#eeling through the underbrush

[doomspaniels]

Fulfilling their genetic imperative: following a scent trail, in underbrush, in the dripping rain. Soaking wet. The sniffs are everything.

[abellinthecupboard]

Habitation

(after Margaret Atwood’s “Habitation”) We lie on the soft couch, our legs twining like freckled eels, enmeshing in pearly needled grins of pelagic happiness. We sip our wine and listen to the radio whinny, spurs jingling in the pueblo twilight, light spilling from canteen windows. Two planes collided in mid-air yesterday, and the passengers, all parachuters, leapt for safety and survived without injury. We take turns cooking and cleaning up for each other, put- ting the conch shell to our ear, hearing the blood thrumming. Every day the sun hangs a little more crooked, its smile a little wider, its gold teeth and yellowed gums a smoker’s knick-knacks. This summer is the hottest on record. The newsstands catch fire. We turn over in bed. We are used to our orbits shifting… We talk about our days, pretending our trite quicknesses are interesting, from the school, the office, reciting Gilgamesh’s Epic with insolent cherry lips, kohl arrows staining our cheeks. I feel your indolent heat against the dark mahogany of my ribs. Your lips spark in prayer. Your long shadow unclasps my bra. This marriage is not something pillared, no marble temple. This devotion is a kindled red fire out on the frozen tundra, and night is falling. Flint strikes on flint. Stone births daylight, a magic in an age when every rock and tall tree bears a soul. We bless the sacred heat that licks at the crooked kindling, a gift from the gods that warms our limbs weary from hunting reindeer. We huddle closely in our fur cloaks and skin boots. Not far off, the first pigments are being laid down at Lascaux, Altamira, such lifelike renderings that seem to snort and shriek… Meanwhile, the portraits at Chauvet and Nawarla Gabarnmang are ancient, ancient already, and buzzing with honey ghosts… What is the secret to threading an arrow through the ribs of a running deer, as it gallops through the underbrush toward the dregs of its life? It’s a secret, but I’ll tell you—press your face to the white of this page and I’ll whisper it in your ear.

— Sean Eaton, featured in Hawaii Pacific Review (source)

[vurulent]

"even at the best times i'm out of my mind."

the flex of tendon and muscle in their left hand lent to the give of fatty fibres and muscle; from there the knife coasted from girdle to sternum and steam unfurled with eel-squirming intestine in a localized explosion of viscera. oluwande's hands remain ever steady, head inclined as they dressed the boar in dead of night.

it seemed for a time they did not hear their blood-kin speak; though, it's measured silence in the wake of blade to meat.

"you know," their voice rose above the methodical cut-and-place of sectioned off meat atop open leather, it's lilt punctuated by gore and decades-old practice. "i always subscribed t'the whole fake it 'til you make it philosphy." the glint of the knife's edge played off scant moonlight filtering in above, spindly like veins through the shift of canopy. "you though?" bloodied knuckles nudged up against their chin to prop, the inclination of their head rolled along with the motion to stare up at him from their comfortable perch in the underbrush.

"hah."

eyeshine in the pitch-dark of their allocating shadow; hard to say with the sway of branches above if it was a slithering in their part or the hunter's own. "wound up in the middle of the woods again? feelin' a little lost?" all sinuous muscle as they stood, a re-invigored stare bore down to the pulpy marrow; cut the bone.

"maybe you're still dreaming."

[rygfinne]

The Same Obstacle [Jade & Azul]

starter for @mostrum

Two passengers had been dumped hurriedly in the clearing at the base of one of the mountains surrounding Night Raven University, hoofbeats already fading into the distance as if eager to seal them to their fate. Wild, vine-covered trees loomed all around them, but for all their menace, half a dozen trails well-worn by the feet of generations passed were testament to their taming. The veneer of survival could imbue a simple hike with the excitement of adventure, however, and Jade, who had walked this very mountain as soon as he could trust his own legs, quite enjoyed the thrill of a danger that was near enough to touch if one desired, but would not encroach on where it didn’t belong. Indeed, these mountains had become like a second home to him, so the half-hour of contingency plans, and contingencies for contingencies that Azul had insisted on going over with him in the carriage were humorous entertainment for an otherwise boring ride at best.

Now that they were finally here though, Azul had yielded silence to the whispering leaves. Jade stole a sidelong glance.

“Are you ready, Azul?” he ventured to break the unusual quiet. The rocky trail before them meandered up through the underbrush at a steep angle, but the signpost beside it assured medium difficulty. Jade had walked this particular one a handful of times and trusted the markers more than he trusted anything that breathed, but hanging back a few steps behind, Azul seemed less than convinced.

Though the hike itself was hardly a concern to Jade, nor was Azul’s penchant for over-preparing, he had double-checked the other’s bag before they departed. The essentials were there - a week’s worth, at least - alongside a number of products designed for a singular, specific purpose (”Bear spray?” he had questioned, but the irrefutable reasoning Azul gave him discouraged further discussion of his luggage) that bloated the backpack to what looked nearly twice his size. What did worry Jade though was that Azul, for all of his mental celerity, was slow in all things physical. Even without the bag. The bonus points promised to them for this exercise would be lost if they couldn’t even reach their destination in time.

“The beginning of the obstacle course is roughly two hours up the mountain.” Jade returned from his inspection of the trailhead’s sign with its map committed to memory. Their destination was marked in blue near a path that forked from the main trail hardly a fourth of the way up. He had only visited that area once, but he was confident that he could find it again.

“I hope you make it there before nightfall.” He threw a smirk over his shoulder at Azul as he started for the slope, an echo of arguments had over whether the octopus would have to rely on the eel to carry him once his legs gave out.

[screpdoodle]

Duality - Chapter Nine (The Garden of Secretive Secrets)

“And stay out!!”

Kaos watched from the edge of his backyard as a band of Greebles scurried into the underbrush, yipping and chirping with their tails between their legs. He let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead off on the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of dirt in its wake. As the afternoon sun beat down on him, Kaos turned his back to the trees, returning to the task his father had so graciously bestowed upon him. Weeding duty; a chore that usually fell to him when his parents felt ‘eternity’ in the dungeons wasn’t fitting enough a punishment. It was usually saved for the yearly cleaning, but Kaos supposed this was a… special circumstance. And man, did the backyard need it. Kaos rolled his sleeves up as he walked, balancing across exposed roots and shallow streams that ran the color of mildew. Broken tiles protruded from the dirt in some sections, like a long forgotten pathway, or perhaps even a giant chess board. But now, the majority of it had become one with nature, with only remnants remaining. The very same nature Kaos had to push back, armed with an ‘arsenal’ that consisted of a pair of rusty pruning shears and his bare hands. A set of weapons that would make any creature quake in fear... as long as that creature was plant based and inanimate, of course. Kaos stumbled forward as his foot snagged on a tangle of brambles, the thorns slicing at his ankle. He hissed at the sudden sting, then pulled his ankle free, kneeling down in the crumbly soil with his shears at the ready. He waited for a moment, in case the brambles decided to leave on their own. When they didn’t budge, Kaos let out a huff, then began snipping away at the base of the tangle, squinting through the glaring sun and snippets of stem flinging haphazardly from the dull, rusted shears. He made quick work of the bush, or at least as quickly as he could manage, picking up the severed bundle of gnarled branches and carrying it over to the small piles he was accumulating.

