he asks what killed him, if her tools were not the cause? 

His lyrical speaking style reminds the medic of her ex auspicitice, and she tries not to think of Widsth Orpheo; there is work to do, and Zanzul has to go.

She returns to the information Yarrex give her about her employee, Halvir Urtyop; the nurse who was the last to see Calcit before he died.

He’s worked for the clinic for several perigees and is noted to be calm and good with patients, with a polite but distant mannerism toward his coworkers, with a perfect legal record and good references.

Ullane dryly comments that she can’t decide if it’s a false lead or if Halvir is way too good at covering his tracks. Yarrex remarks that she might want to decide before the trial, and Ullane deadpans that he’s so wise.

To rule out sabotage from one angle, though she knows it unlikely, Ullane checks the medical machines Calcit was hooked up to that night just to be on the safe side; they are all perfectly in order, her part-time mechanic Priori Poster keeping them well-maintained as always. 

She discusses her next course of action with Xrumon and Yarrex privately in her office, wondering if she should have Halvir followed as she did with Jixill instead of trying to talk to him. 

Luckily, both men point out that this is a bad idea and that if word of it got out, things would become very tense in the clinic. 

Yarrex asks her if she knows any fortune tellers or tarot readers, and as Xrumon wears a pained look Ullane tells the brownblood to go in a corner and put on a dunce cap.

To her surprise, he actually pulls a dunce cap out of his sylladex and does so, leaving the mediculler a bit flummoxed. She asks him why he has that, and he states that he needs to be prepared when working for her.

Ullane had no idea he had one and looks at him as if he fell through the ceiling. Xrumon points out, reluctantly, that she did tell him to do that.

The woman briefly covers her face with her hands and tries to continue onward.

To avoid seeming as if she’s singling Halvir out, the administrator asks all the staff on duty that night if they saw or heard anything suspicious, and receives a variety of answers: Halvir himself says he was surprised at how fast Calcit deteriorated, someone else mentions graffiti on the wall outside, yet another person mentions that the back door was strangely unlocked, and last of all, an entire cellphone was reported thrown away in a trash can.

The final scrap of news catches Ullane’s immediate attention, though she makes note of the others as well.

It may be nothing.

It may be a piece of evidence she sorely needs.

--

The phone, the phone.

If it weren't for me, it would have been useless.

Though I have to give credit elsewhere, too.

[cloudbattrolls]

Lone Digger

Ullane Wistim & Guardian Artifice | Selatak | Present Night

“I am not going in there.”

Ullane crossed her arms, looking the pale pleasure hive up and down as if it was a dog that wanted to bite her. 

It was, naturally, a pale pink building with a diamond motif, though several of the diamonds had tigers’ faces painted on them; a reference to Selatak’s other name.

They stood on the sidewalk of one of the city's red light districts - laughter, whistles, and catcalls flew around them, and trolls passed in front of them often. A few lusii flew or walked the streets, often protecting their working charges from any troll who might lay an unwanted hand on them. 

There were even a few street vendors - the pair could smell the warm scent of their sizzling, fried foods, hear their cheerful calling in Standard, Singlish, and the handful of other languages that made their home on the myriad streets.

“Why not?” Arty drawled. “Do you some good.”

“Absolutely not.” She hissed.

“Why? Afraid to relax? I’ll even go in with you.”

She groaned, then looked thoughtful.

“Mm, if they’re paying more attention to you instead…”

Then she looked appalled at herself.

“What am I doing.”

“What are you doing?” It asked pointedly, giving her a look just as sharp. 

“You’ve been in an awful mood lately, and I know it’s not just me. I think you’re having a bad time and you need to have a better one, ASAP. For your sake, mostly, and any benefit to me is purely incidental.”

Ullane sighed, the fight going out of her.

“Fine. Might as well try. If it’s a disaster will have funny story to look back on.”

It blinked.

“I didn’t expect it to be that easy.”

She shook her head.

“I’m tired, Arty. Tired enough to try this crazy idea.”

Its face looked slightly sympathetic as it trailed her inside. It wore a maroon body, one more similar to Eileit than its purple default - a non-clown of that caste stuck out too much in Selatak.

She wore a gray tank top and a knee length skirt, her disguise tech up just in case. Arty was clad in its lavender overalls, but had foregone any tights so that it appeared more dressed for the weather.

