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pandoramusicbox · 3 years ago

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Torshi also called the “Great Green”. Torshi is a large region east of the stone trees and west of the Grandorian mountains and its foot hills. the region is also cut off in the north by the endless forest. it is a decently bit smaller in the dry lands. (roughly the size of Argentina.) the Pass is an artificial passage that has been cut through the endless forest connecting the northern and southern parts of the Scalipian continent. the opening to the pass is located in the great green region. the region is lush and fertile. with a great number of green forest. there are great swaths of rolling prairie fields criss crossed with farms that bloom out around the sparse towns scattered throughout the region. this region is home to many large nations, consisting of many small towns and city states that are ruled by an influential and powerful city that acts as the head of the country though each city state tends to pull their own neighboring towns, villages and hamlets into their own influence. theres lots of space but the population of the region is relatively low outside of towns and cites, this leaves huge swaths of untouched land to be grazed by large herbivores, and stalked by great predators. at night star beasts and night giants roam the lands in their territories. other creatures from the endless forest also make their home in the forests and fields of the regions, plant beasts and ivelar abound and basilisks makes their nest in the branches of tall trees. hunting hares and field sparrows. because of the proximity to the endless forest theres a great deal of monstrous beasts that make their mark on the region, werewolf, raphem, and chimeric monstrosites of the forest can often pose a threat to those who travel alone over the fields and through there forests. monster hunting is a rather respected profession because of this, and with the influence of the organization it became more connected and easier to help gain aid for magic that runs amuck in the region. how magic is treated is generally diffrent depending on town, province or countries, though the general consensus is that if your species is of heaven or demon kin whatever magic or shapeshifting you naturally posses is inconsequential and issues only arise if you display magic when your species dosen’t naturally posses any and forbid the idea you where to attempt to pursue and learn magic. locally they call such magic chaos magic or dark magic, and its often highly restricted or frowned upon. Even though there are many nations of the region, the majority of the countries speak some sort of Torshee. the language is what named the region as people of the region only refer to themselves as “those of the great green”. some species of the region - humans, a unique thing about humans and their close relatives in this region is that a lot of the diffrent towns and countries tend to have a rather unique appearances, in simpler terms there are a lot of diffrent ethnic groups in the area, in the south east skin is on the darker side and hair colors ranging in the blonds to reddish browns, while in the north the skin tone tends to be a bit lighter and people tend to have darker hair color including more blue tones like teal or grey. -elve, there are many elv in this region of the world, specifically the two most elva and alve. -eyed, the majority of eyed in this region have relatively few eyes, around 3-5 and are incredibly common. -faun, a kind of human kin, who sometimes placed as anima kin depending on who is asked. they are humans who have horns. most faun have small horns, but sometimes they are larger. - korder elk, large deer their most notable feature are their horns, beyond just having two pairs of horns, one set on top of their head and a second set near their jaw in order to dig up roots. their horns have spots that can illuminate. - brown bears, and speckled forest bears. so bears are notably smaller animals in music box compared to their earth counter parts, at least in scalipia they are about the size of a pony, a bit larger sometimes. even though they are small they are still not a creature to be trifled with. -wild horses, fat, furry, often having chestnut, brown and golden coats, with lighter underbellies. near their manes they often have vague striped patterns. - red speckled deer, moose and small trail deer are all around, other mundane animals like badgers, fox squirrels, bramble wolves, pesk weasels, wild hogs, night doves, grouse, sparrows, rose-faced pheasants, hedgehogs, a variety o insects and small critters, raccoons, grey tip foxes, golden foxes (drylands), silver back foxes (Grandora), mores, and tree-climbing pangolin. -prong horns, they are more found towards the drylands but their migratory paths take them into the great green during the dry season of the dry lands as they search for food and water. these antelope are fat but mainly preyed upon by prauds. as they are the only preditor that can keep up with their speed. - Aurochs. these are giant wild cows. they surprisingly only have some overlap in range with the woodland bison. - bassel crocodiles. small pigmi crocodiles who live in more marshy regions, they don’t tend to pose any decent danger to humans, they have great camouflage that looks like logs, its been reported that their scales can rearrange themselves to change their camouflage. - giant land crabs, they are big and their shells can be found littering the planes often be mistaken for large rocks. they then to be more grey and brown in color rather than the reds of their sea-bound relatives. they are also found in the endless forest. one dose not want to get between two male crabs battling. the males are notably larger than the female crabs. they also taste quite good, though some people refrain from eating them due to thoughts that they are the pets of gods, while others regard them as dirty due in part tho that they eat decomposing material and burry themselves in mud, also their foaming mouths are rather intimidating. they resemble a number of crab species but most like hermit crabs, coconut crabs and blue crabs. - prauds: speedy creatures, they have long tails and speckled patterns they look a lot like giant cats. in their coat they have thick brissels that can channel an electric current when threatened. - forest lions, the name is deceptive they roam in small packs of 4-9 individuals. they mostly prowl around at night, and mainly hunt the midsized game. -duelos, the shapeshifting demons that are two or more people sharing a single body. -orcs, are in many regards simular to wild swines, but they have a diffrent body build, with thick arm-like forelegs ending in long claws they use for things like shoveling through hard dirt, and moving stones. they are less intelligent than the wild hogs, but are decent climbers when trees are big enough to support their weight. -temacrans, more common towards the Grandorian foot hills, these underground dwelling creatures have long necks that they can stretch and retract as needed, they are opportunistic ambush predators, and will mainly eat hares and small creatures, but some larger specimens will eat large creatures. -morphlings, creatures often humanoids, who have the ability to shape shift into another creature often a creature native to their local area, so say that morphings are a lot like the Astoria, where spirits of the animals they shape-shift into possess the person as a baby and then lives with their host for the rest of their life. others say morphlings come about from ancient cross breeding of vampiers and humans and other still say its due to a witches curse. some morphings are sometimes mistaken for tailed and vise versa. - drakes and wyverns, they are not incredibly common in the region but they do have their local territories. drakes tend to prefer deep forests and swampy places while the wyverns like the more open fields. -not deer, strange creatures that are predators, they mimic the appearance of creatures they hunt, deer. deer are their preferred prey. but they have been seen to eat other things, they attach themselves to a host that they kill and slowly eat, and will puppet the body to bring it closer to its next prey before striking out. when not attached to a body they appere as a rather jellyfish like, but with lots of teeth and four eyes. the more their host body decomposes the more obvious their strangeness becomes. its unknown weather or not these creatures are intelligent as sometimes they act like it. - imps, bat winged people with ever dwindling numbers. they have large sensitive ears, keen eyes that can see in the dark, and long thin tails that end in tufts of fur. though they prefer to live closer to the stone trees they do migrate out over the great green. - keredeshi vampires, they are close relative to the vampiers in the north but have some notably diffrent features, for one their ears tend to be notably pointed and often have grey freckles and skin discolorations, also most notably is the different shape their wings of dread take, as they are more jagged and bat-like compared to the more butterfly like wings of the vampires in the north. - woodland bison, rather large furry creatures with beep curly fur. they have a pair small curled golden horns with several tendril like whiskers near the mouth. these tendrils are used for feeding, as though the woodland bison are mostly grazers, they do eat other things outside of just grass, technically making them mixed feeders. the bison are much too heavy to attempt to stand on their hind legs to feed on the leaves of low hanging branches, and absolutely can not climb tree. instead the tendrils can be used to strip leaves and bark and moss in harder to reach places, they usually have anywhere fro. two to eight of these tendrils. - giant snails, also acid snails and just generally highly decretive shells. many of them live in the deep marsh, and in the mossy forest.

(all photos are stock photos and are used only to help in visualization, if a photo is not a stock photo it was not known to me)

#worldbuilding #pandoramusicbox #green fields #green forest #green moodboard #worldbuildingculture #worldbuildinggenetics #not deer #drakes #whyverns #shapeshifter #werewolves #vampiers #horned person #imps #giant monsters #giant crab #imp

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some-cookie-crumbz · 8 years ago

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Here Comes the Boom

Title: Here Comes the Boom - Kidge Week 2017 Day 6 Prompt Fill Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Keidge Summary: Pidge and Keith get assigned to save a hostage and it doesn’t go quite as planned. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more. AN: This went totally different than I planned but it still turned out kinda cute.

Getting separated from the team was always a risky, stressful situation.

It was worse when he was on his own, but this time he at least had Pidge with him; albeit with the addition of a native toddler, but it was still better than being alone. They had landed on a planet under Galra control and been able to convince the native people – Trabbotians, as he recalled – to agree to help them fight. Their young Prince had made one request, however; rescue the young Prince’s beloved baby neice, whom had been kidnapped and held hostage by the Galra in a recent attempt at rebellion by the people.

“Please,” Prince Antecrodius had pleaded in a shaky, tearful tone, “dear Vonnettella is the only kin I have left in this world. Perhaps it is wrong of me to ask strangers such as yourselves to help right a mistake I myself made, but I… I cannot stand the thought of what those fiends could be doing to her.”

Keith had reached out and settled a hand on the other male’s shoulder. “We’ll do all we can to get Vonnettella back for you,” He promised the other, smiling gently at the grateful tears in the other’s large, dark eyes.

The plan was to take Red in and save the small Trabbotian child, as Red was the fastest. Pidge had gone along to assist in hacking into the ship and tracking the child down. She hadn’t been very hard to find once they hacked inside; she was wailing something fierce and there was a heavy sentry guard set in front of her cell. Keith made quick work of the sentries while Pidge hacked open the doors. Vonnettella had been cowering in the far corner, her little ears tipped down and nearly invisible in her hair. The poor thing was terrified and had to be carried out by Pidge, too afraid to even unfurl form the ball she’d formed.

It was when they got back into Red that things went awry.

The Galra had sent out an entire fleet to chase after Red alone while the other three tried to defer fire. Keith and Red had tried their best to get away – using every little piloting trick they had up their sleeve to sneak away – but in the end luck wasn’t on their side. The sky of the planet had grown dark, and just then it began a downpour. One strong flash of lightening came down right along the back of Red’s neck, sending her systems into overdrive before fizzling out. As they went down, Keith had grabbed Pidge to pull her and Vonnettella closer to him, hoping to keep them both from receiving too many injuries in the crash.

Thankfully enough, they were mostly just shaken up as opposed to hurt by the rough landing. Red had just enough energy to get herself upright and get them a cave to hide in before her body gave up and she slumped to the ground. “You okay, girl?” He asked worriedly.