Father had instructed him to organize the clippings; one pile of ‘salvageable’ material for Father and Mother’s out-of-work ‘hobby’, and another of junk. So of course, Kaos had made three. One for Father, one for the Greebles to scrounge through, and one for himself. Kaos dragged the bush back to the back wall of the house, using his free arm to shield his eyes, trying his best to ignore the definite sunburn he was going to get as he tossed the bramble into his father’s pile. The berries that grew on it could make a nice soda, though knowing his parents, they’d probably use the thorns or something. Kaos had always wanted to try the soda they made, despite the mixed reviews Dyskord had given it over the years. His favorite had been ‘radioactive suction eel’, though he had only given it a three out of ten before passing out on Kaos’ floor. Kaos had also seen flavors like ‘sand’ and ‘mud’ on the occasions he had snuck down into the cellar. Needless to say, the odd ingredients and off-putting side effects he had witnessed had dampened his curiosity towards actually sampling the carbonated concoctions. Maybe once he was a little older.

Kaos wiped the sweat from his brow, then looked up at the sound of the side door shutting, the squeak of its hinges followed by footsteps in the patchy dirt. Kaos craned his neck as his mother stepped into view, heading into the forest as she did practically every day. Some days it was early in the morning, others it was late afternoon, most likely heading to work. Kaos watched her walk briskly down the cobble path, the cloak she had wrapped around her shoulders flowing behind her, until she faded out of sight as the reaching branches of the trees swallowed her whole. Kaos shuddered, feeling a chill run up his spine as he turned away, needing to get back to work. Kaos grabbed his shears, beginning to pick and preen at the area around him. Pulling up leathery weeds and trimming back foul-smelling bushes that had been left to run rampant. As he worked, though, Kaos could feel his mind wandering back to last night and the mention of his mother’s ‘work’. Surely that’s what she was heading off to do. Kaos jammed his fingers under a particularly stubborn root, attempting to not so gently coax it from its earthy nest. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder from time to time, his eyes drawn back to the forest. He could no longer hear her footsteps, merely the slight breeze dancing through the autumn leaves, and the rustle of vermin in the underbrush. He shook his head, finally wrenching the root from the ground, the force sending him tumbling back; right into an unsuspecting Greeble. Kaos looked up as his vision spun, the Greeble leaning over him with a curious expression on its flat, flaxxish face. It ran its long tongue over one of its eyes before bounding onto Kaos’ face and then off towards the underbrush with a sharp tug. Kaos groaned, rubbing his forehead as he sat up, watching the pest scurry off on all fours, dragging something along behind it. Kaos paused as he watched the end of it get pulled into the bushes, feeling the breeze brush against the back of his neck…

In a panic, Kaos' hands flew to his neck, feeling around for any trace of his scarf. Instead he simply felt his skin, his eyes going wide. Quickly, Kaos glanced back over his shoulder to the kitchen window, checking to be sure his father wasn't watching, before breaking into a sprint after the Greeble.

Kaos lept over fallen logs and weaved his way around branches, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dappled light filtering through the canopy of off-colored leaves. Shadows twirled and twisted as he ran, the Greeble always just out of sight. A blur of yellow, the swish of a tail, a faint shrill chirping just loud enough to tell the general direction. The trees reached and grabbed at him, snagging his clothes and scratching his skin. All of his rationale had flown out the window, fear of those bark behemoths the least of his worries. Kaos could feel his lungs burning, every frantic step sending shockwaves up his legs; but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t rest. He couldn't lose that Ancients-forsaken Greeble. Tearing around a corner and nearly falling flat on his face, Kaos watched the Greeble scurry up the trunk of a tree, ducking into a gnarled hole in its surface. The end of his scarf dangled out of the opening, swaying slightly in the breeze. Kaos paused, then practically buckled over, taking long, shuddering breaths as he tried to coax himself back into working condition. After letting the corners of his vision clear and the feeling of acid in his lungs settle down, Kaos turned his sights to the Greeble’s apparent home, glowering at it with enough force to melt through steel. (Or at least he hoped so, he had never actually been able to before). He stormed over to the tree, getting his foot caught on a root halfway there, before standing up on his tiptoes and peering inside the tree hollow.

Random trinkets and objects lined the sides, from rusted cogs, old jewelry, and even clumps of differently colored plants. In the center, the Greeble was curled up, though it opened one eye when it noticed Kaos peering inside. Kaos frowned, then reached inside, pulling his dirt covered scarf out from underneath the Greeble, brushing it off as he grumbled under his breath, before wrapping it loosely around his neck. Kaos turned on his heels, then looked back, locking eyes with the Greeble. It stared back, swishing its tail back and forth, large ears twitching. Kaos sighed, then grabbed his shears. With a deep breath, he lifted up the corner of his shirt and snipped off a lopsided square, shoving it in the hollow of the tree before starting the long walk back, muttering as many curse words as he could drum up on the spot. He trailed off after the first few though, feeling a chill run up his spine, a gust of wind nearly knocking him over. Kaos stumbled to the side, then froze, picking up on a sound carried by the wind. It sounded almost like a hum; a slow melodic thrum that seemed to resonate through him, making his skin prickle.

Holding his breath, Kaos turned towards the noise, walking towards it with slow, stilted steps, as if his movements weren’t his own. The song was getting louder, though the wind had died back down, the sound like a motherly hand carefully guiding him. Step after step growing faster, note after note washing over him, static blurring the corners of his vision until finally... the forest fell silent. Kaos came to an abrupt stop, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He stood at the edge of a clearing, sunlight filtering down through a hole in the canopy, catching the dust that floated through the undisturbed air. A nearly perfect circle of nature encapsulated in a wall of trees, hidden from view, everything perfectly still. Kaos felt as if he was staring at a photograph. He reached his hand out, as if expecting to come in contact with a barrier, to prove it was nothing but a snapshot, but all he touched was air. He wiggled his fingers around a bit, then quickly stepped over the ring of small, mossy stones that surrounded the perimeter. He peered around, brushing himself off, before his attention was grabbed by something he hadn’t registered before. Offset to the center of the clearing was an old, stone structure. Grey tones of stone brick dappled with age and the muted greens of climbing vines, little flowers peeking their ways through the cracks. Kaos squinted, then crouched down, taking a tentative step forward. His shoes crunched against the fallen leaves as he walked closer, the only sound making its way through the silent air. Kaos tilted his head to the side, then carefully brushed some of the vines to the side, revealing old, worn-out markings etched into some of the bricks. At the sight, Kaos felt something tugging at the back of his mind, a familiarity he couldn’t quite shake. He got to his knees to get a closer look, the stone walls just a tad shorter than him. Gently, Kaos trailed his fingers over the edges of the closets engraving, the stone crumbling beneath his touch, tiny crumbs of stone falling to the ground, lost in the autumn grass. Kaos felt a tingle run up his arm, causing him to pull his hand away, his brow furrowing. He had seen these marks before, but he couldn’t quite place exactly where…

Kaos stood up quickly, peering over the side of the wall. He craned his neck to see, then raised an eyebrow when he noticed the wall dipped down, revealing a hole set in the center. His heart dropped slightly as he realized it wasn’t some ‘mystical structure’ like he had originally hoped; just some old, dried up well. Still, it was an interesting find to say the least. If only he had brought his journal; he could have added it to the map that he started last summer with his siblings. Kaos looked up to the sky, watching the red slowly starting to fade into a soft purple. How long had he been gone? Surely he’d have a sunburn after this. Just what he needed for the weekend he was forced to work outside. He always wondered how Dyskord and Mey were able to tan; whenever he was out in the sun for longer than a few minutes without the proper protection he turned as red as a Fire Elemental. Shaking his head, Kaos started back towards the way he had entered the clearing, hoping he could simply follow his tracks back home. That was, until a thought crossed his mind. Those marks had to mean something, right? Maybe the well wasn’t so ordinary after all? Maybe there was something at the bottom of it? Kaos turned back around, realizing garden duty could wait. This might be his only chance to figure out what this thing was here for. With a confident smile, Kaos pulled on one of the bricks, testing to see if it could hold his weight before pulling himself up onto the lip of the well, albeit with some difficulty. He sat on his knees, brushing the dust off of his clothes before peering inside.