A few trolls hung around the lobby, but whether they were clients or employees, Ullane couldn’t tell. They all wore soft, loose clothing; the typical garb for pale workers, or trolls who wanted to enjoy their services. Somewhere, soothing flute music played as well. 

A pleasant-looking man at the front desk greeted them - he was cobalt, much higher than the yellow would’ve expected, with a buzz cut and more piercings than she could count. 

“Hey.” He said, pleasantly neutral. “Welcome to Diamond Daze. Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” Ullane said awkwardly, fists clenching and her hidden tail gripping her waist more tightly as she started to have second thoughts.

“That’s fine.” He said, voice calm. “We should have someone free in fifteen minutes or so. Unless you have specific caste preferences?”

“No - no, I don’t.” Ullane assured the receptionist, bewildered but a bit appreciative that he’d asked.

“Any caste is fine. How much will it be?”

“An hour is a hundred caegers. Beyond that it’s sixty for every added half hour.”

“An hour is fine.” She said, swiping her card through the reader.

Arty looked around curiously, if with some hesitance. It had never been in a place like this before. Of course, it wasn’t its business, as all troll quadrants weren’t its business -

“Aren’t you cute.”

It spun around as it realized a maroon - a real one - was talking to it. 

A woman, a few inches shorter than it, with dark red markings around her eyes, watched it from a few feet away. She was softer than a usual maroon, though not heavyset - she just didn’t have the hungry angles many of the caste unfortunately did. She wore a soft red crop top and gray harem pants patterned with pink paisleys. 

It blinked at her. 

“Thanks?” It said, unsure how to respond.

“Hm, you’re not exactly a boy or girl, are you.” She mused, but with no probing curiosity or disdain. The woman was just…observing. 

“Oh! No.” It said, shaking its head. “And, I’m just here with my coworker. If you’re the one who’s free, then she - ”

The woman held out a gentle hand raised in the ‘stop’ gesture. “I wasn’t asking for her, was I?”

“But I’m not a client.” It said, puzzled.

It looked over at Ullane for support, but she was watching with a small smirk as she waited for her own paid pale and seemed to find the interaction amusing.

Of course she did. Well, time to shut it do -

- oh, that was its hand being grabbed, and it was certainly being led along insistently, almost stumbling in its black sandals. 

Arty looked as bewildered as it felt. What was going on?

“I’m really not here for - ”

“You had a very strange expression as you looked around the lobby. As if you felt you weren’t allowed to be here. That isn’t a feeling I like to let leave this place.” The maroon murmured.

“Everyone is welcome here.” She said, fixing an intent look on the artifice as she stopped leading it along. “No matter who you are, or why you’ve come.”

She sat down on a plush pink couch and patted the space next to her.

It sigh-laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“No, I - it’s fine. I mean, good eye, but it’s fine, really, it doesn’t -”

She took its hand again. 

Her hand was so. Warm.

“I’m a construct.” It made itself say, opening its mouth to show its metal teeth. “You don’t…there’s no point - ”

“Why not?” She asked calmly, apparently unfazed.

It blinked.

“Surely you’d rather spend your time on a troll.”

She laughed.

“I’ve had plenty of trolls.” She said with amusement. “Some of them I’d never have again. A construct, hm? That explains it. Of course you don’t feel like you belong.”

“Well, I’m not supposed to.” It muttered, ears flicking. “It’s not my place to complain, either.”

Her red eyes twinkled in amusement.

She still held its hand. It should really. Extract that. Walk away from this.

It was strangely difficult.

“Do you always lead random people off?” It asked with slight amusement.

“Only if they seem like my type of client.” She said with a smile.

It snorted.

“Really. What type is that?”

“Lost. Unsure of their place. Believing they shouldn’t be here at all - because they think it’s weak to come here, or they feel pathetic in their loneliness and hate showing it. Loneliness is not a pathetic feeling; it is a terrible torment.”

Arty did its best to keep a neutral expression.

“That’s interesting.” It said. “I know my place, though - I serve trolls.”

“Do you think I’m such a novice, I can’t tell when someone wants more than they’ve got?” She said, amused but pointed. “Clearly you’re a very, very advanced construct. Enough to have independent emotions. Enough to not let go of my hand.” She said, eyes gleaming.

Arty looked away, a strange hot feeling on its face. Oh - no. Not that. Anything but that.