He felt gentle reassurance from Red in the back of his mind just before her shield flickered to life; it wasn’t much comfort, but it did help him feel a bit better. He turned to look at Pidge, whom had shifted away from him a bit to lean against one of the walls of the cockpit and slide down. Vonnettella clutched tighter to Pidge, letting out a nervous little whimper. “Shiro, it’s Pidge. How are things out there?” She asked into her helmet. Keith felt concern when he only heard her words as they echoed around the cockpit as opposed to in his helmet as well. She waited then winced a bit and tugged off her helmet. “I think my communicator got knocked out of place or something. Any word over yours?”

He tried checking his own but only received static. He shook his head at her then leaned closer to look at Vonnettella worriedly. “No word. How is she holding up?” He asked.

Pidge turned her attention toward the small Trabbotian in her arms. The Trabbotians were similar to what fauns were typically portrayed as, only the animal attributes were not based on goats but rather deer. Vonnettella had curled her little deer-like legs into her chest and her ears twitched up briefly when she realized they were both looking at her. “You doing okay?” Pidge asked, reaching up to gently push some hair out of her face.

The small child responded by pointing and opening her mouth and letting out a small squeak.

“Are… Are you hungry?” Keith asked as he got out of the pilot’s chair and approached them.

She turned and looked at him, ears flopping back down a bit before nodding meekly.

“Do you have any rations? Would the rations even be safe for her to eat? Did you happen to catch how similar to human… Er, Altean… Genetics the Trabbotian are?” Pidge asked worriedly, glancing from Keith to Vonnettella.

“No, but I’m sure there’s gotta be something in here that she can eat,” He said with a small sigh, heading over to the small emergency kit they all kept in their Lions. Inside they kept first aid kits, emergency flares, small food rations and other such items, just in case they needed them. He opened his own food ration kit and rummaged through. There were a few packages of some kind of jerky, some juice pouches, but also a few granola bar-esque item. It was mostly fruits and nuts so he figured that’d be his best bet, since he wasn’t sure if Trabbotians were herbivores. He grabbed two bars, a juice pouch, and headed over to join Pidge and Vonnettella. “Here, let’s see how this treats you.” He said, tearing open one of the bars and offering it to her.

She took it and started chowing down with such eagerness that it was heartbreaking. “Were they even feeding her?” Pidge grumbled angrily as he settled down beside her.

“Probably not enough,” He said as he punctured the pouch with the straw. Vonnettella perked up and licked her lips a bit, having already devoured the bar and abandoned the wrapped in her lap. She tried to reach for the other bar but he offered her the juice pouch instead. “Here, have a sip or two of this first, sweetie.” He said softly.

She whimpered but took the juice pouch, chugging down half of it before pointing at the bar again. Pidge hummed as she watched Keith open the second bar and switch it with the pouch. “You’re really good with kids,” She commented quietly.

He perked up and shrugged. “It’s not hard. You just be nice to kids,” He said gently. He then looked over toward Red’s eyes and stared out at the downpour outside. “Huh, it’s really coming down out there. Hopefully it lets up soon.” He mumbled.

“Ta’tol,” Vonnettella mumbled softly, a hint of a needy whine to her tone. With their communicators down, they couldn’t exactly understand the language of the Trabbotians, but they had a thought of what she was implying.

“She must miss her family. I mean, last time she saw them they were in battle with the Galra,” Pidge chimed softly.

Keith hummed and reached down to gently ruffle Vonnettella’s hair. She perked up and looked up at him curiously. “We’re gonna get you back to your family. This storm will blow over soon enough and then you can go home where it’s safe. I promise,” He said, gentle and passionate. She watched him, her light brown eyes shining in a mix of confusion from being unable to understand him. It seemed, however, that his point got across through tone as her ears perked up and she smiled back at him after a moment.

He and Pidge exchanged small smiles of their own, leaning their shoulders against one another, and hunkering down to wait it out.

#Voltron legendary defender #Keidge #Kidge #Peith #kidgeweek #Pidge Gunderson #Keith Kogane #my fics

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tarotkinreads · 8 years ago

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hello! im faun kin (like the half-human half-deer kind) and i was hoping for some general insight into what my life was like? thank you so much!!

No problem, I asked the cards and this is what they gave me:

Past: Three of Swords

Your younger years were not kind to you, the aura around this period of your life was tense and uncomfortable, and you felt almost trapped. Perhaps you or someone close to you were betrayed and it had heavily effected you since. Maybe you went through heartbreak or your family had divided, which lead to devastating effects to your attitude.

Present: The Devil

You carried that sorrow throughout your life and you had problems letting go. You ended up having an almost pessimistic view towards life, and tended to blame every problem you faced on something else or on outer forces instead of what really was the problem, and sometimes it was you. Whatever had happened when you were younger never really got out of your life, and you had problems not letting it affect you. You had almost accepted this mindset.

Future: Knight of Pentacles

You eventually moved past that area in your life, however maybe a little too late. It still shaped the way you did things, you had a need for perfection out of fear of something like that happening again. You were a hard worker and also often worked a lot in order to distract yourself, but this lead to distance and awkwardness with others. You had only a few friends because of this.

Sorry for such a negative reading, but I hope this helps !

#tarot readings #faunkin #Anonymous

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therealvagabird · 8 years ago

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Confrontation in the Faerie Court

A short story about fey folk, by C. Christiansen.

The murmur of the great hall was like the rustling of fresh leaves—soft, smooth, though full of vigor and debauched joy. Wine, sap, the dampness of morning, and other pleasing smells flowed among the gathered fey like so many rain-fed streams, swelled with joy at the coming springtime. In the court of the deep-woods, where the spirits and elves of the Green gathered in reverie, all was painted in the fresh hues of new life. Soil rich and black, sprouting forth a soft and verdant bed of clover upon which the courtiers strode with treads lighter than dewdrops, the green of the floor blending up through new moss-growths and ivy to the hearty trunks that supported and sheltered the hall, their bark hard and their limbs stiff, as the ancient and massive arboreals shook off the last grasps of winter. Even those elements of the hall which bled no green or showed no sway seemed rich with life, as the very boulders and walls of the building stitched themselves together by the cracks with fresh creepers, and their glittering surfaces reflected back the beaming light that filtered through the canopy in a dazzling display of so many gemstone raindrops. Were one not of the woodfolk, it could be troublesome telling where the bounds of wild nature ended and the intricate architecture of the fey began. Harmony was the heart of the overgrown artistry—more ruin than building, yet more a gilded frame for their festive gathering than a necessary shelter.

Above the mingling of tree-bloods and masked faeries, of sprites and nymphs and beastkin, sat the royal couple, on their thrones of root and horn—though such distinctions blurred amongst the green-elves, who were neither flesh nor fiber. They were two the lords of these deep woods, which they called Aill na Oltu, the king and queen of those lands and people they knew and cared for. Fresh-faced, young, radiant sat the Lady Ljos, first daughter of the King Aulberros of the northern marches. Her crown was adorned with the white blooms of spring, and her antlers grew small but sturdy, already freed of the down of late-winter, when she was but a child once more. Beside her, dwarfed on the very throne he had filled with grandeur but a season before, sat her husband, Lord Carnayn, who’s childlike form lounged in forgone resignation, so far was it from the image he had gathered in his broad Hunts. To the far south he was the Dhul-Siad, the Horned Hunter, who rode across the skies of the northern grasslands in the high summer whenever the want took him, and to the far north as the Ded Boreos, or Morozkh, who brought the chill of winter to the highlands and fields, to mont and steppe alike.

Such titles were meaningless in truth—loans from myths of mortals that the ancients adopted with pride. Lord and Lady alike were but one facet of the Great Mother and Father—of whom the hills and dales of Aill na Oltu were but one holding amongst many.

“M’Lady! M’Lord!” an elf-kindred strode up the stone steps to the foot of the thrones, his strides long and birdlike, an image furthered by the grand mask of feathers he wore, and the troupe of songbirds that fluttered about his mantle. “Have you no requests? The choir, the orchestra, they wish to lift the spirits of the Reborn Lord.” He bowed to Carnayn, who scratched at one of his mossy horn-stubs. Still as early in the spring as it was, the woodsie royal looked nary older than a human child of eight, as his re-coronation was but a month past.

Ljos, who resembled more a woman of ripe marrying age, beckoned forth the maestro, past the high guard, who stood stoic amongst the party with legs of wood and pikes of jet. The lady whispered something into his ear, the feathers that grew from the point of which plucked up at the sound.

“If that should please him. I’ll inform the hornists.” He bowed, swirling back as his cape fanned and he glided down back into the fray of the bacchanal, coasting to his parapet above the assemblage of musicians, outfitted with the bizarre and mystical instruments of the woodland coterie. Glass-stringed harps of horn; violins looking as though they’d not be carved, but plucked from a branch; cornets and flutes of ivory bone, all inlaid with amber, charcoal engravings, or hung with colorful feathers. Drums sounded, resonant and unmeasured, formed of hollow stones, fallen logs, and yet more bones—removed from their grim appearance by the sheer craftsmanship and reverence of those creatures who had provided the fate-given gifts.

The conductor whistled like a trilling frog, gathering the attention of the band, who’d been ambling on with loose improvisation. With a flick of his baton—one of the talons on his own finger—he parted the air like water, magic rippling out through the green light about him. At the wave of his other hand, twinkling lights like swirling fish issued forth and scattered amongst the ensemble, the glowing pixies whispering in ears the next song to be played. Hornists’ chests swelled, and the branch-waifs of the choir lilted and grinned in anticipation.

The audience looked on, aware of the sudden silence that announced the beginning of a proper song.

“To the springtime, M’Lord!” the conductor called back to the throne, “And to the summer it will issue! May your anticipation for the Great Hunts to be held begin today!” he snapped his finger, and the booming declarations of horn-trumpets and drums reverberated in a grand opening, as the wistful, valkyrian sopranos floated out over the invigorated crowds.

Upon the hawkish wings of wind, he flies

Between the thundering rains of summer’s heat!

With bow of gleaming white he sees his prize

Upon hart-back he leads the hunters fleet!

Thunder signs the Wild Hunt!

Lightning signs the Wild Hunt!

Singing signs the Wild Hunt!