Nothing but darkness stared back.

Kaos scratched his chin, squinting to try and make out how far down it went, before standing up. He took a moment to balance, then walked around the edge of the well, folding his hands behind his back. He looked down to the ground on one side, then into the gaping maw on the other, the stones shifting slightly beneath his feet, little flecks of sediment falling down into the dark. He stuck his tongue out, thinking, then knelt back down again. Throwing caution to the wind, Kaos stuck his hand down into the depths, feeling a chill run up it. It felt like he had plunged his arm into a bucket of ice water, the smell of dust wafting up. The air felt thicker, his motions lagging, up to his wrist now lost in darkness. Kaos wrenched his hand back, nearly tipping over onto the ground, before steadying himself on the ledge. Slowly, he lowered his hand back down, back up, then back down again, slowly testing where the temperature shifted. Kaos felt the stone shift beneath him, though he paid it no mind, just trying to reach further down, the chill nipping at his fingertips. How far down did this thing go? No matter how far he reached, Kaos couldn’t touch the bottom. It felt like it was just out of reach, despite it looking like it went on forever. Clenching his teeth and gripping onto the edge of the wall with his other hand, Kaos reached down further, straining his reach as far as it could go, until a noise made his blood run cold. A loud crack rang through the silent air as Kaos felt himself pitch forward, his head slamming against the side of the well as he tumbled down, his vision flashing white before going dark.

“Hello? Hello??”

Kaos opened his eyes to the light of the moon falling down upon him, a shadowy figure peering down at him, silhouetted against a familiar, starless night sky. Kaos groaned, rubbing his temple as he shifted into a sitting position, resting his back against the moss covered wall behind him. He looked up, slowly starting to make out features of the person above. Green skin, ragged clothes, large hands gripping the edge of the well as they peered down, large ears tilted downwards…

“Glumshanks?”

“Kaos?”

The two spoke at the same time, locking eyes. Kaos’ mouth hung open, brows raised as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Surely, his headache was making him see things.

“What- What’re you doing down there? How did you get here??” Glumshanks stumbled over his words, swinging a leg over the edge, then the other.

In horror, Kaos watched as the troll slipped off the edge without a care in the world, his bare feet touching down on the ground gently in front of him. Kaos blinked, confused, before slowly realizing the edge of the well was just above his line of sight, the fall nothing more than a few feet. The wall barely went past Glumshanks’ waist. With a concerned look on his face, the troll sat down, bringing his knees up to his chest. Kaos just stared at him, not sure what to say.

“So, uh, how are-”

“How was school?-”

The two spoke at the same time once again, then abruptly fell silent. Kaos snickered, then winced, holding his temple. Glumshanks reached forward, brushing Kaos’ hand away with a frown. Kaos looked down to the red that had coated his fingertips, glistening in the silvery light.

“You really got dinged up…”

‘Heh, this? This is just a normal afternoon for me.”

“...come on, I think my mom should have some disinfectant at the house.”

Glumshanks offered his hand. Kaos hesitated, then took it, the troll helping him to his feet and out of the old well. As Kaos touched down on patchy grass, he paused, his mind grinding to a stop. None of this looked familiar. The trees were sparse and looked like overgrown twigs someone had stuck into the ground haphazardly, dry grass and brown leaves littered about. Glumshanks glanced back over his shoulder, giving a slight tug on Kaos’ arm, which seemed to snap him out of it.

“Where… where are we?” Kaos asked as he followed along after Glumshanks, needing to walk quickly to keep up with his long strides.

Glumshanks raised an eyebrow, blowing a strand of ginger hair from his eyes. “The Outlands?”

“I know that, fool. Which island in the Outlands??”

Glumshanks paused for a moment, looking up to the sky. ‘...I’m not sure if it has a name that's in human...”

“Well, what’s it in Troll, then?”

Glumshanks hesitated, then made a few grunting and growling noises. He slowed his walking pace a bit, to give Kaos a chance to catch up. Kaos listened, meeting Glumshanks’ gaze as he fell silent.

“....so ‘Grumbletown’. Gotcha.”

“I don’t think that’s-”

Before Glumshanks could correct him, Kaos had gone up ahead, his short attention span now captured by something new. Glumshanks sighed, then followed after him. Kaos ran up to the edge of the island, keeping a wide berth from the miscellaneous trees scattered about, trying to spot any sign of his home. A familiar rock, a well placed plant, the remnants of a Chompy farm he cobbled together last summer; anything to give him a clue to where he was. Other than the familiar clouded sky, nothing seemed to ring a bell. It was then that Kaos spotted it - on a neighboring island was a bustling, rural village. He knelt down at the edge of the island, watching figures running along winding dirt paths that connected small wooden huts; the smoke from countless lit fires trailing up into the air in plumes, dancing along to the music that was being blasted through the streets. A heavy beat that made Kaos bob his head along, his mouth held agape. He looked over his shoulder as he heard Glumshanks’ footsteps approaching, a grin spreading across his face. Glumshanks just raised a brow, then sat down beside him, dangling his spindly legs over the edge. Kaos turned his attention back to the village, warm firelight flickering across the dead earth, long shadows cast from the houses, lit windows like wide eyes staring up at them.

“So this is where you live?”

“It is now, I guess.”

Kaos paused his bopping, looking over to Glumshanks in confusion. The troll’s expression was sallow, grey eyes looking down at the village. He swung his legs back and forth slightly, letting a sigh escape his mouth. It reminded Kaos of the first time they had met, the sadness in Glumshanks eyes, his slouched posture, all of it.

“What do you mean ‘now’?”

“We move around a lot.” Glumshanks started, finally looking back over to Kaos. “This is just the latest in a long line of towns we’ve… conquered. I suggested we at least barter for this one, but no one ever listens to me. It’s kinda like a celebration, every few years we find a new village and… sorry, I got sidetracked.”

“...at least the music’s pretty good?”

“I prefer classical...”

Kaos paused, then let out a laugh, his nose crinkling as he grinned. He bumped his hand against Glumshanks’ arm, coaxing a small chuckle from him. The two of them looked back down to the little hamlet below them, alive with laughing trolls and crackling fires, techno music blaring through the night air.

“...though seriously, Glumwad. Any chance you own a map?”