It should really let go of -

“Do you mind getting your hair touched? It looks very soft.” She said in a gentle, inquiring tone.

“Huh? Ah - uh, no, I don’t mind.” It said, hating how it paused a moment. It was too old for this! It was behaving ridiculously! What was wrong with it?!

She let its hand go and gently ran hers through its fluffy fiber locks.

Arty shivered, the sensation pleasant but so strange. Which was stupid. This was no different than all the times Glas had done it!

Yes, that’s right! This troll was clearly just…interested in the novelty! It was a weird story to tell for later. Haha, did you hear I held hands with something artificial? Hilarious. 

But there was none of that in her eyes. Well…it was her job, wasn’t it? To fake enjoying things like this, even with something like it? She must be a good actress.

Yes, it supposed it couldn’t blame her for trying to make a few caegers, life was difficult enough for maroons. It would have to pay her for her time, it was only fair.

It should have left at the start, after all. This was its own -

She gently rubbed its neck with those warm hands.

“You’re very tense.” She murmured. 

“I’m fine.” It said automatically. “I -“

Oh, she was doing it harder now, really massaging its synthetic flesh, almost deep enough to feel the blade layers.

Right. Yes! It was a security system! This was absurd!

It got to its feet. The maroon raised her eyebrows.

“This was…interesting, but I should go back and wait for my coworker! I’m her guard.”

It spun on its heel and started to walk -

Oh, those were its shoulders under those hands, and it was being dragged - well, that was the couch again. Hello, pink couch.

“You do not listen very well.” It said in a befuddled tone. 

“I’m listening to your body. You could easily throw me off or move much faster. You haven’t done it once.”

She raised her eyebrows as she put an arm around its shoulders.

“I know your type, like I said. You think you don’t need this, or that you shouldn’t. Especially something like you, made to feel you shouldn’t have needs at all.”

“I’m not.” It said automatically. “It’s a distraction. And - no troll wants to - ”

“Am I no troll?”

“This is your job, though.” It said, puzzled. “Which - not holding that against you, but - ”

“I only pick clients I want.” The woman said calmly, massaging its shoulders again. “I’m not some forced laborer. I am a professional and take on those who need me.”

She smirked slightly.

“And ones I think are cute.”

She used her spare hand to gently brush a finger against some of the maroon freckles on its cheeks and nose.

Arty’s mind stopped working for a moment.

It opened its mouth to talk and all that came out was static.

The woman giggled.

How much of a faux pas would it be to literally melt into the couch, it wondered.

Its face was so hot, it already had a head start!

It had to get ahold of itself. This was stupid. It was so stupid and it should really just - scare her somehow, put her off, it would be easy -

It would be mean. She hadn’t done anything wrong. 

It chittered slightly in frustration.

“Hate being vulnerable, hm?” The woman said, amused. 

“Who likes it.” It muttered. 

“Believe it or not, some people do, with the right person.” She said with a dry tone to her amusement.

It sighed.

“I don’t need to learn to like it. I need to focus on what I was made for.”

“Yet you melt at a smidge of genuine affection.”

It resolutely did not respond to that.

She hummed and rested her head on its shoulder, which sent another jolt through its body. 

“Still so tense. Oh - you need something to do, don’t you? I should’ve guessed, you’re a construct.”

It chittered again, a bit flustered at being so easily read, as she scooted back on the couch and took out a game of checkers from her sylladex.

Its ears raised in interest.

“What color do you want?” It asked.

Her eyes twinkled.

“Black.”

—

Ullane looked distinctly ruffled when she came out from her appointment, and Arty politely reminded her to get herself re-oriented in the bathroom before they left. 

Her mind might be elsewhere now, but she’d hate not being seen as composed in public later; better to protect her from that.

The woman - Rose, they’d learned her professional alias was - waved to it as Ullane came back out and they left. It waved back, more shy than it would like.

Checkers had been fun. Something else to focus on. Then it had paid her, of course.

It was all a little surreal.

“So.” Arty said as they walked out of the door, back into the warm Selatakian air. “Seems like yours was good?”

“A little too good.” She muttered. “I started wagging my tail, and…thought they might try to cull me, but they didn’t mind.”

“No, they’re…very open minded there, apparently.” Arty said, bemused. “I told her I was a construct, showed her my teeth - she didn’t care.”