All the bonds of nature

The rains of justice of the Hornèd King

Hail to freedom! Hail to the Faerie King!

Carnayn looked to his bride with an admission of pleasure. He continued to lounge in silent enjoyment, however, than risk any more dramatic motion coming off as childlike bouncing. The subjects of his court were happy, they were nourished and watered, and he still had the whole of spring to drink deep of the waters of new life, and prepare himself for rides and revelries to make the summer his.

As the music swelled to its finish, in a suitable and dramatic fashion for the lord, a dissonance pierced in amongst the sopranos just before their climax, persisting onwards into the orchestral finish, howling out amongst the strings and drums. A voice, a clear vocal tone that moved forward, cutting through the air just as the figure who carried it cut through the crowd that had but now realized it was barging through them in the first place.

“eeeEEEYAAAAA—BUM BAM—barumda baddum BAM—BAAAAAA—” his screech cut off at the song’s premature ending, the haughty musicians insulted in the highest at the disharmony. The conductor himself swirled around with all the fury of a ruffled owl, to stop—pale faced and wide-eyed—at the sight.

Standing like a pillar of ivory amongst the much more diminutive wood-fey was as jagged and discordant a form as the note he’d held. Dwarfed only by the tree-kin, the creature’s face was the sole part of its form not encased in its bonelike coat of plates, its skin a blackened shade offset from total pitch by the faintest hint of green, while its hair—though long and formed into elegant cascades—was yellow-grey and stringy. Its eyes peered out from the void of its dark face like two pink embers. Close observation could see that lining the lids of its burning eyes seeped a burgundy liquid in place of tears—a similar liquid that seemed to be crusted amongst the joints of its armor, and ran in the occasional rivulet like thickened wine. Over his harsh and bladed mantle, he wore a robe of a black-green to match his skin, crafted of fine silk, though frayed and burnt at the very edges, just as his ivory boots were stained by a mixture of soot, and his own ichor. The creature’s scent preceded him, aroma like sweetened rot; and behind him the faint wither of his passage stained the otherwise immaculate clover.

“You dare enter my hall?” Lord Carnayn hissed down from his dais, delicate hands clutching at the carved wolf-visages that were set into his armrests.

“I was quite enjoying that stupid little symphony. Did you not approve of my additions?” the creature’s bemused smile was razor sharp, as its eyes traced between the conductor and the king.

“In spring? Upon this festival?” the Lord of the Hunt spat again.

The figure seemed to roll his eyes, casting them up to the black horns upon his own forehead. These were not the noble antlers of the royalty—but two spiral-knives protruding from his brow, ridged with bizarre spikes. “I was informed of a conjunction.” He sneered back, nose upturned, “You should know of such an event, should you not? Here? Beneath the sky, better than one who spends his days deep beneath the blackest stones?” his grin returned, foul and painful, “I understand you tree-hoppers are uncultured, but please! Look up for a change—treetops and sunlight can’t be much more boring than stalactites.”

“What do you want, Exile? Why have you intruded upon our hall? Who do you answer to?” Ljos’ imperious gaze was ireful and stern. The Exiles, the deepest-fey, were not welcome in any court—not even those they kept themselves, such was the prevalence of their trickery and foulness. She pitied the very soil that had to support its charred boots.

“Answer to? Why myself, first and foremost—” his eyes drifted off, wistful, “Oh, but you must mean who has told me to come here, and stain my boots with deer shit.” His look was midway between a grimace and a sneer as he looked to a pairing of fauns—clad in as immaculate a garb as any other courtier. “That would be Lord Alkhayt the Vile, the sovereign of the Spider’s Halls, Duke of the Long Wail and the Bloody Purl; and commander of the wrought fanes of many a coven.” The creature coughed for a moment, wiping the burgundy liquid from its mouth, “Other titles as well, though they cannot be spoken here.” He looked to a dwarfish sprite, who’s wide eyes were fixed on his sharp movements, “Or maybe yes? How strong is your stomach?”

“Then who is the sycophant we’ve been sent?” Carnayn glared.

“I am Dokk’Seqer, foremost speaker of the War-Coven of Azdahag.” His bow was high and elaborate, “Here upon the soon-eve of this grand astral event to offer you colloquy on matters most pressing.”

“We will grant no time nor audience to the ravings of the exiles. Leave now, before you spoil the bed of undergrowth itself, and sour our guest’s wine.” Ljos commanded, her olive hands drifting out of long, mint-silk sleeves to grab for her stave—a branch of living cypress.

“I think you’ll find things far more sour in your beds and cups if you do not heed my words!” Dokk’Seqer jabbed a blade-digit of his gauntlet forward, “Perhaps it won’t be me!” He hissed some broken laugh at his own attempted humor, looking around for any minor snicker to compliment his own. His disappointment fell on one random elf-maiden among the crowds, “I’ll bite out your heartstrings, you humorless kashir—” though his curse was left unfinished as the utterance of the word prompted another spurt of burgundy from his lips.

Ljos just shook her head. The creature was unsettling even to look out, like all of the dark kin. It’s every adornment given over to the elegance of inflicting pain, and announcing its own superiority—its appearance straddling the line between unnatural and beautiful—a trait shared by all the fey folk, though in the case of the exiles, it was by the harsh touch demonic.

“I need no help from deep-forged war machines or black magics upon my Hunts.” Carnayn called down from his seat, “And lest you seek the threaten me beneath the very boughs of my own court, there is no threat which the peoples of the Green cannot fight themselves. Neither you, nor your masters, have any power within my wood.”

“Well—” Seqer chuckled, “Somewhat true. But tell me, lest I blow you away with my enlightenment prematurely: how have the last years been out on the Hunt? Many blasphemers dragged off? Defilers shot down? How often have you heard the strum of harps and the call of flutes—next to how many times you’ve heard the trundle of mills and the clang of—church bells?” he spat, the spittle sizzling upon the poor clover.

Carnayn squinted at him, youthful face trying its hardness to match the ancient fury that lied within its golden-green eyes.

“You’re had boy-king!” Seqer laughed, “Your forests dwindle and the realm of mortals grows like so many delicious rats swarming over the rotting corpse of a voluptuous maiden.” It drooled, “The grand empires of humanity, so taken with purity and civilization care nothing for your power. Soon they’ll be tramping through these deeplands—for good this time!—and be having you like they have their altar boys back home.”

The arm of the spring-lord flexed with hidden muscle as he went for his greatbow, midway through nocking an arrow when Ljos, of all, put her hand up to stop her husband’s wrath.

“What do you know of these things? Do you think the humans and their kind would be so foolish as to forget where they’ve come from? Or do your lords and ladies and—other fiends—fear for their own safety, faced with the searing light of the mortals’ faith? Tell me: how many of your ilk have been sent out to pollute the world? What of the northern forests, and the grey-fey?”

Pointed gauntlets rested on the demon’s chest in a haughty gesture, “You’ll find many of your sap-blooded ilk agree with our attestations and plans. You think I would be so stupid as to point it out as—frankly as I have?”

“I think you would be so arrogant.”

“You commune with corruptive forces! Whatever aspirations the mortals harbor, they will fall in time to the balance of nature! You fall outside the Wheel, you would see us all wither, like the once-mortals in the Drained Lands! Or in the Knives of Urs!”

“Necromancers?” the exile blew a raspberry, waving his arm in a gesture so dismissive his very elbow bent backwards upon itself—a motion he seemed to find of little discomfort, “Please, Lord Catamite, you give us too little credit. Though—” he scratched at his horned chin, “We might have heard rumors that there’s been much blood shed between them and the barbarian tribes. Mmm, to think—with the northern shamans dead, and the southern raiders gone, who would be left to carry on the reverence of the woods? Or to stem the tide of the mortal empire?”

“Then perhaps you should go parlay with them, if you’re so hell-bent on killing humans.” Carnayn still gripped at his throne, “And then when your blackened machines attempt another crusade we can have a repeat performance of the old wars, and my trees will have bone meal aplenty to feed on, and I can carve the names of another thousand demons onto the horns within my trophy-hall!”

“I see you are more obsessed with your own traditions than you are in survival.” Dokk’Seqer frowned as if he had smelled something fowler than himself, “You’d turn down your own soul-kin and let the pathetic feet of mortals trod all over you. A dark alignment is coming! You scoff at the power and fear you could command of the mortals, how much you could show them true nature of the world they live in, and the very stars and planets align for you! But no, you think you would just—wait? Wait while a Black Hunt could be yours? Perhaps you have even less sense than the death-mages, it’s true.”

Ljos stood up, staff held with commanding yet languid grip.

“I remember the times when our kinds could cavort together, unbothered by the machinations of the primitive humans.” Seqer’s sigh was overemphasized and harsh, “Orgies for weeks, Wild Hunts that actually took captives and didn’t just—parade about the sky for the sake of it, actual bloody craftsmanship.” He sneered around the palace, “And now what? You live in a ruin? The Fane of Azdahag would put this place to shame. The Spider Halls—have you been? They sing more beautifully than the sad screeching of this orchestra.”

“Leave!” Ljos commanded, her voice darkening, “You have no place nor purpose here. I am not above killing a messenger just for insolence. Tell your lords they can wage war on their own, and expect no harbor in the forests.”

The demon-kind threw his hands up, shaking his head, “Sad, sad fools. If you insist. But when your woods burn I will be there amongst the Blackened Host, to laugh and cavort like these were the First Days.” He spun around to kick up his cape, proceeding back the way he came, to the enchanted arch of the hall’s entrance, the crowds parting before him. “Mmm, hello.” He stopped for half a moment in front of an elf dancer, “Make my trip less disappointing? The trip to the Slave Pits is an exciting one—”

“LEAVE!” Ljos boomed after him, sending the creature on his way, and the courtier disgusted.

The air shimmered with a crackling snap as the dark-fey moved under the arch of the exit, dissipating back to whatever wayshrine he had come from.

Awkward silence reigned in the court for a good few minutes, interspersed by distressed murmuring as the royal couple overserved in spirit.

It is never a good sign when the exiles seek audience. I expect foul play. Carnayn posited.

The only play of the demon-breeds is foul play. We will protect our lands as we always have. We’ve no other foes, and the dark ones are alone in their fight. Ljos assured her consort.

I will be sure to raze the imperial lands that lie upon the marches. The Hunt will be a long one this year. If a dark conjunction does occur, I will take advantage of it. It is only an exile who thinks such events can only be used by fell sorcerers.