<- previous chapter | next chapter ->

[eve6262]

Hue Chapter 1: Alien

Rose’s room always smells of freshly cut flowers, expensive perfumes, and tea. There are three tables. One, a desk, mostly clean save for papers half-finished and a quill and bottle. The second is her vanity, the perfumes sorted by hue and scent, small bottles and sticks of makeup littering the lineup.

The third is a small round table, on which is always the tea set, with only two cups to its name. Surrounding it are three bookshelves filled to the brim, and stacks sorted along some dissonant melody only she understands on the floor space.

“Tea?”

“Sure.”

She hums as she boils the water, scattering leaves with effortless precision. I wonder, vacantly, when she learned how to make tea so perfectly. Between studying scripture? Did she even bother to read the books, or did she ace it all while brewing cups upon cups finding the perfect recipe for pink rose tea?

The teapot has been crafted with care, so when the water boils the whistle does not hurt the ears. It sounds more like an ocarina, almost melodic, and yet so distinctly clashing. It must have been tailored to Rose herself. Such conflicting natures- calm, yet studious; unbothered, yet a perfectionist. Such a strange girl.

“Here you are.”

Always a perfect cup. This one is no different- a little sweet, and yet that is perfect for today. Can she read my mind?

“Tell me.”

“Hm?”

“Am I talking to a witch in disguise?”

“And this is because?”

“I’m supposed to believe you get this perfect, every time, including the differences, without reading my mind? Impossible.”

“You’re an open book, Mira darling.”

“Nonsense. Witch.”

“Off to report me?”

“Not even if you pulled a demon out of your skirt.”

Her laugh sounds like out of tune fairy bells. I want to hear more of it; the only thing so addictive is her smile. They come together; a package, the two of them. How nice. I’m addicted to both. Damn witch. Even if she’s never cast a curse in her life, she’s bewitched me; that’s enough, is it not?

“Now then, you’ve come here for a reason, I’m sure.”

“Yes. The new recruits were complaining about something, so I went into the woods to see. There’s a strange plant that almost seems to respond to what you do.”

“Interesting. Moreso than a flytrap?”

“Larger. And a bit more complicated. Thought I saw an eye, though I could be wrong about that in particular.”

“So you say, but you’ll disappoint me if I see no eyes staring at me when we get there.”

Rose puts down her teacup, having only half finished it. The soft clink is so ingrained into my mind, I swear my muscles move in reaction to it.

“Very well then. We leave when?”

“At your discretion.” It’s always her times. I could probably set my own, but what purpose is that? I have cleared my whole day for this; I would clear my whole week if she asked on a whim.

“Now, then?”

“As you wish.”

This, too, is at Rose’s discretion. How long it takes to get there; what pace we set, what mood the day is in. Everything is under Rose’s control; under her spell, just as I am. She is as controlling as Uvirel, I think; except Uvirel has never appeared before us to enforce things, where Rose is very willing to act on her wishes.

The woods are an offshoot of the cathedral, mostly to prevent people from wandering in and discovering something dangerous. The only way for the church to truly protect the land is to own it; naysayers often walk into danger themselves. Sometimes I wonder how anyone can agree with such idiots. Must be idiots themselves, I suppose.

Rose is beautiful. It’s something I don’t often think about- I know it, no need to keep thinking about it. But it never ceases to stun me, just how enchanting she is. In the quiet darkness of the woods, with slivers of light falling through the cracks and onto her hair, she looks like an angel with a halo of light around her; ethereal, and yet so real. I want to touch her, just to make sure she won’t fly away, or dissipate into the light. I won’t bother her.

A witch, maybe. But I’ll let it slide.

We come to the place where I remember the green visage, and I stop Rose before she takes another step.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“To searching, then.”

It takes no time at all for my hand to be caught by a vine snapping to attention. Within moments Rose is muttering a spell, unbinding me, but her focus is not on my health; instead, she scans the underbrush with a precision befitting a hawk. Suddenly, she sees her target; she lunges with just her bare hands, and quickly gets caught.

My sword is unhooked on a moment’s notice and without hesitation I cleave the vines in two; Rose is almost unbothered, pointing to the source. I am tempted to skewer it to observe, but Rose would perhaps kill me, so instead I slash all its vines so there is no method of attack.

A final vine comes out from behind it, but before I can slice it, the front opens to an eye, staring at me with fear and curiosity.

“Ah. Good, it wasn’t disappointing.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this, then.”

“Oh, very much so. Studying is nice, but I’ll admit watching you wield a sword is often better.”

With that she walks up, confident as a cat, and starts poking and prodding, making notes in the book that follows her around. The pages never run out; they seem to get lost in the abyss, and I swear she always opens it to the same spot. The eye looks at her with malice; I point the sword straight at it, and back to fear it goes.

After a few hours, she makes a triumphant noise, somewhere between a grunt and a hum.

“Alright. Figured it out. Think it’s bound itself to a rune, and used the magic to gain sentience. It didn’t work quite right, though, or something, and now it’s very barely an animal in the slightest degree.”

“So we are?”

“Hm? Oh. Well it’s not like it can do anything, and if it regrows the vines then whoever’s coming here should be more careful.”

“Very well. I’ll use it as training for the cadets.”

“Oh, do invite me. I would love to watch that.”

“Of course.”

As we walk back to the cathedral, I can’t help but wonder where the second eye went.

A few days later, and we are adventuring again. The days between are calm; sometimes I come simply to drink tea and take a break, others we barely talk at all. Those days I don’t quite care for. There will always be more to research, though, and thus more adventures to take. Worthwhile.

“You’ve come bearing news?”

“Not surprised the witch knows, even when I’ve done nothing to reveal my secrets.”

“Easy to read, Mira darling. I’ve told you that before and I’ll tell you again.”

“That does not change you being a witch.”

“Oh, alright. Now tell me the news.”

“I was swimming and found an underwater cave covered in green, glowing markings. I’ve never seen them before.”

“Interesting.”

The soft clink of china makes my muscles jolt on instinct. It is only luck that I do not look like a fool, much less drop my teacup.

“When are we leaving, then?”

“At your discretion.”

“Now’s a good time as any.”

The beach is very nearly next to the cathedral. I swim in my armor- it has been made waterproof due to those godforsaken salamanders that like to crawl into crevices and bind with the metal, so swimming with it is a matter of strength rather than worry about rust or the like. Rose, the cheater, casts a little spell and she’s floating in a bubble next to me. Witch.

Witch I love to love. I’ll give her that- she’s a damn skilled witch, to have caught such a high-ranking paladin. Or maybe I never actually had any fortitude, and my title is due to my good acting. In either case, I am now her puppet.

There it is, again. Under the sea- so dark compared to the light of the surface- is a strange ring of green lights surrounding a cave. They seem to speak in scripts I don’t recognize, and by her puzzled, inquisitive gaze I suspect Rose hasn’t a clue either.

“This is…otherworldly. What have you found, Mira darling?”

“Is that not your job to find out?”

“Well, it’s not an eel’s lair, I’ll tell you that. Come, let’s go.”

Without a thought she drifts almost lazily into the cavern, gazing at the walls. There are no more markings, but there are metal bits strewn about; I don’t recognize the metal, or any colors, or even the shape. No armor would break like this; what is all this? A damn ship’s remains? Not in a cave like this- no ship could make it here.