Ullane blinked. “Huh.” She said.

“I know, right? In Selatak?” It laughed a little, slightly nervous. “I did choose it because I saw there weren’t any clowns involved, so I figured it was more likely to be safe for you…but that was. A surprise.”

It waited for her inevitable disgust. Her judgment.

Instead the yellowblood just snorted softly.

“What’s it matter, really.” She muttered. “Odd, but so much is odd now. Don’t think I’ll ever understand, but…Glas’s right, not that I’ll tell them.”

It blinked.

“Glas is right about what?”

“I shouldn’t be so fussed about you.” She said with slight amusement and resignation. “That’s what mine told me…said I should put my energy more toward myself. That of course I was tired. Didn’t like hearing it at first, but…they kept making me talk about my life, and it was…fun, actually.”

The porcupine-firefly troll looked a bit embarrassed.

“Neither of us tell Glas about this, no matter what.” She said urgently. “Pact?”

“Pact.��� Arty agreed heartily. “No using this against each other.”

Ullane looked relieved.

If it was honest, that was how the artifice felt as well.

[cloudbattrolls]

Oh, so you don't want to think about your feelings, after you forced Arty to restore the feelings it was avoiding, and you've also told Glas that they can't keep ignoring their own? Inch resting, why does what you tell both of them to do not apply to yourself?

"...I said I don't want to, not that I wouldn't ever."

"Of course it applies to me. But am I to sort it all out right now? Meant it when I said I don't know. I don't know how...I can be loved. Helped, yes, so I'm less of a burden, which I have to do, but..."

"...what is there to love, aside from being a doctor? I can't see it. All the best of me is my acts. Not myself."

[cloudbattrolls]

All Hail

This drabble is preceded by Last Stand.

Ullane Wistim | Sunrest | Present Night

Ullane landed, sodden again from the gate of the summer court, Epsilo thudding into the warm sand beside her.

She wondered how far they’d have to go to find Tobria -

Massive, loud wingbeats. A long, winged shadow grew on the pale orange dunes as a fiery, lizardlike being covered with scars landed in front of them and folded his strange wings - part feathered, part insectoid. His head was covered with three masks, all making different expressions.

“Why do you disturb me?” Said the tired, resentful voice of the angel-fae. It wasn’t as deep as she’d expected - a bit raspy and dry, as if from lack of use.

He looked the pair of trolls up and down, the wings on the sides of his face extending as a hot breeze stirred up the air. This court had sunlight too, but didn't burn - it was like Alternian sunlight at dusk, hot but tolerable.

“Where is Cyvell?” He added, a trace of anger entering his voice. “She was coming to take refuge through that very gate. What have you done with my apprentice?”

Ullane bowed her head as Tobria stood up fully, his form towering over her and Epsilo, the shimmering wings on his sides spreading outward, reaching dozens of feet each. They cast the pair in shadow from the blazing sun above.

“Tobria Tatura. I’m sorry to bother you.” She said solemnly. “All I’ve done, I’ve done to come ask you to bring back the pair of Varzims now trapped in the furthest ring. If you do, I accept whatever sentence given to me. I’ll repay your help however I can.”

All of the hybrid’s glowing orange eyes stared down at the yellowblood.

“You are touched by this power.” He said, in awe, disbelief, a touch of sheer fury. “All these sweeps…and he could still think, still act? He said nothing to me?”

The angel-fae bent over, pulling out Ullane’s blackened, scarified-vine palms to look at with his taloned paws, his eyes narrowing. The yellowblood did not resist, letting the warm, feathered limbs hold her own. 

“Your hands…stained with anthrax. You reached so deep in her that she coats you like a second skin. Yet you do not die. Why? The Muted could not save you from this.”

The ancient being’s voice cracked with sorrow and disbelief. Then he shook his head, and dropped Ullane’s damp hands.

“I wake, and this is what I find? A favor asked by an unknown troll embodying death and betrayal?”

Tobria’s wings flared out and set alight with golden fire, his long tail lashing and following suit as Ullane and Epsilo stumbled back from the searing blaze.

“You die here, yellowblood.”

“Run!” She said to the violet, who wasted no time in doing so as Ullane looked up into the furious masks of the Fireseer.

He opened his mouth to blast flames at her, but she wasn’t there.