Be cautious, my love.

Ljos stood again, and waved her staff in conjuration of a warming light.

“Not even the foul words of one such as that will spoil the celebrations of the Green!” Ljos smiled, and none could see what little concern flickered in her eyes, “Our power watches over you, and your love shall shield yourselves. Dance again, and cast off the worries of winter and the deep. It is spring!”

Laughs arose as drinks were raised yet again, and the conductor smoothed out his feathers to begin a new tune. The hall of the faerie lord was alive again, as the harmony of nature once more took hold of the courtiers’ hearts, as only it could with the forest-children.

—

With the conclusion of the chant, the roiling black subsided, and the pool within the center of the room grew glass-still once more, as the dark smoke dissipated across the floor or up into the high vaults of the ribbed ceiling. The black-cloaked forms of the Council of Seven sat back into their ebony chairs, each one unique and hideous in their own way—both the councilors and their thrones.

“We may now begin.” The head of the horseshoe-shaped table—Lord Muvad—announced, pale hands crossed. Everything about him was sharp, from his pale and inhuman face, to his filed and dirty nails. “I believe that Councilor Krex has many things to say about progress on his Black Chariots, but first, if Councilor Vomengro would update us on the findings of his northern spies?” The figure invited another of the black-cloaks around the table, the one known as Vomengro, distinguished by hiding even more of his flesh under black, silken gloves, and a white death-mask formed as a bird-like face.

“As you should all know; I have many eyes—especially in the lands of Urs.” The gaunt-masked councilor began, his nasal and rasping voice in opposition to the smooth baritone of the council head, “The forces of the Ancient One are entangled with the shamans of the northern tribes. With its hunger sated on the blood of barbarians, we will be free to maintain our own order until such time as we can take advantage of the imminent conjun—”

“GENTLEMEN!” A voice rang out through the dingy assemblage, snapping the heads of the gathered necrocracy, “And—ladies?” the demon-elves, in tandem, stepped from the shadows, the one in a green cloak holding a quizzical tilt in reference to the two slighter figures among the thrones—one necromancer so old and withered as to be either crone or codger, and the other’s flesh concealed under armor of dark iron.

“What foolish deep-dweller dares intrude upon this council?” Muvad railed.

“You have not been permitted entry! This is against all ritual!” one of the men, with sagging white skin and black lips, spat out.

“Oh pardon us.” One of the two fey mocked, this one marked by a red cape, “It’s just we felt there were matters at hand that were less soul-rapingly dull.” It looked around, “You do realize colors exist other than black?”

“State your allegiances, elves! And do not commit mockery within our own domain!” the vampiric Muvad speaker ordered.

“Why should we grant audience to such petulant demons, when there are important matters at hand?!” Vomengro hissed.

“You can talk about idiotic schematics, and cowering from you dread father later. We bear actual news on this astral eve. News of mortals and fey-kin.” Dokk’Seqer spoke up, “That I believe would be of interest to your rotting old ears.”

#fantasy #fey #fae #elves #short story

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fluttergayy · 7 years ago

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I’m gonna go for it too !! I’m honestly happy to share memories and such

Q: What is your name?

A: I’m Kass !

Q: How did you find your kintype?

A: well...I’ve always had a strong connection to deer(and I am deerkin!) but I was researching deer-like mythical creatures and I came across fauns. I noticed that their structure and everything matched the phantom limbs I sometimes feel and then it just kinda clicked..I was like “Oh...I’m Faunkin...that’s why I walk upright in some of my memories...”

Q: When did you know?

A: I honestly don’t know?? I have a hard time with time but I think it was around my freshman or sophomore year of high school.

Q: How long have you been a part of the online community?

A: I created my first kin blog sometime last year but I was very innactive on it and I eventually deleted it when I abandoned my old blogs.

Q: Do you have more than one?

A: Yep ! However, my “main” kin is faunkin. I’m also kin with deer and mermaids !

Q: How does that work?

A: hmm..I’ve never really thought about it ‘critically’ before..I guess I’d put it like this: most of the time I feel as if I’m in the wrong body and I’ll get flashbacks of a life I’m not currently living. Based on the phantom limbs, memories, etc. I have to figure out which kin I’m feeling at the time.(which is usually faunkin)

Q: Do you have any memories?

A: I have a lot of memories but one really stood out the most to me from my past life as a mermaid. Basically it involves a female pirate captain that fell overboard from her ship during a battle and I fell in love with her but she feared me.(there’s more but it’s kind of difficult for me to explain things)

Q: Does anyone know?

A: no one irl

Q: What did you look like?

A: I had the fur color of a white tailed deer and had the tail of one too. I wore a belt made of animal hide and no shirt. My hair was long, brown, and naturally curly. I had deer-like ears that were almost always perked up and I had medium sized antlers.

Q: Do you have phantom limbs?

A: yep ! They come and go but they are usually there.

Q: what are they?

A: I usually can feel my antlers, ears, hooves, and tail.

Q: How strongly can you feel them?

A: I can usually feel them very strongly unless I’m doing something that I need to have full focus on.

Q: Do they affect your daily life?

A: sometimes walking is a bit difficult but I’m used to it at this point. I also constantly feel through my hair because it feels so weird that my antlers aren’t actually there.

Q: What makes you feel closer with you kintype?

A: Nature, plants(even fake ones), I’m also in the process of making cosplay faun legs so I can feel closer to my kin...eating salads and certain types of meat, listening to Peter Gundry’s album “The Dream Weaver” bc it has music that has a very forest-y vibe to it.

Q: Is your kintype a psychological, spiritual, or past life?

A: Definitely a past life.

Dear Otherkin Community:

#long post #memories #otherkin #faunkin #mermaidkin

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fableweaver · 7 years ago

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Arc of the Mother Witch

Bailey wearily held Matt up to her breast and he hungrily took to her nipple. It had been two weeks since they left Barrow Múr in ruins, and already she was exhausted by the twin mouths to feed. Ian stood nearby walking back and forth with Will in his arms. Will liked to move about while Matt needed stillness to rest. Which meant one was always awake while the other was asleep.

Taras had been driven off by the two babes’ crying, riding ahead to make plans. He had been impatient with their pace, but Kree’s wagon couldn’t travel very fast. Usually Bailey rode inside with Glen, Ian riding the mare alongside the wagon. Taras seemed to trust Kree in his place, though Bailey did not trust her. She looked across the fire at the Rhodin woman, once again feeling a stab of envy. Kree was beautiful and had Aldan blood like Bailey.

She had yet to say even two words to her however; Taras’ little taunts still stinging. He had told her more than once that Kree would lure Ian away with her beauty and charm. He had pointed out her swelling belly and Kree’s lithe form, saying that any man would choose Kree over her. Bailey tried not to take what he said to heart, but it was hard when she felt like a lazy sow most of the time.

“Are you hungry?” Kree asked looking up from the fire. She pulled several sweet potatoes from the ashes, deftly peeling one and putting it in a bowl.

“I be fine,” Bailey said.

“You’re eating for three,” Kree said. “The first thing to dry up will be your milk if you don’t eat.”

“Ye’ve had children afore?” Bailey asked and Kree smiled sadly.

“Do you know why the Aldan blood is so rare in the Rhodin?” Kree asked. “It’s because most are born sterile. Our races don’t mix well.”

“I be sorry,” Bailey said ashamed.

“Now you know how fortunate you are,” Kree said still smiling. “Both in children and in the Elder Magic.”

“Ye mean…”

“I have little more than a drop,” Kree said. “No more than any other Rhodin. Most do not know, since we keep the secret well, but we can see auras around people. The aura is the shadow of their spirit and tells us their mood and intentions. I can read auras a bit better than most, and it makes me a good fortuneteller.”

“Do ye ken o what be bout ta happen with the Phay?” Bailey asked and Kree nodded.

“The Rhodin felt the stir in the aether,” Kree answered. “I’m not blind nor deaf. Do you know when they will march?”

“I baint ken,” Bailey said looking down at Matt who was still busy suckling. Both were identical with the Daunish coloring of brown skin, but their hair was like Bailey’s dusty grey. Their eyes when they opened proved to be a deep indigo, their ears pointed but their features reminded Bailey more of Ian if his nose had never been broken.

“Eat,” Kree said holding out the bowl. Bailey’s hand went to her still large belly unconsciously. “Oh come now you can’t be thinking about your figure,” Kree said rolling her eyes. “Your husband is blind, if anyone doesn’t care about looks it is him.”

Blushing from both embarrassment and shame Bailey took the bowl. Resting it on Matt’s stomach she started to eat the still warm baked sweet potato. A hand joined her own and she turned to see Ian sit next to her and take a piece of potato.

“I kennin Will be hungry,” Ian said as he popped the potato in his mouth. Bailey looked to see Will routing against Ian’s chest looking for a breast and finding none. She sighed and there was a moment of juggling as they traded babes. Ian took Matt and burped him before he began feeding her sweet potato. Bailey sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling both content and worried at the same time.

Ian put his arm around her and Bailey felt his hand trail down her back. She gave a start when his hand grasped her rump and she turned to him angrily.

“Baint do that,” she whispered.

“Why nowt?” Ian asked grinning.

“I mean it Ian,” Bailey warned. “I baint be in the mood.”

“Aye, ye be tired I ken,” Ian said regretfully. That wasn’t it at all, but Bailey dared not voice her fears. She had kept them close since Kree had joined them. Part of her very well knew that he was not cheating on her with Kree, he barely knew Kree existed. But there was that little dark voice of doubt that spoke every night, saying that she was fat and ugly so of course Ian was sleeping with Kree. Every time he touched her she would wonder if he had touched her the same way.

Ian let go of her, but still sat close, Bailey feeling his silent concern. The next few days were harder and harder, Bailey getting little sleep. Part of it was Matt and Will and their constant care, but another part was her troubles. She was getting more and more moody, snapping at Ian or Glen. One day Ian’s patience ran out.

“Here Bailey,” Ian said handing her a bowl of stew.

“I baint be hungry Ian,” Bailey snapped.

“Eat,” he said tiredly.

“Nowt!” Bailey slapped the bowl out of his hands and Ian swore. He turned to her, his blind eyes unable to see her, but his expression was thunderous.

“Fine starve then!” Ian shouted and his fist clenched. For a moment Bailey thought he might hit her, but she saw his eyes flicker uncertain. He couldn’t see her to strike her and the moment passed. His face drained of blood and Bailey saw his horror as he realized what he had been about to do.