As we go further in, there are more metal scraps. At some point, Rose notices something- she dashes to pick it up, and we look at it together. Strange strings- they feel smooth to the touch, and are assorted colors. The insides have very thin metal wire- for what, I wonder? And how are they so thin? Cut with a saw?

“Mira.”

Her voice is soft, serious, in awe. I cannot focus on what she says, like this.

“Yes?”

“This…this cannot be of this world.”

“Yes.”

I can’t quite comprehend what she means. Not fully- I know, literally, what that means. The idea does not register the same way she understands it; such is evident in her absolute awe, compared to my very near boredom. If she wasn’t such a beautiful damn witch I’d leave right now.

Finally, she starts to move again. Slowly, through the tunnel, looking for more strange artifacts. A strange black panel, with the strings come out of it. There is glass on its top; I only know because it is shattered. A little square of some strange material, with a symbol on it- mildly resembling a “k,” but slightly off. Also, backwards.

The silence is ominous. I feel that something is coming; I do not know if it is hostile. Instincts, do not fail me; it feels foreign, as if even when I meet it I will not understand a damn thing. I don’t feel hostility, but that does not mean it will not fight. I must be prepared, but not hostile myself; my sword is in my sheath, but it is unhooked.

Rose is slow and methodical with her movements as we approach a breach in the water. She doesn’t let the bubble pop above the water; she wants to observe. We see more strange, unidentifiable objects. There is no one there, as far as either of us can tell. I know she thinks so, too, as she is slowly approaching.

I don’t know if this area is hostile. She doesn’t, either; I see the fear in her every move, the apprehension in her eyes. She’s about to surface; I can’t let that happen. She’s begging me not to; not with her voice, but with everything else in her body capable of begging. Or maybe I’m just under a spell.

The water splashes loudly with my arrival to the surface. My lungs go from gills to my nose; I cough a few times, still getting used to the fresh air. So clean, too; it gives me a heady feeling, how nice this air is. Perhaps this is another enchantment; perhaps Rose has simply never seen another witch’s magic.

“Zu thrien kra? Li'phren ku shren, hh…. ku'vren?”

“What the hell?” Whispers Rose, but we’re already getting our answer.

A woman- woman? I don’t know- steps out of a turn we didn’t see. Her top half looks normal compared to the bottom- a normal person, almost, except for the teal skin and light colored pupils. And her hair, which blends its colors- a vibrant blue on top, fading to dark at the tips; little teal stars dot it, as though there’s a galaxy within her long, curled mane. There are two crystals on her head like hair clips, the same color but with none of the stars; there is seafoam, or perhaps mist, or something of that nature gathering like a tiara sitting upon her head.

Her coat- which is all she wears- is certainly not from this realm. It has strange patterns on the shoulders, with little gems hanging from it in the same green, glowing hue as the outside markings. Said markings line the bottom of her coat, and the cuffs; they are folded, seemingly but line up perfectly with her outfit. There is a strange dangling link in the center of her chest, connecting the two halves rather than buttons or the like. Three teal crystals hang from it.

And then, her bottom half. Tentacles- too many to count, more than an octopus- similar to her hair, but in reverse; mostly dark, with light-tipped ends.

“…eh? Kali-vr– I mean, offworlders?”

Her voice is deep, and has a strange accent I can’t place.

“Er, this would be home, for you, hm. I am the stranger, yes?”

“I would believe so.”

“Hello, then. My apologies, I don’t know language well. Not many…” She makes wild gestures with her hand, trying to find a word.

“Resources?”

“Hm? Ah. Probably? Not very good with this language, ahaha.”

“That’s alright. I don’t know yours, so I can’t quite blame.”

“Oh, of course. Only the Aaciren know our words. I had forgotten I am on another home right now- another planet.”

“You come from space?”

“Hm? Ah…kind of, yes! Space works, yes. ”

“An alien.” Breathes Rose, as her first words of a century. Her eyes are dumbstruck, and yet hold a curiosity only ever sated by vigorous testing and interrogation. I almost feel bad for this alien woman; I don’t know quite enough to empathize, yet.

“Ah, is that the word for it? In our language it is quite different.”

Suddenly, Rose seems to remember that we are still in water; she shivers, from the temperature. I notice, at about the same time. Even for an underwater cave, this place is strangely cold.

“Ah, apologies! I perfer the chill- er, that is wrong, yes? My, my, silly Orall'vren. Give the guests the warmth, even home that is tradition- that’s not the right words? Hm. Strange language.”

The alien moves about, gathering something from farther in the cave. I look to Rose; all the intrigue is gone from her eyes, and in its place is fear and cold.

I can’t leave her like that. I hold her hand, first; she looks to me, scared, looking for some stability. I haven’t a clue what has given her a fright, but I refuse to keep that look on her face any longer. I gently nudge her into my embrace; she moves, stiffly at first, then practically launches herself into my arms, shivering against my armor. It is warmer than she is, I know this; thank Uvirel for this armor.

By the time the alien comes back, Rose is looking satisfied again. She looks at me once more with a clear thanks in her eyes. There, again, is a third look I am addicted to. Damn witch, casting her charms even now, even here. I will never tire of it.

“Here, here. Blankets are warm.”

The alien doesn’t lie. They are warmer than either of us; we huddle under two like scared kittens rescued from an abusive owner.

Now that we’re safe, Rose looks around curiously. I see the search for knowledge slowly come into her eyes again, like the slow beginning of the rising sun. Everything she looks at she looks more sharply at. She isn’t speaking again, though. Still, her voice escapes her.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, of course! Hospitality is important- that was correct, I am sure of it.”

“May I ask you a question?” Rose, finally , starts to speak to the alien.

“Yes, of course. Ask away! I will answer as best I can in this language.”

“What’s your name?”

“Orall'vren.”

[rudra-writes]

Pallas and Telurin - Meeting (Part 1)

This is a log of a roleplay story written with Telurin’s player. In Shadowmoon Valley of AU Draenor, the draenei priest Pallas is rescued from orcs by a death knight mounted on horseback named Telurin. The two of them take Pallas’s injured guard back to civilization, where Pallas shows great curiosity towards the death knight.

About a month had passed after Pallas's brutal 'training' at the hands of his Death Knight mentor, Rasuron. It had taken the Anchorite that much time to recover, but now he was up and about and eating again. One night, it came into his head to return to the site of the Moonwillow Tree. The Tree, in the one instance Rasuron had been present near it, had seemed to trigger a memory or strange reaction in the other draenei, for it had seemed to draw him strangely. Accompanied by one of Karabor's defenders, a pleasant Vindicator by name of Alhoriel, Pallas journeyed to the tree again by talbuk.

He searched about until he had found a seedling of the giant Tree. Unfortunately for the two of them, Pallas wandered away from the civilized, safe region during his search. The Anchorite dug up the seedling with a spade, then wrapped the roots up in canvas. "I've found one, Alhoriel--"

The other draenei made a motion in the darkness to cut all sound. Pallas froze in place where he was. The sequence of events happened very quickly. Alhoriel told him to run. In nearly the same instant, a spear punctured through his back, erupting through his breastplate in a spray of sapphire droplets.

Pallas cried out in grief and turned around. He swung himself up into the saddle of his talbuk, miraculously still clutching the precious seedling. The poor animal took two gallops, then bucked wildly as it was needled full of arrows.