The medic rose up on a wave of violet-tinted water, drawn and grown from the liquid dripping off of her body, aiming to claw at Toba’s throat with the ridged bone still stuck fast to her hands -

He slapped her back with his fiery tail, hurling her many feet away to thud into the sand as he hissed in fury.

“I am the Fireseer, troll. Did Uryali give no warning of what he was sending you into? Did he not tell you my flames were more than a match for him?”

Ullane stared at the sky as she lay there, healing her burns and broken bones, getting her breath back.

“You are broken and spent. Surrender and your death will be painless, which I imagine is more than you granted Cyvell.”

His voice shook with rage, and the yellowblood closed her eyes.

A painless death…

More than she deserved, really.

She laughed a little.

Somehow, she doubted Tobria would find it so easy to kill her.

Almost a shame. But she had a job to do.

Ullane’s eyes stayed closed, yet she - carefully, while wincing slightly - stood back up.

Tobria did not lie. She could not face him directly in a fight, no matter how well Uryali’s power flowed through her. She was still mortal, and tired from her travels, weary from her fight with Cyvell.

As the Fireseer flew toward her, preparing to burn her in an instant, the medic dreamed.

Voices flowed from her lips - hers, Uryali’s, countless others whispering indistinctly as the desert wove itself into a garden, vines springing from the scarified black bud on her hand and growing, spreading out, taking over the sands.

Tobria flew into her dream, his mind plucked into this half-real world full of ferns and trees and coral reefs, one sprouting on top of the other without rhyme or reason.

He rained down multicolored fire, trying to raze the forest-reef; cinders and ash swirled everywhere as the angel-fae torched Ullane’s creation, but he could not get it all at once. 

What he did burn grew back, thicker and stronger, blooming and unfurling at rapid speeds.

“Yellowblood!” He roared. “Why do you drag out this pageantry? You cannot kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you.” She murmured, and it carried all the way to his ears, borne by her dreaming will. “I killed Cyvell because I had to. She would have killed me otherwise.”

“Is that supposed to placate me?” Hissed the Fireseer as he continued to try to find and destroy her. “She is all I have left! Why? Because Uryali left this world! Left me! I mourned him despite what he’d done! And now - now he sends you? Look what you’ve done!”

She pressed through her forest-reef, brushing aside its violet and black plants and polyps while Tobria continued to try to burn it, roaring and cursing in a language she didn’t know.

“You deserve your rage.” She said softly, as another swathe of massive orchids with eyes on their petals crumbled to ash. “You deserve your pain, your frustration, your resentment.”

“I know that.” He snarled. “So what do you offer me as a pitiful apology? What could you ever say or do to make you worthy of my help?”

He let out a cry like a bird of prey, though it was more anguished than angry.

“What could you say to rid me of this cursed prophecy? I wish I had never seen the malediction. Look what it has done to me. To all the fae. And for what?”

The Fireseer hovered in the sky, weeping bright tears that burst into showering sparks. 

“What was any of it worth?”

The dream shifted, and Ullane let it, the scene responding to Tobria’s emotions.

It brought them back in time, for she could feel the place unfolding around her was one from long, long ago, the dream folding her into it.

She saw the fae fleeing Alternia, carrying their wounded with them in stretchers of woven branches and silk. Blood of various hues - standard spectrum shades and other, more mutant-like hues - covered the ground. 

This was that fateful night, when all the disease fae had left their native world behind.

They would only return for brief visits in the future, lest they be hunted and destroyed by trolls’ terrifying weaponry once more. Banners in imperial red and black fluttered not far off; they were no longer safe here. 

The planet belonged to the fuchsia empire now.

She saw a younger, less scarred Tobria, though he still carried several gold marks on his dark reddish body. He flew above the fleeing fae, keeping a lookout to ensure they would get to safety.

They had fought as hard as they could, but the empress had too many weapons, too many soldiers.  

The fae had too few allies.

Even immortal beings grew tired of dying all the time.

“What could I have done?” Tobria muttered. “What could I have seen? Perhaps we have held off the malediction, but are we even living? Am I? Cyvell was right…I should have woken up long ago.”

He hung his great head, red and blue fires burning low.

Ullane couldn’t help but smile sadly. 

“I won’t pretend to know exactly what you suffer.” She said softly. “But I have also been abandoned by those I loved.”