Guilt stole her breath and she leapt to her feet, hurrying away from their camp. The fact that she had driven Ian to feel such anger, and then made him nearly become like his father turned her stomach. Only Will’s muttered sounds reminded her of herself and the fact that she still held him. Swallowing her sobs Bailey stopped to sooth him; he looked up at her with dark indigo eyes as if truly seeing her. For a moment she felt such utter joy looking into his eyes, and she forgot her other troubles. She gently touched the light fluff of his gray hair soothing him.

Feeling slightly better Bailey looked up around her. She was standing by a stream, a ticket of holly and oak trees on the other side. A hillock was behind her and she could still see a trail of smoke from the camp. He Who Reaps was strong now and a little color was beginning to touch the leaves of the oaks. She heard hounds baying and turned but saw nothing through the holly trees. As Bailey watched a doe came bounding out of the trees, her tail high as she ran. The doe saw her and veered towards her, splashing across the stream.

“Help me!” the deer pleaded in the animal voice. She ran and stood behind Bailey, her sides heaving and coat dark with sweat. Bailey noted quickly that the doe was heavy with fawn. “They hunt me!”

Bailey turned to see hounds running though the bushes, horsemen hot on their heels. Anger rose and Bailey looked to the stream, where she could see undines swimming about.

“I call fer yer aid!” Bailey called out as she reached into the water and splashed some up into the air. The undines cried out as well, leaping out to chase the water Bailey had splashed. As they fell back into the stream the water rose, frothing and rising over the banks. The dogs came out of the thicket and a few tried to cross the stream. Though it wasn’t flowing hard, it was now full of undines, and the little wild kin snapped and bit at the dogs driving them back.

The horsemen came out of the thicket, milling about startled that the dogs would not advance. The handlers blew whistles and there was some confusion as the hunt tried to organize itself. The horses would not cross the stream any more than the dogs, their eyes rolling as the undines snapped at them.

Bailey was surprised to see it was a troop of Daunish nobles, their tunics fine and leather boots polished. One man stood out with a circlet of gold on his head. He was about Ian’s age; his dark red hair tied back in a que and face shaven in the southern fashion. He was handsome, his green eyes flashing with authority.

“Who are you to stand between me and my prey?” He shouted as his horse danced under him. It was a southern breed horse, one of the more common breeds coming from the Mark.

“Who be ye ta hunt a doe heavy with fawn?” Bailey asked gesturing to the doe whose head now dropped as she tried to catch her breath. “Be ye un with so little sense?” No one hunted a doe when she was with a faun, it was better to hunt bucks or elderly does.

“I am Dylan Rawn, King of Daun!” the man answered insulted. “These are my hunting lands! You trespass here, now stand aside.”

“I will nowt,” Bailey said hardly. “Ye’ll have ta kill me n mine babe just as ye plan ta kill her n hers.”

“Fucking whore!” the King muttered, Bailey unsure if it were just an oath or an insult. He dismounted, a servant looking startled as he handed over his reigns. He marched over to the bank and started to wade through, blind of the undines in the water.

“Nowt!” Bailey shouted but the undines were in frenzy. They grabbed the king when he was half way through the stream pulling him under the water. The servants and guards cried out, some running for the water. “Stop!” Bailey shouted and the men on the other side heeded her.

She looked to the stream, focusing on one of the undines there. The creature felt her gaze and looked up at her grinning. “Give him back!” Bailey ordered. The undine laughed and others joined it. Bailey shivered and focused her will on the creatures. They flinched, feeling her power on them. “Give him back,” Bailey said lowly.

Slowly the undines calmed and sheepishly they let go of the king. He came to the surface gasping for air, coughing and sputtering as he hurried to the bank on Bailey’s side. He got to his feet, water cascading from his fine clothes. Bailey noted he wore linen and silk rather than Daunish wool. He looked up at her, anger in his eyes.

“You… You had something to do with that,” he gasped and Bailey held Will closer to her fearfully. The doe stepped between them, glaring at Dylan and snorting threateningly.

“Majesty!” one of the guards shouted; they were able to ford the stream now that the undines had retreated. One let loose an arrow and it just missed the doe who gave a start of fear.

“Run!” Bailey shouted to the doe, but she still stood her ground between Bailey and the King. The men began crossing the stream, advancing on her with bows and swords. A howl sounded and everyone froze, Bailey turning to the moors behind her. Walking down the hill was Ian, his eyes wild.

At first Bailey couldn’t see the gnome that guided him, until she looked into Ian’s eyes. They were focused, no longer blind, but the spirit behind them was not Ian’s but the gnome’s. Ian held his blunt ceramic sword, advancing on the men that surrounded her. One raised his bow and let loose an arrow. Bailey cried out as the arrow lodged in Ian’s arm, but he shook it off, his mail absorbing the blow.

He charged howling and the men flinched back from his sudden ferocity. He knocked aside two men with ease, fighting among them like a wild beast. Bailey felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Glen holding Matt.

“W-we have to r-run,” he said lowly.

“Nowt,” Bailey answered. “Take Will.”

She handed Will over to Glen who barely held both babes. She ran, not towards Ian and the fight, but towards the stream. She forded the water and the servants left on the other bank shrank back from her. She ignored them and went to one of the holly tress. She drew her dagger and cut a branch from the tree.

“A ring o leaves n a ring o thorns,” she intoned as she wove the branch into a wreath. She wove in a strand of her own hair, the silver standing out among the dark green leaves of the holly. Holly was gaining power now as oak’s waned with the rising of the He Who Reaps. She turned and ran back towards the stream, fording it again and dipping the holly wreath into the water three times. Ian was possessed by an earth spirit; she would need water to banish it.

She came up on the bank to find Ian now fighting the King. His men lay groaning along the bank, none were dead but many were knocked unconscious.

As she watched Ian kicked Dylan’s feet out from under him, and the king fell to the ground. Ian howled in victory, raising his sword over the king.

“By holly n water I banish ye!” Bailey shouted as she tossed the wreath into the air. It flew true, landing on Ian’s head neatly. He stopped, Bailey seeing the gnome leave his head looking cross. It turned to her and shook a fist but Bailey ignored it, running to Ian. He stood like a statue, his eyes glazed. She touched his face, feeling the stubble of his beard on her fingertips.

“Bailey,” he said softly, his eyes still sightless but returning to awareness.

“Hush, ye be alright now,” Bailey said softly.

“I heard em attackin ye,” he said. “I could do nowt, I asked the gnome ta help me.”

“Ian it possessed ye,” Bailey said shaking her head. “Baint ever do that gain.”

“Sorry,” he said brokenly. He took her hand in his and turned his head, kissing the inside of her wrist tenderly.

“Bailey!” Glen shouted and Bailey turned. Something was coming crashing through the wood, Ian moving to stand protectively between Bailey and the approaching danger. A great big dray horse came barreling out of the woods, a Daunish Knight riding upon its back. The knight was in full ceramic armor, his helmet and visor hiding his face.

“Sir Conor!” one of the servants shouted like the knight was the hero of some fable. Looking at the situation Bailey realized that was sort of what he was. She couldn’t see Sir Conor’s expression but he looked around before lifting the ceramic bladed glaive he bore and drove his heels into his horse’s sides.

The dray horse snorted and leapt across the stream charging for them. Bailey grabbed Ian’s tunic and pulled him aside out of the path of the glaive. They rolled aside towards the hill and Glen, both immediately getting to their feet. The knight still sat astride his horse, now between them and the fallen king. Bailey saw him raise his glaive again and felt fear. They couldn’t dodge with Glen and the babes behind them.

An arrow flew out and bounced off the knight’s armor, his horse shying as it flew past its head. Bailey turned to see Taras standing atop the hill, an arrow resting in his long bow.

“Daunish armor is stronger than I thought,” Taras shouted. “I’ve a good eye though and I have an arrow pointed at one of the gaps. Try my aim.”

“Who are you bowman?” the knight asked, his voice calm.

“Taras Law, Ranger for King Lonna of the Mark. These people are my charges; are you so callow to attack a blind man, a cleric, and a woman with two babes in her arms?”

“I will defend my king,” the knight answered levelly.

“And he was in every right!” the king shouted stepping forward. His men were rallying around him now, some groaning as they got to their feet. “That man and woman are both witches, using foul magic to attack me and mine.”

Before anyone else could speak the doe walked forward. She raised her head and looked right at the king.

“You are lost and misguided,” she said, her words falling on deaf ears. “May pleasure fade from your life until all you sense will be ash.”

Bailey felt the doe’s curse linger in the air about to fall flat; she had a touch of the Elder Magic with her impending motherhood, but not enough. Bailey breathed in and let the breath out, giving the curse the power it needed. Dylan staggered as the curse settled on him like a mantle, his own mind taking on the curse. Bailey saw it alter his aura; his own spirit fueled the curse now.

“Thank you,” the doe said as she turned to Bailey. “May your children prosper.”

“N yers,” Bailey answered. The doe bowed to her before running off into the moors.

“Majesty?” Conor asked worried as Dylan straitened.

“I’m fine,” he said shaking his head. “You did something to me witch.”

“I gave her curse power majesty,” Bailey answered. “She said ye were lost, n til ye finds yer way pleasure o life will fade fer ye.”

“What does that mean?” Dylan asked.

“Ye be cursed now, n only ye can remove it,” Bailey answered.

“Enough!” Conor shouted. “All of you are coming with us, for crimes against the crown of Daun.”

“We have places to be so I don’t think so,” Taras said turning his arrow towards the king.

“And I will run down your companions before you let fly,” Conor answered leveling his glaive and tightening his fist on his reigns. “If you have not noticed, you’re out numbered.”

The other guards stood ready for a fight, even though some still lay unconscious or injured. Ian hadn’t killed anyone; Bailey knew that if the gnome had spilled blood with Ian’s hands it would never have been able to let him go. She turned and looked at Glen who held Matt and Will and her heart melted. Both were making a fuss, Glen wasn’t holding them well.

“We surrender,” Bailey said as she turned back to the king and his men. “I only ask ye leave Glen the cleric alone n let mine babes in his care.”

“Bailey!” Glen said startled. Ian put his hand on her arm, his hand was shaking. She put her own hand over his but kept her eyes on the king.