Pallas hit the dirt on his back hard. An orcish boot stamped down on his right wrist, the brutish creature grinning at the Anchorite luridly. Pallas, at the very least, managed not to panic, and instead squirmed and flung himself about like an eel dragged onto land, crying out for help.

There were Shadowmoon orcs here, so close to the Moonwillow? It was a horrific thought. Although he wasn't certain, Pallas discerned three or four orcish warriors coming in to surround him.

Hearing the cry for help, Telurin turns the nose of his charger toward the scene. The big horse knows what the scent of blood means and his ears perk as he picks up speed, cresting the rise and smashing into an orc nearly at the same time, crushing him underhoof. Telurin urges him to continue through the group, deflecting a badly attempted blow and cutting another down before the pair are out of the pack, and Telurin wheels the horse and slides out of the saddle in nearly the same movement, preferring to meet the rest of the group on his own hooves.

With a cry, Pallas rolled out of the way of the heavy horse. He thought, somewhat deliriously, that it must be Rasuron - He had seen the Knight's charger before. It made absolutely no sense why he would be here, but stranger things have happened. When he picked his head up and saw the silhouette that slid off of the charger, he realized that it wasn't Rasuron. It was someone else. ...But why would a different person ride an undead, lichfire-flaming horse? It hadn't dawned on the priest yet that there might exist other draenei death knights. The orc closest to him shouted an unintelligible command at the others, and they turned away from him to face what looked like the far greater threat. He counted three of the orcs, the fourth having been trampled to the dirt and unmoving. They wasted no time gaining the offensive, charging the Knight, axes at the ready.

Telurin scowls, and barks a short command to the horse in an equally harsh tongue. The charger trumpets a challenge and charges the furthest one on the right as his master reaches out with a free hand and freezes the orcs in place with chains of ice before making his own strike with the long runeblade he carries.

Pallas had seen Rasuron in combat - He'd seen the absolute hell that Death Knights were capable of wreaking. He pushed himself up on his palms while Telurin cut down the first of the orcs. They were terribly enraged to be rooted in place, and they seemed as if they'd break free from the force of their sheer anger alone. But this did not happen, and they remained frozen to the ground. The horse delivered a kick to its orc's forehead, dispatching him swiftly. Pallas wanted to help too. Scowling, he focused all his inner energy on the frozen-in-place orc closest to him... looking for all the world as if he were merely staring it down. But it became confused, as if it had forgotten the reason for its being here.

The charger stamps vindictively on the corpse of the latest orc he's crushed before wheeling again and placing himself nearly on top of Pallas. Telurin catches the glazed look in one of the remaining orc's eyes and changes his target, his runeblade splitting the orc nearly in two, from one shoulder to the opposite hip. The remaining orc, managing to break free of his chains, howls as he swings his axe toward the death knight. Telurin brings his runeblade up from the previous swing, up and under the orcs gaurd to catch him in the ribs, the blade going through bone and armor as if it were nothing. His axe hits one of Telurin's pauldrons and skitters off, but he's already dead.

"Agh!" Pallas falls over on his rump when the horse approaches him closely, although a moment or two later he had picked up on the fact that the animal was trying to shield him. The Anchorite was covered in dirt his blue eyes blinking owlishly at the unfamiliar, suspiciously Death Knight-looking figure not far from him. Whoever it was... They had just more than likely saved his life. Pallas glanced around wildly for any sign of other orcs, but he saw and heard nothing unusual. It did not, however, automatically mean that they were now safe.

Telurin pulls his blade out of the last orc by putting a hoof on the corpse's chest and pulling. He also looks around warily but, seeing no additional immediate threats, he takes a moment to wipe his runeblade clean on the orc's clothing.  He turns to look at the person he's saved, eyeing him with a critical eye to asses any damage he may have occurred. The big horse continues to stand over Pallas, but now that the threat is past he's calmed, and he bends his head to nose the Anchorite he's standing over with his muzzle.

Pallas jumps at first at the innocuous nuzzling of the charger, then realizes the horse is behaving the same as any living horse, despite its fearful appearance. Pallas rises to his hoofs slowly - He does not appear to be seriously harmed. He looked up and into the eyes of the unfamiliar man... He had Rasuron's aura. No matter. "Please, we must recover Alhoriel's body," Pallas begged Telurin. "It's not far away... He died because of me." Pallas's hands balled up into fists and his eyes squinched closed. "I was stupid, and wanted to come out here for a plant... A good man died because of me..." His thin shoulders started to shake.

Telurin frowns, and takes a half step toward Pallas before stopping himself. The horse's ears flick back at the sound of distress emanating from the draenei below him and nudges him more insistently. "Sugarfoot." Telurin says, cracking the word like a whip. The horse reluctantly moves away from Pallas. Telurin considers the man a moment more and nods. "Take me to him."

Telurin seemed hesitant to approach the Anchorite. It matched Pallas's first exposure to Rasuron - Rasuron had done his best to push the priest away from him, as if concerned he'd get hurt or sullied somehow. Pallas rubbed tears out of his eyes, but when Telurin replies that he will follow, he looks up and nods gratefully. The priest turned and hurried a short distance into the underbrush. There lay a dead talbuk, and a Vindicator with a grievous wound. But the Vindicator was still alive! Pallas cried out and flung himself to the other draenei's side. Completely without hesitation, he placed his hands into the wound and began to channel the Light. His white hands were stained a vivid indigo in the process. Pallas looked back up at Telurin's face. "We must take him to safety, as quickly as we can," he implored the Knight. "I think I can stabilize him, but he will need intensive care."

Telurin had followed Pallas to the wounded man, and privately agrees on Pallas's assessment of the injury. He speaks another word to his charger, who moves to stand next to the injured Draenei and lays down. "We can tie him to the saddle if need be."

"Thank you," Pallas muttered. He moved to the Vindicator's hoofs. "If you take his shoulders, I can pick up his feet?" The Knight was quite large, and Pallas could not move Alhoriel on his own. His curiosity was starting to kick in, now that the danger had passed. Pallas watched Telurin with bold-faced inquisitiveness. "Are you... one of the Ebon Blade?" he asked, humbly.

Telurin steps closer, and nods curtly before crouching next to the wounded guard. "I prefer Telurin." His voice rings hollow like any other of his kind, but it's also expressive and right now is curt, most of his attention on their surroundings. He lifts the wounded man easily, the only thing left for Pallas to do is get one of his hooves over the horn of the saddle.

Hurriedly, Pallas helps swing the bulky Vindicator's hoofed leg over the saddle of Telurin's horse. Privately, he is surprised to hear emotion in Telurin's voice. He was used to speaking with Rasuron, whose voice and manner were infamously devoid of warmth. Pallas looked as if he were remembering something at the last minute, and scurried a short distance away. He picked up the seedling he had dropped and shoved it into his robes, then hurried back to Telurin's side. "I am ready to depart," the Anchorite announced, then he blinked and said, "Oh, I am Anchorite Pallas." He bowed on the spot, apparently unable to resist formality.

Telurin is still tying the injured guard to the saddle, but he smirks at the introduction and after he's finished with the knots, he returns the bow with equal formality. "Any man'ari would know you to be an Anchorite."  he touches Sugarfoot on the shoulder and the charger stands with the injured man safely tied to his saddle and only requiring a bit of stabilization as the horse gets to his hooves.