She filled the dream with her memories of her ex quadrants, Hap Ret’s smile and cheerful fuchsia-maroon cusp eyes appearing and then fading away.

The sound of a lyre rippled through the space; the instrument her ex-ashen Orpheo had once played.

The faces of her old friends drifted by. ID. Bonnie. Vadaya. Glitch. Everyone who had left her behind.

Then many more grew from the shadows of her forest, a phantom crowd who were not quite solid. They glared at the medic accusingly, pointing translucent fingers. 

Those she’d killed. Those she’d failed. All the trolls of the summer court’s mirages.

Except this time they came at her call. 

They whispered things she could not make out. Saying one word over and over again.

Murderer? Malpracticer? 

Tobria landed near her in a clearing she summoned and folded his wings, growing still.

“I don’t expect you to spare me.” She murmured. “I know I deserve to die. You and Cyvell are two of many I’ve hurt. Trolls. Fae. Undead. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m so, so tired…I just want the Varzims back. They’re not what she thinks.”

The doctor filled the dream with all she knew of Thrixe and Zanzul, every time the Varzims had helped her or laughed with her, swam with her, bickered with each other. Every time Thrixe had given Archimedes a treat, or Zanzul had made flowers for clinic patients bloom.

Every small moment of kindness she could remember.

“What Thrixe did was an accident.” She said. “He would have tried to fix it if he’d known.”

A brief silence stretched between them, and a warm wind whistled through her hair. 

“That does not excuse it.” said the Fireseer, but a note of hesitance had entered his voice. “That power can warp the world, even without intention. It is why I warned the fae of the malediction. 

He looked up at the sky, the wings on his head folding up.

“I do not agree with how Cyvell sent the Varzims away, as she greatly upset the natural order…but if it protects us, at least some good will have come of it.”

He paused, apparently considering something, two of his masks contemplative as the other looked hesitant.

Almost afraid.

He looked at her, more keenly and piercingly than he had before, the wings on his head extending again. As if seeing her clearly for the first time.

“Come closer, yellowblood.”

She did so without question.

The angel-fae took her hands in his taloned paws, his lightly scaled skin dark red with hints of blue and gold where it was not scarred over with metallic golden tissue. 

“Ah…” he said, with a sound like he was releasing a long, deep sigh. “I have already failed.”

Was that a faint, sad smile on the long toothy mouth?

She stared at him blankly.

“I should kill you.” He said, sad yet with a hint of amusement that seemed directed at himself more than her. “But I would only be burying my own guilt again.”

She blinked at him, not understanding.

Had what she done worked?

Tobria seemed…resigned. Why, she couldn’t explain. 

The dream began to dissolve. The various environments twisted, melted…

She gasped awake, her eyes opening as she sat up in the sand, shaking off grit as she felt her body covered in sweat.

Tobria loomed over her, but neither his body language nor his masks displayed any hint of rage. His tail was still, his fires low.

Then he looked over in a different direction, wings raised slightly in alertness.

“They are coming.”

“Who?” She mumbled, standing up again with effort.

“The royals. And their messengers” 

Her eyes went wide as she could hear and then see their rapid approach - the rulers of three courts - and the winter court’s representative - as they ran and flew toward her and the angel-fae. A dark mass of shadows followed them.

Cyvell was unsurprisingly absent.

Ullane braced herself. She had no energy left to run or fight, and she had no idea where Epsilo was. She had to face them.

“Who are you?” Demanded the four fae at once as they arrived, golden crowns draped around their ears, horns, and antennae.

“Give us your name!” They commanded, staring her down with animal and insect eyes. 

Surrounded, the woman knew she had no choice but to do so, even though it would give them a power over her that would doom her as surely as if she stayed silent. 

As she opened her mouth, drawing breath to speak, something clicked into place. 

Ullane understood, then, what Uryali had been trying to tell her in her dreams.

She understood what Tobria’s prophecy had been about all along.

She was sure he did as well, for the angel-fae stared into her eyes with all of his own, as if he knew what was coming. Yet he made no move to stop her. 

“I am the Maledict.”

A swirl of shadows descended just as they had for Pestilence as her words rang throughout the whole of Sunrest, their sound echoing in its most distant sandy corners, for all else was silent.

The messenger fae flowed around her like dark water, and in a single low, clear voice, they added their statement as the royals reeled back in horror and disbelief.

This truth is accepted.