“Your babes may go in the care of the Sect as orphans,” King Dylan said. “And you sir, Taras Law, if you lower bow I will forget your earlier arrow you fired at Sir Conor.”

Bailey looked back at Taras who looked at her glaring. He lowered his bow, relaxing the draw and putting away his arrow.

“Very good,” Dylan said pleased. “You are dismissed Sir Law.”

Taras glared at the king but turned on his heel and left, disappearing down the hill. He’d go back to Kree, and Bailey hoped then to try to rescue them.

“He’ll be back,” Ian whispered and Bailey answered with a squeeze of his hand.

“The rest of you are in my custody,” Dylan said. “I will see the cleric and babes taken to the Sect in Dun Eald as promised. You two are for the dungeon. Tie them up and confiscate their things; we’re going back to camp.”

The guards advanced on them and one pulled Bailey away from Ian. She saw his struggle not to grab her back; that would have earned him a blow. Ian was stripped of his mail, sword, tunic, boots, and undershirt, leaving only his trousers. The guard tried to remove the holly wreath but yelped when the spiny leaf bit him. The crown remained; Bailey knew the gnome could try to possess Ian again without the crown.

The guard let Bailey remove her own clothes, looking away from her as she took off her girdle, dress, stockings, boots and sheepskin cloak. Wearing only a smock she folded her clothes and bundled them together, her bundle and Ian’s going to a servant. Their hands were bound with rope before them, a leash trailing before them.

Ian’s lead was tied to Sir Conor’s saddle and Bailey’s to King Dylan’s. The king led the way back into the woods, Bailey grateful that the trees slowed his progress so she could keep on her feet. Still she kept glancing back at Ian or Glen with the babes.

The misty afternoon turned to a cool evening with a drizzling rain. Bailey shivered in only her smock, her feet becoming muddy and bruised. She felt a calm settle over her as she walked through the wood. The rain falling on her skin, the earth beneath her bare feet, Bailey could feel the Elder Magic flowing through her.

Dylan yanked on the rope making Bailey lose her balance and fall, waking from her trance. He dragged her for a few spans before Bailey managed to scramble to her feet, muddy and scrapped. Ian was trying to get to her, but Conor was holding his leash taunt. Bailey brushed herself off, her knees scraped and hands shaking. Bailey heard Matt start to cry and Will quickly tuned in.

“Wait,” she gasped. “They be hungry, let me feed em.”

“Once we get to camp,” Dylan answered with a merciless tone. “If you hurry we’ll get there faster.” Bailey followed faster, soon out of breath and gasping. She had to admit she wasn’t in the best shape. Ian seemed to keep pace easily, he didn’t trip at all.

At last they arrived at the King’s camp. Several large pavilions were set up in a forest clearing, servants hurrying about here or there on errands. The king’s arrival caused a flurry of servants and grooms to swarm the group and take the horses away. Bailey followed Dylan as he still held her lead as he went to the largest pavilion.

Inside was dry and warm; Xinian carpets blanketing the bare ground and a brazier burning in a corner. Camp lanterns had been lit, giving the tent a warm feeling. A great chair rested in the room draped with furs and sporting a pair of ram horns on top. Conor came in leading Ian, Glen hurrying in after them. Ian and her lead were tied to one of the tent poles out of the way and Glen came forward with Matt and Will.

Eagerly Bailey took Matt and pulled back her smock to feed him. Matt took her nipple and suckled, Bailey wishing she could hold him properly without her hands tied. She looked up to see Ian held Will, trying to calm him a bit. Both babes were wet from the rain, but most of their wraps had protected them. Bailey looked back at Dylan and Conor to find both men staring at her.

“Ye baint ever seen a woman nurse afore?” she asked frowning at them. Both turned away. Conor finally reached up and removed his helm, Bailey surprised to see he was young, younger than the king and Ian around her own age. He too was handsome, though sporting the southern fashion of a saved jaw and long hair. He was Daunish though, no hint of another race in his features. Glen sat next to her, occasionally glancing at her exposed breast as well.

She looked at Matt in her arms and worry felt like a stone on her chest. Had she chosen to do the right thing for them? All she could do was hold Matt closer to lessen the worry.

“You aren’t fully Daunish are you?” Conor asked as he took an average camp seat as Dylan took to his throne.

“Mine ma were Aldan,” Bailey said and hesitated, before deciding to risk the truth. “She were Eileen V Alvar, the lost princess o Alda.”

“Bailey…” Ian said worried as both men looked astonished.

“You’ve no proof….”

“I do,” Bailey said as she pulled out the ring on the cord around her neck. She had managed to keep it as the servant hadn’t searched her. She held it up for both men to see, the silver ring twirling in the lamplight. Conor got to his feet and took the ring to examine it, but Bailey held the cord so he could not take it.

“I looks real,” he said looking at the ring and then seemed to realize how close to her he was. He blushed becomingly and instantly dropped the ring and hurried back to his seat. Bailey sighed and Matt finished. She and Ian, with Glen’s clumsy help, juggled the babes around until Will got to get his turn at the tit. Glen had to burp Matt as Ian’s hands were tied, Matt spitting up over his robes.

“Sorry,” Ian said with a slight smile as Glen passed Matt to him.

“It’s m-my luck,” Glen said resigned. Bailey smiled at him, not having the energy to laugh. She turned back to look at Dylan and Conor, who both looked like they had swallowed something that was choking them. Their regrets were obvious but Bailey knew not to challenge them, men had too much pride to admit they were wrong.

“What will be our fate then?” Bailey asked making both men jump a little. “I be nowt only a green witch but the unwanted heir ta the Alvar house, n the high throne. Will ye burn me? Hand me o’er ta the Regarians? Er marry me?”

“Marry?” Dylan asked caught off guard, this time he was blushing.

“Accordin ta Glen I baint be legally married since mine and Ian baint married in a Sect,” Bailey said. “Sos I still can marry, n mine sons Matt n Will be bastards, n I can still bear the heir ta the high throne. Ye have a chance ta be the father o the next High King.”

She was pleased to not see greed in Dylan’s eyes but fear, perhaps there was hope for him yet.

“I need to discuss this with Father Elisha,” Dylan said shaking his head looking shell shocked. Glen’s head snapped up and he stared at the king astonished.

“Elisha Drakon?” He asked in a small voice.

“You know him?” Dylan asked.

“Only by r-reputation,” Glen stuttered.

“Of course,” Dylan said with a grin. “Uncle to the High Queen is a prestigious position. The Drakons were Regis’ kings before the King’s Wars and Drasir claimed the throne.”

Bailey looked at Glen and saw him biting his lip. She guessed Elisha’s full reputation painted a much different picture.

“Conor, get me some wine,” Dylan said seeming bored.

Conor went to the tent flap and shouted out at a servant. He sat back, Bailey wondering if he ever took his armor off. Will finished and Glen burped him, again getting a fair stain over his tunic. He passed Will back and Bailey moved closer to Ian. His skin had dried easily and the tent was warm, her smock dry now. The twins snuggled down and fell asleep, the excitement of the day too much for both of them.

Servants hurried in with food and wine, setting up a table before their king. Bailey looked at the food hungrily, white bread, cheese, roast pork, and of course apples. The king was drinking Aldan wine however, a dark red wine in a crystal goblet. He took a large mouthful and coughed, spitting the wine back into the goblet.

“What is this?” he asked crossly turning to the servant that had poured his wine. “Are you trying to poison me? This is sour!”

The servant only stared at him startled, her mouth hanging open. Conor took the goblet and took a sip, frowning.

“It tastes fine Dylan,” he said and Dylan looked at him startled. He turned to the food, taking a piece of pork and eating it. He gaged, spitting the morsel out. Horrified he looked at Bailey.

“Why does it taste rotten?” he asked afraid.

“The doe’s curse majesty,” Bailey answered. “Nowt pleasure o the senses, I guess tastes be goin first.”

“You did this!” he said leaping to his feet.

“Ye did this,” Bailey said, soothing Will as he stirred at the raised voices. “This be the consequences o yer actions.”

“Remove it,” Dylan said lowly.

“I baint able ta,” Bailey answered. “It baint be mine curse, I gave it power aye but it were the doe what set it. It baint be mine curse, even so only ye can remove it.”

“How?” Dylan asked.

“Ye find yer way,” Bailey answered and saw his next question. “I baint ken what the doe meant bout ye bein lost.”

“So I have to live with this?” Dylan asked. “I’ll starve to death!”

“It only tastes foul,” Bailey answered. “Ye’ll just have ta eat past it. There will be worse though.”

“Like what?” Dylan asked.

“It be all yer senses majesty, sight, hearin, touch, smell,” Bailey said. “Soon enough all will be like yer sense o taste.”

Dylan visibly paled, falling back in his chair looking stunned. Conor dismissed the servants and sat as well, looking like he too was lost.

“We’ll find a way to break the curse Dylan,” Conor said after some thought. “Elisha might be able to break it.”

“You think so?” Dylan asked hopefully.

“The gods will guide us,” Conor answered. He started to reach for some bread and stopped, looking at Dylan.

“Go ahead, I’m no longer hungry,” Dylan answered.

“You need to eat,” Conor said. “Try the bread, maybe you can swallow some of that.”

Dylan ate a few pieces of bread, his face gray and tears in his eyes. Glen stood as he ate and took a few apples from the table, only to knock over the wine jug. Conor caught it before it spilled too much and Glen looked pale.

“I’m s-sorry, I was h-hungry,” Glen said timidly.

“Go ahead, you’re not a prisoner here Sect Glen,” Conor answered.

“I’m not a S-Sect yet,” Glen said. “Just an a-acolyte.”

“What brought you here?” Conor asked. “Please sit.”

Glen sat in a camp chair and began to tell his tale, Bailey listening as he had never told her the full story before. She noticed Glen slipped a few apples down to the floor and kicked them over to Bailey. She quickly scooped them up and passed one to Ian. He took it with a smile and ate it quickly. Bailey ate hers, savoring the fresh crisp apple.

“Can I take this off?” Ian asked lowly as he pointed to the wreath. Conor and Dylan asked Glen about the Sect and Regis, unconcerned of them in the corner of the tent.

“Nowt Ian,” Bailey said sadly. “Nowt fer a while. The wild kin baint be like the Phay, they have a different magic.”

“I kenned they had the Elder Magic?” Ian said puzzled.