Man'ari! An accursed name! Pallas seemed to puff up like an angry chipmunk. His tail wiggled like a cat that was about to pounce. "A man'ari can suck my left teat," he muttered, pouting stormily, before realizing he'd said a curse! He blushed faintly, "...Please forget that I said that, Sir."

Telurin snorts. "Hardly the worst I've heard, even from an Anchorite." He makes an expansive gesture toward the road. "Lead the way."

Pallas's brows drew together in confusion. He'd really never met a foul-mouthed Anchorite before. Foul-mouthed Vindicators, yes, but not an Anchorite. "It would be fastest if we all ride," Pallas replied, looking up at the head of the charger. "But can your steed bear the three of us? Um, I don't weigh very much."

Telurin seems to consider this for a moment, before he nods. "Sit in front, and I will ride behind. It is not far, Sugarfoot should be able the bear the weight."

Pallas swung himself up into the saddle, possibly with some assistance to compensate for his short height. He wrinkled his nose. "You have named your horse very strangely for a Death Knight," he remarks, maybe not entirely politely.

"He came with the name." Telurin replies, his tone returning to its former curtness. He sees Pallas struggling and sighs, offering his brusque assistance before swinging up behind the two of them with ease. "Though it seems to suit his personality. "Hand me the reins, if you would."

Pallas gives Telurin the reins. He smiles a bit. Any Knight that would choose to continue to use such an adorable name cannot be all bad, he thinks to himself. Then he turned to look forward, blushing faintly. He felt very small riding in front of this giant, undead man. That's right... he was undead. He had died. Pallas shivered despite himself. "I am sorry for troubling you like this, Telurin, Sir..."

Telurin takes the reins, and clucks to the horse to get him to go, as well as to reply to Pallas. "Trouble? I would say this day has been more troubling for you, Anchorite." Now that they are moving, he's more relaxed, and his tone lightens in turn. "It is *just* Telurin, however. Do not trouble yourself with 'sirs' on my account." He sounds slightly disturbed by the thought, actually.

Pallas's long, thin tail wrapped around his waist protectively, and for warmth. There was a drizzle, and the night was cold. "I understand, S--I mean, Telurin." The Death Knight felt as cold as iron behind him. "I am used to formality, living at the temple at Karabor... But I will try not to be so much around you, if it bothers you." The last thing Pallas wanted to do was peeve a giant, undead Death Knight. Even one who called his steed Sugarfoot.

Telurin's response is to snort, making his opinion on the matter clear. "The only thing that bothers me is that an Anchorite feels he owes respect to a man'ari such as myself."

Pallas's jaw drops open. "Wh--You cannot call yourself that!" he quips. He looks emotional. "You saved my life! A man'ari would never do something like that. I have only just met you, but I can already tell, you are not one of them!" He seems to be rather emotional!

Telurin laughs, though it's hollow and carries little mirth. "You must be young."

Pallas pouts at Telurin, even as the pair return to civilization. "What does me being young have to do with anything?" His brows come down. It's quite adorable. "You will not call yourself by that name in my presence!"

Telurin looks amused at that statement. "Oh? And what will you do if I refuse?" Telurin replies, and it's clear in his voice that he's already dismissed Pallas's argument.

Pallas is not so easily dismissed! He pouts even more, if that were possible. "...Sugarfoot will be disappointed in you!" That was the best he could come up with on short notice.

"Hardly." Telurin scoffs. "As long as he gets his feed and his brush he is content." They reach the front of the inn and Telurin is the first to dismount, turning to offer Pallas a hand, equal parts sarcasm and a genuine offer of assistance. "I understand you've just been attacked, but your rhetoric could use some work. Try appealing to my better nature next, see how far it gets you."

Pallas still looks angry. He actually seems to debate spiting Telurin's offer of assistance, but then he thinks better of it and takes the Death Knight's hand. "I don't want you to call yourself that," he tried again, sounding less irritated. "Man'ari are 100 feet tall, bright red, have giant fangs, and have no redeeming features." He climbed down, "They also probably smell bad."

Telurin helps Pallas down with the same brusque regard before turning and beginning to untie the straps holding the guard in place. "In the original meaning of the word," he says, still focused on the straps and not looking at Pallas, "It means 'wrong', or 'twisted by evil.' In this regard, man'ari is an excellent choice to use. It was only later that it became associated with those that stayed behind."

Pallas scurried to the other side of Sugarfoot to help untie the knots. His tail unfurled from his waist and twisted and shook in his irritation. "You are obstinate," he replied, but then his voice cracked, "Just like Rasuron."

When the straps are loosened on the far side, he pulls the unconscious guard off of the horse with ease. "I am." He replies easily, "Though you are as well. What is it to you what I call myself, Anchorite?"

Pallas looked up as Telurin prepared to go inside with the wounded and unconscious Vindicator. His brows furrowed. Pallas didn't have an easy answer for that. "You were kind enough to save my life..." he murmured. "You could have chosen to have left us."

Telurin speaks another word in a harsh tongue to Sugarfoot and looks to Pallas. "Loop the reins over the pommel. He can be trusted not to wander." He pauses, his tail twitching irritably at Pallas's words. "It is not in my nature to leave an Anchorite to orcs, even now." he says, and enters the building before Pallas can respond.

Telurin lays the injured draenei on the bed, and moves to put some distance between himself and the living.

[dannyscreativeideas]

The Goober

The Goober

Known simply as Goobers, there is a species of amphibious animals, active in both the water and on land, reaching a height of about 8 to 12 inches, that lives in the cluster of remote islands. They are known to spend travel between the islands and sleep within underbrush. Its diet includes: land and water animals equal in size or smaller, grubs, wild vegetables, and fruits.

Features

Electrolysis

In the water, it takes in water (H2O) through its mouth, It absorbs the oxygen, and releases oxygen-poor water out its gills. Alongside this, by being a creature that can generate electricity, known as a bioelectrogenetic (like an eel), it has a special ability unlike other animals, known as electrolysis. This refers to its ability to generate electricity to split the water into hydrogen and oxygen. The oxygen is absorbed while the hydrogen moves to an internal pouch. This process of electrolysis occurs until the hydrogen pouch is full.

Siphon

It also has a siphon it uses for propulsion, similar to a squid. The siphon is made up of two parts, a flap in its front (for inflow) and a tube in its back (for outflow). By collecting and squeezing out water, it propels itself forward. While it is on land, its siphon allows for a special ability by using its hydrogen pouch. Using its ability to generate electricity, it is able to ignite the hydrogen as it is released out of its pouch. This propulsion on land can be used in various ways.

Fin/Horn

The fin on its head can be manipulated by its muscles to move the point to the front, becoming a defensive horn.

Abilities

Related to its siphon

Propulsion Swimming: Push out water to swim faster

Surface Breaching: Push out water to leap out of water. (Can be used for identifying island locations as well as conserving energy due to less resistance)

Hydrogen Leaping: Ignite hydrogen to propel itself to tall heights (Can be used for grabbing fruit)

Claw Takedown: Ignite hydrogen to propel itself forward while sticking its claws forward. (Can be used to attack or to grab high fruit)

Ram Attack: Ignite hydrogen to propel itself forward and ram with its head

Spin Burn: Ignite hydrogen and spin around. (Can be used for defense or to burn underbrush)

Other abilities

Bipedal Running: Able to run fast. (Can be used for quick travel as well as avoiding predators)

Horn Thrust: Able to manipulate its fin to form a horn to attack with.

