#i just want a videolog of a guy who gets stuck in fairyland and sees weird incomprehensible things

[hapalopus]

Excerpts from the journal of Quinn Langston Whitmore (aka "1700s scientist gets isekaied into tf kink anime world and meets this guy:

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5th of November, 1792 (Year 436 Post-Tower)

608th day in this world

I have encountered a most peculiar young man. At a glance, he is not dissimilar from the other races of this world; he could pass for a strange human, if not for his saucer-sized gem-color eyes and his leaf-shaped ears. He is of short stature and slight build, with chestnut hair and a similarly warm and deep skintone. I do not know how to describe the color of his eyes, for they seem to glow in every shade of azure, turquoise, and emerald at once. His face is rather long and narrow and, fittingly, "horse-like."

His name is Moussa and he speaks this land's common tongue, albeit thickly accented. He told me (in much different terms) that he is, in his society, of a rank akin to a prince or lord-apparent. He travels with a tall and rather mannish human woman named Zélie. His companion does not speak the common tongue, and they converse with each other in a shrill and vowel-heavy language that I have never heard before.

But what peculiarity could this man have that has captivated me so?

Moussa's anthropoid appearance is only one half of his "true self." In our first encounter, he had, from the waist down, the body of a horse, not unlike the centaurs of our ancient Greece and Rome. In a moment, his equine body disappeared before my eyes, replaced with two perfectly unassuming (and fully clad, might I add) human legs.

Astounded, I inquired about the nature of his transformation, and he explained that it is an ability all individuals of his race are born with. He referred to his race with a shrill and guttural sound that may best be transcribed as "hrihriwa" - the name puts one in mind of a horse's whinnying.

Tomorrow I shall ask him to model for me in his preferred centaurine form.

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6th of November, 1792 (Year 436 Post-Tower)

609th day in this world

Moussa graciously posed for me long enough to sketch his portrait. When I inquired about his braids, he explained that they are a devotional in nature; that his society forbids haircuts and employ protective braids to minimize damage to the hair. I felt it impolite to ask about his cropped forelock.

Moussa and Zélie appear pious. At sunset and sunrise I could not help but observe them engaged in an hour-long ritual, though I averted my gaze to grant them privacy as best I could.

Both travelers are friendly, but incurious. So far, they have only asked me my name, where I come from, and my destination. I explained to the best of my ability, but their expressions told me that they take me for a lunatic, like every other person in this world. I know I am not mad. Everyone's ignorance of the mechanism of my arrival to this world will not convince me that I am mad, nor will I give up my quest to return to England.

Seated by the evening fire, I could not stay my curiosity any longer and requested that Moussa demonstrate his transformational skills. He seemed amused by my curiosity, but transformed his hand into a strange mixture of horse and man, which I gratefully sketched. Having never met another shapeshifter like him, and his apparent opinion that bodily transformation is mundane, I must assume that his people's rarity is caused by isolation, rather than simple scarcity. He confirmed that this is his first time away from his homeland in his 25 years of life, though, when pressed, he staunchly refused to explain the location of said homeland.

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9th of November, 1792 (Year 436 Post-Tower)

612th day in this world

Today's travel was particularly strenuous as we were forced to cross over a rocky ridge. Moussa seemingly prefers to be fully equine for exercises of this nature, and I was delighted to see that his mane is identical in style and color to his human hair - perhaps this is a clue to his people's religiosity.

Halfway up the ridge, we held a quick rest. Moussa asked Zélie for a waterskin (for of course he can talk in his equine shape) and, rather than change to a more anthropoid form, he simply willed two arms to extend from his neck. I had to sketch it from memory, as my journal was tucked away at the time. Take note of the shirt sleeve seemingly growing out of his horsehide. I admit that scientific curiosity gave way to revulsion for a brief moment. I should very much like to vivisect him, but alas, I enjoy his company too much.

But oh, I am a fool! Let this be a lesson not to sketch life from memory: Moussa's braids were tied by their fibulae rings at the time of the transformation. However, as of sketching this, they are untied - something he does every evening.

Another evening habit of his is to exchange his human legs for horse legs and meticulously clean the hooves. Whether this is a part of his ritual, or simple practicality, I do not know.

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10th of November, 1792 (Year 436 Post-Tower)

613th day in this world

I asked Moussa to show me the queerest form he could muster, and he produced the following shape, which I must admit I was too taken aback to sketch in the moment. It was nauseating. Curiously, when one head spoke, the other joined in, and they produced two voices in perfect unison. This appeared to be an involuntary effect.

Perhaps with time I will get used to these unnatural therianthropic permutations and gain the fortitude to create live sketches.