“Nowt, they have Wild Magic,” Bailey answered. “We use the Elder Magic ta control em is all. When the gnome controlled ye he left some Wild Magic in ye.”

“That be bad?” Ian asked.

“It be neither good nor bad,” Bailey answered. “Wild Magic be just that, wild. Little be kenned bout it er hows it be. But it’ll change ye, sos baint take that off til I be sure that gnome will leave ye be.”

“Alright,” Ian said nodding. Bailey took his hand and opened it, tracing the lines of his palms. He had thick callus, his skin a slightly darker shade than her skin.

“Ian, the reason I been so snappy were cause I thought ye were sleepin with Kree,” Bailey said softly.

“Ah,” he said as if he suddenly understood. “That be it. I swear I miss Pepper, she would have told me right. I weren’t sleepin with Kree, I baint even ken what she looks like Bailey.”

“I ken, but Taras been whisperin in mine ear,” Bailey said and heard him growl a bit. “It baint be his fault Ian. I just been havin those dark thoughts what sneak up on ye in the night.”

“I ken,” he said softly and she got the sense of empathy in his voice, everyone had thoughts like those. The warmth of the tent and Ian next to her soon lulled Bailey to sleep, Will asleep in her lap. She slept so soundly she started to dream.

She was now familiar with the sensation of having her spirit wander and walked with purpose now through the aether. She passed the burning tree and knew this was the marker for the border into Tir Aesclinn. She walked cautiously, hiding behind bushes and trees as she sought out that meeting place again. She had to cross a few of the bridges and go through a few more strange woods until once again she heard voices.

Mab and Titania had arrived and order seemed to have come to the gathering. Bailey could tell now who the kings and queens of the Phay were, they stood out with their power and might among their kin. Bailey could recall names now and watched the gathering with a wider mind.

“Ease your hearts,” Mab said soothingly after an uproar. Titania still looked cross and Bailey guessed her to be the cause of the upset. “We must be ready to march when the time comes, right Titania?”

“That is all I meant,” Titania said. “My passions rule my heart.”

“As it is known,” Mór Ríoghain said from her perch on a stone. “How much time has passed in Miread since the song has been sung? Weeks, months, years? I do not doubt Eileen will answer, but how long must we wait? Others have sung the song before and no answer came. What makes this time so different?”

“I sung the song,” Mab answered. “I sung it because I spoke to my daughter before she was reborn. I told her the import of it; she knows she must reply this time.”

“Knowing and doing are two different things Mab,” Mór Ríoghain said. “Ages have gone by since we last marched, how are we to know that the song has not been lost. Certainly, Eileen is no longer in possession of it.”

“Mór, always the dark cloud against the sun,” Enfys said lightly and the troll queen turned to the Rainbow King lashing her tail angrily. Thallo the Flower Queen seemed unconcerned with the proceedings, casually weaving a crown of poppies and buttercups.

“I speak what we all fear as is my way Enfys,” she hissed like a cat.

“And I speak of light and hope as is my way,” Enfys said. “Just now one of my children in Miread has spoken to me. He met a human who was being guided by one of my daughters. There is hope she will find the song if she is so guided.”

“Where is the daughter that guides this human so we might ask her where the song is?” Mór Ríoghain asked her glowing eyes narrow.

“She is lost,” Enfys answered casually. “Arke got lost when we marched.”

“And this is good news Enfys?” the troll queen asked mockingly. Bailey saw the lord of the rainbow’s eyes flash dangerously with mixed colors.

“Enough,” Mab said smoothly. “Thank you Enfys for this news. Arke must have found a lost place to take refuge and is working to aid us in our march. From Tir Aesclinn we can do nothing, but perhaps from one of the lost places Arke can see into Miread and guide Eileen to the song.”

“When is the only question we have now,” Ghillie Duh the King of the Beasts said as he stroked the lamb that sat in his lap. “Are we just to wait here?”

“We shall until all our kin are gathered at least,” Titania said. “They must be told of the march lest they be left behind.”

Just as she spoke there was a stirring at the east side of the clearing where darker shadows from the trees stood. The Phay moved back as the shadows entered the clearing, mounted men on black horses. The horses were skeletal, nothing but a black pelt stretched over their bones.

The riders were Dullahan, Long Be Their Shadow, men in dark cloaks that flowed like shadows over them. Pulling back their hoods they revealed their headless necks, none of the men had heads. They were not grizzly or bloody wounds, rather than blood they seemed to bleed shadows.

“Dubhshlaine, He Reaps Shadows, you have awoken!” Mór Ríoghain said pleased. She got along well with the King of Shadows, though Enfys didn’t seem so pleased to see him. “Where is your head Dubhshlaine? You do not carry it.”

The Dullahan King did not answer as Mór Ríoghain said he had no head to answer her with. Instead he turned and they looked behind him. Ravens flew into the clearing, some roosting in the trees, others alighting in the grass. These were no ordinary ravens; their wingspan was as long as a man was tall. As one alit before them it changed, rising up to take the form of a woman.

She wore only a cloak of black feathers that rippled with rainbow light like oil, and a head dress of black feathers and a bird skull. Her skin was purple like old bruises, her hair midnight black, and eyes burned like yellow coals from her face. Clíodhna, Sing Shall She, Queen of the Banshee, Singers of Ages, turned and looked right at Bailey.

Bailey fled and woke with a start, her heart pounding in her ears. It took a moment for her to calm down, and she could tell that she had not been pursued again. She was lying now in Ian’s arms, Matt and Will nestled between them. Will was waking up, Matt joining him. Bailey sat up and took both in her arms to calm them, Ian still dead asleep.

Both calmed easily and looked up at Bailey earnestly. For a moment Bailey felt as if they looked at her knowingly, as if they had seen what she had. The twins settled down and slipped off to sleep again, nuzzling against her. Bailey felt such a sense of warmth holding them, wondering how she could fall so in love with them. She lay back down against Ian and slipped off into a dreamless sleep.

It seemed like moments later when they were rudely woken by someone yanking the carpet out from under them. Will and Matt let loose with startled cries as Bailey tried to pick them up with her hands still bound. Ian sat up angrily and received a vicious punch in the face.

“Stay down dog,” Dylan growled angrily as Bailey looked up at him startled. He had deep dark circles around his eyes, which were haunted. She guessed his curse once again had robbed him of even the comfort of sleep. Conor stood by looking startled and Glen was wringing his hands.

“Shut up that racket!” Dylan shouted as he grabbed Will from Bailey. She cried out as she tried to reach for him, but her hands were brought short by the rope that bound her to the tent pole. Conor was faster though and he pulled Will out of Dylan’s grasp and quickly handed him to Glen.

“Calm down Dylan,” Conor hissed to Dylan, holding him back. Dylan’s rage cooled to hate, and Bailey shivered as he looked down at her. Ian leaned on his elbow, protecting Matt who was still wailing.

“Brother Glen, please take charge of the other child,” Dylan said.

“M-majesty…” Glen started to stammer, still struggling with Will in his arms.

“Now before I lose my temper again,” Dylan said coldly. Glen jumped and hurried forward, scooping up Matt and hurrying to the back of the tent to collapse in a heap. Dylan drew a dagger and everyone froze in fear. Instead he cut Bailey’s bonds, freeing both her hands. Bailey only had a second to wonder at this when Dylan grabbed the front of her smock and pulled.

She shouted as he pulled it off her, cloth ripping as she was stripped naked. Ian shouted angrily, but he was still bound and Conor looked on in horror. Dylan grabbed Bailey by one of her braids and dragged her out of the tent, Bailey holding onto his wrist to reduce the pain. Outside a thick autumn mist hung in the air, cool and wet among the trees. The servants had already woken and started to break camp, but they all stopped as their King emerged dragging a naked woman by her hair.

“Fetch me a mule!” Dylan shouted but no one moved. “Now!” A boy jumped and ran off, coming back with an ill-tempered mule in tow. He stood holding the mule in place, Bailey looking up at him, but he would not meet her eye. “Rope!” Dylan shouted and another servant hurried to fetch rope.

The servant handed the king the rope before running away like a deer. Dylan turned and pushed Bailey down onto her stomach. He pulled her arms behind her back and tied them at the wrists tightly. He lifted her up by her arms and Bailey cried out as her arms were wrenched in their sockets. Almost effortlessly Dylan tossed her onto the back of the mule, making her straddle its bare back shamelessly.

Then he tied a noose and slipped it over her head and pulled it tight. He tied the other end around the mule’s neck, pulling so Bailey had to slump or she would be strangled. She looked at Dylan and met his eyes, and saw how much hate he felt then.

“Conor, bring the man!” Dylan shouted turning away from her. Conor brought Ian out struggling and Dylan kicked him to make him stop. Dylan guided Ian over behind Bailey and she felt him tie a lead to Ian’s bound hands to her own behind her back.

“If you lag, if you trip, if you try to escape, you’ll pull her arms out and strangle her,” Dylan said darkly.

“Bastard,” Ian growled and Bailey heard a blow fall. She cried out as the line went taunt and yanked her arms painfully, and the noose around her neck went tight. The mule brayed as it shifted under her, but Bailey’s vision went dark at the edges. The pressure on her arms and neck released as Ian quickly straitened and let the lead go limp. The mule calmed, but it wasn’t pleased to have Ian standing behind it.

“We ride!” Dylan shouted. “Get my horse!”

Bailey could barely spare her mind for anything but keeping her seat on the boney back of the mule. Still Bailey tried to raise her head enough to look for Matt and Will. She spotted Glen with a servant woman who was helping him swaddle the babes onto him. Dylan pulled the mule’s lead and tied it to his saddle before mounting. Bailey winced as the mule started out, both ropes pulling on her arms and neck.

She felt helpless tears fall to hear Ian behind her struggling not to trip or even lose speed. Bailey could only bow her head and endure.