Claw Digging: Clear dirt to prepare its shelter, find grub worms, or collect wild vegetables and low fruit.

[spacecadetcity]

fictober eight + nine.

@goldgreenie ‘s adara and kp.

fictober eight: “can you stay?” original work. words: 188.

    “it’s only a little further,” vesper coaxed, nudging a stumbling kp ahead of him. the former prince and vesper’s son had been taking turns being carried on the caretakers’ back, but non-stop movement was exhausting even with the small breaks. vesper himself had gone past her breaking point hours ago, but had kept moving for the sake of his younger charges.

    “vespie, i’m tired! i wanna sleep!” the former prince sniffled, sitting himself down by the edge of the path and refusing to get up. vesper tried a few more times before giving up, carefully sliding a dozing eel off his back and onto the ground as well.

    “very well, you two rest. i will find us something to eat,” vesper didn’t wait for any sort of reply, vanishing into the underbrush and leaving the two behind. kp cast a fearful look around and curled into eels’ side, trembling.

    “can’t you stay?” he called out, but his voice was tiny and afraid, and the looming silence of the forest around them swallowed it up. kp whimpered, and tucked his tail tight around him to wait out vesper’s return.

 warning: this next fic has implied abuse.

fictober nine: “there is a certain taste to it.” original. words: 506.

“what’s it like, ‘dara?” kp’s tired voice sounded beside her, and the young general couldn’t even muster the energy to turn and look him in the face. she couldn’t muster the energy to reply either, her focus far away instead. the former prince knew that look- adara was trapped in her own memory of the earlier battle.

after a few moments she dragged her attention to the cat beside her, and kp imagined that she thought he looked as bad as he thought she did. she grinned at him, and kp couldn’t repress the shudder- he knew her teeth fell out and grew back at nearly unnatural rates, but the shattered, broken appearance of them never failed to send a sense of fear through out him.

“what’s what like, kipper? leading? you used t’ be a prince, you know what that’s like,” she teased, and kp shoved at her. she cackled, tossing her head back, and kp laughed, albeit a bit nervously. he had thought that he had given her enough time after the battle, but maybe she was still feeling… whatever it was that she felt when she led them against the others. after a few moments she quieted down though, and caught his eye with such a look of intensity that kp couldn’t look away.

“when i’m out there.. when i see their faces.. it’s like there’s nothing they can do to hurt me,” adara curled her claws out, still broken and bloody from the fight earlier, “they’ve finally realized they made such a terrible mistake in hurting me, and it’s too late for forgiveness. it’s exhilarating, hearing them beg me for mercy. pleading for their lives as if when i was little they wouldn’t toss me around because i didn’t matter. it’s like.. there’s a certain taste to it.”

kp stayed silent, and adara’s gaze lost its intensity, instead focusing on something far away. her voice dropped until it was a whisper that kp had to strain to hear.

“it tastes like copper and rot, makes me nauseous and at the same time it fuels me with this desire to hurt them more and more. till the world’s just a swirling red mess, and there’s not a single one left breathing,” adara continued, and kp looked away. “it feels like i was hurt for so long, and it feels like i earned it. i earned hearing every one of them who let me suffer so badly cry out for mercy, and it feels like they earned my jaws tearing out their throats.”

adara trembled, and kp had to remind himself that as young as he was, adara was a few years younger- she would have been barely considered school age when she began this rebellion, this war. despite the violence in her words, adara seemed so small and young, even with the orange invading her pupils.

“it feels lonely, kp. it feels scary. what am i going to do when i win? if there’s no one to hurt, i’m scared of what’s left.”

[thebadgerwriter-blog]

Prologue: The Nightmare

A wind of the most piercing cold flies over the land, and as it rushes through the valleys and flows over the hills that form the foundations of the Ten Kingdoms, it causes the hearts of Men to flutter and their courage to flag. As the dark wind continues its foreboding journey, it echoes in the mountain halls of the mighty Golems, causing the stone of their great hearts to fracture and quake. Undaunted by every impediment to its dread errand, the disheartening wind brushes the hidden homes of the Blood Angels with frost, making their haughty hearts wary. Finally, the fell wind ends its journey by gently kissing the leaves of the tallest trees in the Dark Forest, the most ancient in all of Nao’Se.      

           Far below the kingly boughs of the Forest's trees, cat eyes of shining blue open upon a new dawn, then narrow again as the glare of the sun finds its way through the leaves overhead, stabbing the center of the narrow pupil. Terrible promise rests in these eyes and the irritation in them causes the leaves above to close of their own accord, unwilling to allow their Master to remain in discomfort.

           As the humanoid form stands, the entire forest seems to respond in kind, becoming more alert. A sense of expectation suffuses the air like a scent on the edge of awareness. The dark shape of the Forest's Master takes a step, and the Forest responds accordingly, moving itself ever so slightly to the east. The dark creatures that call this forest home fly from their roosts at the shifting of the boughs and begin to stir from their burrows at the movement of the ground, heeding the quickening call of the great mind that guards the Eldest of the Wild Places.

           In the air, serpentine bats with the grasping legs of a crab and the dagger teeth of a python release their eight-legged grips on the lowest branches of the evergreens they call home and proceed to then fly higher than the trees themselves could ever dream of reaching.

           On the ground, Wargs with brindled fur and fierce red eyes prowl between the thick trunks of the old growth oaks and maples, hardly stirring the underbrush that huddles against the roots of the more majestic plants like ducklings seeking shelter under their mother's wings.

           In the deep waters that flow through the very heart of the forest, long, terrible, eel-like creatures with grasping tentacles and powerful fins cause entire stretches of the rivers to become the fiercest of rapids with merely their morning stretching.

           Yet over all the noise of the stirrings of the strange creatures and the impossible movement of the towering flora, a voice from deep within the heart of the forest can be heard, echoing like the calls of a lost lover through the trees, yet striking with the force of an apathetic and impatient lord. The words cannot be understood, but they hold within them the whispers of a Destiny yet to be fully determined. In the far distance, a man's voice cries out in the darkness, and Drahvienn awakes from his nightmare in a cold sweat, unknowing of the meaning of his dream. He sits up in his makeshift bed of leaves and turns to find Sylvain's reflective eyes shining moonlight back at him out of the impromptu den the Forest Cat had made out of the root system of a nearby willow.

           Easing out of his sheltered resting place Sylvain walks the few steps it takes to get to Drahvienn and sits by him. "The nightmares," The cat's silken voice seems to glide out of his mouth as he speaks, "Are they back after all this time, Wildfang?"

           Face in hand, Drahvienn speaks in a harsh whisper, "Yes. I had thought they were gone a decade ago. I wasn't even quite a man the last time they... Sylvain, why are they starting again? I've told you about them. Smoke and flames, you knew about them even before I told you! Don't you have any idea what they mean? Any clue as to why they plagued me for so many years only to stop and then start again now?"

           Drahvienn turns his head to peer at his companion, his silver hair shining in the moonlight and his frost-blue eyes flashing with anger and fear. In response, Sylvain bows his head and replies in a calm voice, "That, young one, is something I do not yet understand."