#fantasy #series #writing #my writing #please read #fairies #dragons

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the-static-silence-of-pastels · 7 years ago

Text

SW&tH AU

Roman is a sword for hire, Logan is a run away prince. Logan’s stepfather, the new king orders Roman to find his son so he can eat Logan’s eyes and have his sight back again along with the magic Logan’s doesn’t know he possesses. Roman goes off to find Logan, Logan is almost killed by the Grim Forest. Roman saves him and stops the kings men from taking him away. They encounter a few things and then meet Virgil an assassin and thief (maybe centaur) and Patton a faun. They try to run away but Logan’s stepfather catches up to them and almost kills them before dragging Logan away. Logan has his eyes taken from him and his body covered in ice that Roman melts with a kiss after realising Logan is his long lost friend from before he was cast out. The ice melts and Logan regains his eyes while his stepfather’s new eyes melt in his hand, turning into black goo. Outraged he realises he has to kill Logan to get his sight while Logan prepares to attack his stepfather. Blah blah blah, castle attack, blah, blah, blah, marble statues try to kill Roman, blah, blah, blah Logan kills his father. Happy end with Roman at Logan’s side and the kingdom opening its doors to the Grim Forest where magical creatures come forth from.

Kinda like the old AU, but the back story is different: Roman gets chucked out of the kingdom when he’s 14 because Logan’s father and mother don’t want their son mixing with a peasant boy who’s parents were rouges and killers. Roman ends up in the Grim Forest where he learns how to survive and eventually works his way up to becoming a top notch sword for hire. He’s not an assassin but he’s available to fix problems for paying royalty. He kills people, brings people back, gets things from the forest and is known as the Prince of Blades. His real name is Roman Caldonian, but even he doesn’t really remember the name much. He last saw Logan 20 years ago when the prince was only 9. His entire mission was to stay alive, but when he meets Logan again after so many years, recognising him a few days into their journey, he finds anew reason to live - keeping Logan alive.

Starts off with Roman being sent off to kill a bunch of innocent people for a king, moves on to Logan’s portion where he’s being detained and trapped after trying to escape from his stepfather. His stepfather needs him alive and old enough (30) for his magic to be strong enough to sustain him for years to come - basically Logan’s eyes are like wine and his father is keeping him and aging him like a fine wine. And who he’s 30 his eyes will have the most power in them that he’s even had and the consumption of the power will make his father super strong. So the first chapter is all about back story and motives. Second chapter is where they meet for the first time; first Logan escapees, then Roman is summoned, then he recognises the tree, then he goes after Logan and detains him before running off with him when the kings men try to get Logan back to the castle. Third chapter is all about the creatures they encounter including a lot of them just talking about their pasts and Roman trying to decipher whether or not Logan is the boy he remembers, also this is the one where the tree fortress is burned down. Fourth chapter is where Deceit is finally mentioned and where they meet Virgil - out hunting for deer - and Patton - chilling in the fairy realm. Chapter five is where Logan finds out why his father wants his eyes, Virgil is wounded and Logan’s eyes are taken. Chapter six is where Roman cries and kisses Logan, the ice melts, Logan’s father tries and fails to consume Logan’s eyes (maybe, not too clear on whether it’ll be this or the first plot line). Chapter seven is where Logan and crew engage the castle in war, and Logan fights his father. Chapter eight is the final one where the crew are almost killed by marble statues, Logan kills his dad, Roman proposes kinda and the kingdom crowns Logan king.

“Let’s just hope for a fairy tale ending, alright?”

Logan Prince of Duhn is a prince on the run. His stepfather, an evil sorcerer, wanting his eyes that can see what others can’t. Logan escaped a tower and castle to get away, and found himself on the shoreline that lay below the castle. There birds brought him to a horse that took him to the dark forest where he hid for the night.

Roman Caldonian is a hunter who continues to get drunk after his son passed away. Logan’s stepfather offers to bring his son back if and only if Rom went into the dark woods to get a prisoner back. Roman agrees and tramps off to the dark forest where he tracks Logan to a large tree where the king’s brother asks for Logan’s return. Roman feels pity and refuses, taking on the king’s soldiers and helping Logan escape further into the woods. Roman keeps close to Logan and teaches him to use a dagger, though Logan says he would never be able to kill someone Roman reminds him that one day he may have to.

At the edge of the forest lies a bridge. The bridge crumples away to reveal the hulking form of a troll, large with grey skin and pulsing blue veins. Roman goes to kill it but Logan stops him, stating that he knows how to deal with this problem before grabbing a few small rocks and setting them out. He trows one up in the air and grabs one as the stone lands back in his palm, continuing this as the troll watches enthralled. Roman sits back, dumbstruck that a simple game is amusing the troll before Logan stops, all the stone collected and the troll backs up, moving away from the bridge and settling down at the edge of the dark forest. Logan gets up and continues with Roman as Roman asks what all that was about.

They make their way to a village built in the trees, surrounded by water like mangroves. Roman is told about Logan’s heritage and he later abandons Logan in the tree village, thinking that he’ll be safer if he’s far away from him. The village is set upon by hunters from the king and Logan sees a glimpse of his old friend Dee, who saves him before the branches of the tree block them off and Logan has to run to safety. Roman turns back and sees the fire blazing behind him. He runs to find Logan but is unable to find the prince as fire ravages the village. A hunter sneaks up on Logan and Roman manages to save him, retreating into the woods as the villagers escape in boats.

Roman and Logan run to a section of the forest much greener than anything before and are captured by a centaur named Virgil who Roman recognises. Virgil is unimpressed but cuts them both down when the hunters near on horseback. Virgil leads them to a grove behind a section of leaves and cavernous caves. The place beyond is called The Court and there Roman and Logan meet with a faun with deer horns and legs called Patton who takes an instant liking to Logan and begins to play his flute for the man. Virgil asks Roman if he’s in it for the gold and Roman says that he’s not sure anymore.

The four spend the night together by the fireside and the next morning they awake to find Logan gone. Panic is their first instinct before Roman sees tracks leading away from them into a secluded part of the grove. Logan awoke to see small birds sitting on a log, flying away from him and twittering quietly as specks of light raced past Logan’s head towards them, hovering with the birds and waiting for Logan to get up. Logan follows them to a pool of water where a black dragon waits, spots of gold dotting its scales and wings with blue eyes that see all. Roman goes to stop Logan but Virgil and Patton pull him back as Logan pats the dragon gently and it pulls back, bowing to him. It unfurls its wings and pulls back up, lifting itself into the sky as the four watch, captivated by the beauty. A knife impales the dragon’s heart and it plummets to the ground as Roman races forward to grab Logan back as the large beast lands inches from his body with a crash, water splashing all over the place and rocks flying in all directions.

The hunters that still live charge into the fray and go after the prince and his entourage. Virgil swings Logan up onto his back and charges off as Roman pulls back, ready to kill those who came after the prince. Dee helps out, shooting down a few hunters while a couple of dwarves help out when the faun calls out to them. Virgil pulls Dee off his horse and Logan stops the centaur before Virgil stomps on his head. Meanwhile Roman faces off agains the king’s brother and wins the fight with the help of Patton who kicks the brother off him where he falls into a ravine and dies.

One of the hunters shoots at Logan and hits Virgil, impaling his arm before Dee shoots and kills them. Logan tends to Virgil while Patton and Roman rush over and begin to calm the centaur. They realise they can’t stay here even if Virgil is wounded and depart, making their way to the next spot where they can sleep and light a fire. Logan and Dee talk about their childhood and Dee apologises for leaving Logan in the hands of his stepfather. Logan forgives him and they journey onwards until they reach a spot where they can rest. Logan wakes up and follows Dee into the forest where they chat idly about their lives now before Dee proposes to Logan and offers him a ring. Logan takes the ring but declines the proposal, giving Dee the ring back and turning away. Dee offers him the ring regardless, saying that he doesn’t know of anyone who he’d rather marry and that though Logan declined the proposal he’d like him to have the ring. Dee fits it on his finger and Logan goes cold, scrambling back at the ring begins to freeze over his finger, ice moving outwards along his finger and hand until it stops and Logan shivers, ice filling his blood as he lays down and begins to freeze up, unable to move as the ice moves towards his heart. Dee says that he shouldn’t have trusted in friendship or love before dropping to his side. Black butterflies encase Dee and he turns into the king, reaching for Logan’s eyes before Roman and Dee burst onto the scene and the king disappears in a flock of black butterflies.

Dee and Roman mourn the passing and carry Logan back to camp where Virgil stands and they seat Logan atop Virgil’s flank. They walk to Dee’s castle and he give Logan a quick kiss on his forehead before leaving Virgil to carry Logan to a marble slab in the castle where he will be mourned. Roman follows and, in his grief, kisses Logan’s lips saying how he fell for Logan while they journeyed together and saw a light that would be hard to destroy. He leaves and Logan awakens while Dee discusses battle strategies with his father. Logan rises and rallies the troops. The next morning they ride to the castle and with Patton’s flute they bewitch the guards and breach the gates. Logan rides atop his steed, Virgil and Roman at his sides decked in armour and chainmail. Dee rides with his father and the five of them grab Patton, slinging him over Virgil’s back as they ride into the castle grounds.

Roman and Virgil exchange banter as they slay their opponents while Logan forces his way into the castle to kill the king. He meets the king in a room made of white marble, windows on almost every wall and the king standing with his back to the door, looking out a raised window that shows the seascape.

Logan stops before the king as Virgil, Patton, Dee and Roman rush into the hall behind him. The king moves his hand slightly and the marble above cracks into shards of white and large rocks. The group escape mostly unscathed before the shards and rocks begins to form statues, fitting into proper marble statues before white marble swords appear and they attack the group. The group defend themselves but their swords cannot cut through the marble or smash it, so they’re left fighting a loosing battle. The king beckons Logan forward and Logan advances, attempting to kill the king before the king traps him in a headlock and forces him to watch the marble statues attempt to kill his friends.

Logan struggles and fights back, able to loosen the grip the king has and battle away. His sword is taken and he is left defenceless as the king sits atop him and restrains his hands. Logan squirms as the king reaches for his eyes but Logan fishes out his hand and dagger that Roman gave him and impales the king with it, stabbing him through his throat before the king startles back and grabs the dagger, pulling it out and crying in pain as black blood oozes from the wound. His eyes go from blue to milky pale as he struggles to see before they turn black and reduce to ashes as he tries to find his way around. Logan grabs his shoulder and pulls him to a small set of stairs where he lays the man back and rubs a hand over his brow. The marble statues turn to dust and Logan rises from the corpse of his stepfather before smiling softly at the five friends.

The next day he is crowned king and holds a long branch made of gold and bejewelled flowers as a reminder of it all. He joins in the dancing with Roman, albeit begrudgingly and as the night draws to a close Roman leads him off to a balcony where he spills his infatuation with Logan and Logan responds in kind. They share a kiss and hold hands as the story draws to a close.

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