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cloudbattrolls · 4 months ago

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It's A Kindness, Highness

Inshii | Suunaq Industrial Complex | Present Night

On a plain in the west of Alternia lay a sort of company town, a small, miserable settlement clinging to part of it like a brutalist blister.

A place few trolls had come willingly, and only in the employ of the corporation-gang that lined their pockets.

A place controlled by a mass of sapient parasites, one currently occupied with spreadsheets detailing all the people they kept there.

Inshii tapped away at their laptop when their silenced phone flashed a voicemail notification. They raised one thick finger to press the button that would play it, hearing aids attached to their fins gleaming silver in the low light of their office.

“Mx. Suunaq! We need you on-site. There have been multiple issues and we can’t seem to find the cause. You should really see this.”

The panicked recording of the factory supervisor irritated them, fins flicking as they rolled their eyes.

What did he need them on-site for? They knew their way around technology, yes, but they didn’t have time to fuss over factory problems. They turned back to their spreadsheets, their triple-screen setup glowing in front of them like it had for the past three…four?...hours.

They rubbed at their eyes - undead though they were, the glare was starting to get to them.

This was the fifth instance this week. They had all been minor things - glitches in the system that lasted a few seconds, slight inconsistencies in the security records, and brief measurement difficulties with their blood stock. Some sort of tiny weight discrepancy, as if something had been added, but testing had turned up nothing.

They’d all been looked into and fixed. The repetitiveness was irritating, but no connecting thread had been identified.

Of course the problems had started right after they’d gotten good news not long ago, too - they’d heard through their fae contacts that Ullane Wistim was indeed still alive, despite all her clinic’s work and QPIN connections somehow vanishing over a sweep ago.

Reclaiming her would be quite useful, given it was the regenerative serums she had made that had allowed Ozryel to take on a troll form again.

Queenpin would be pleased as well. It never hurt to have more credit with the ordinary rainbowdrinker; Inshii had no desire to unseat her when she was there to take the empire’s displeasure directly. Staying deeper in her favor than those in the gang who tried to unseat them was both satisfying and amusing when it caused those petty backstabbers frustration.

They’d also heard that Kaningård was forced to host an imperial agent now. They’d smirked to receive the news, imagining Tuuya having to deal with keeping their little mutant foster project hidden. Likely only a matter of time before the cavern was found out and the inferior second worm swarm was brought in for treason.

Their phone vibrating interrupted their fond imaginings and they scowled, picking it up. What now?

“Mx. Suunaq, please, the factory has locked us all out somehow - and the workers - the workers are revolting, they have weapons, we don’t know how -“

Inshii went still as the call dropped. All their wings and antennae went rigid inside their skin.

That shouldn’t be possible.

All employees were searched when leaving and entering the factory for theft or unauthorized possession of anything they shouldn’t have and monitored constantly by both their security cameras and their butterflies free-flying in the city.

They were all debtors to QPIN - wretches whose gambling, drug use and other crimes had put them in the corporation-gang’s pocket and for whom there were few choices to pay off their misdemeanors.

Those in the butterfly swarm’s employ had chosen labor.

Labor and blood donation.

A small portion of it went to QPIN for medical uses. But much of it was split between Inshii and their jadeblooded fellow.

They were a large swarm, after all. They needed a great deal of troll blood, their hunger never satiated for long. Much more convenient to have a steady, constant supply than to waste time on hunting. Living trolls were a renewable source; killing them was only justified if they were too inconvenient to let live.

They got up, wings fluttering again as they moved -

Their free-flying butterflies in the town.

Even the ones on Nott Station.

Gone.

All dead at once. With no warning.

Inshii snarled as they tore open the door of their office and ran for the building’s entrance, much faster than their tall, heavyset troll frame would seem capable of moving. Their long hair streamed behind them; they had no time or inclination to put it up in a bun or ponytail.

In seconds they raced through the streets -

The empty streets.

Where was everyone?

Where were the workers?

The supervisors?

They could hear a faint breeze as it whistled around the street lights.

A crow landed on one, watching them with black eyes as it cawed.

Another joined it.

Inshii’s eyes narrowed.

They let out butterflies to attack the crows, but the birds flew away the moment they split their skin, so the swarm recalled them.

They didn’t smell death, and as all drinkers did, they had a good nose for it.

So why…?

They continued to the factory.

The squarish gray building, a fixture there for hundreds of sweeps, looked the same as ever.

Its doors were flung open. The lights were on inside.

Still they could see, smell, and hear no one. Not a single troll.

Watching this surreal scene from a few dozen feet away, they opened their phone to make a call.

No signal. No connection to the factory’s security system.

The device began to melt in their hand as they cast it aside with a bewildered curse.

Shiny metal liquid and plastic dripped down as the phone, functional and intact seconds ago, became little more than a puddle of sludge on the pavement.

Their fins flicked. They should go back. This was getting out of control.

The butterfly swarm turned -

Crows.

Dozens. Hundreds, maybe. It was hard to tell.

Silently, they perched on the lights. On the buildings. Some flew in the air, their wingbeats steady as they watched the false violet.

Inshii hissed at them through needle fangs. They were the eldest of Ozryel’s children, and these birds thought they could intimidate them?

They took their laser gun from their sylladex -

It stuck to them. It cut into their head, turning into blades, slicing their skin, cutting into their insects -

With a screech they flung it away and backed up, body rippling with shock and anger as their own weapon betrayed them. It smashed into the pavement and broke, but their pupils were slits, butterfly-like pink and violet fins fanned out in rage.

The birds sitting still hadn’t moved an inch. The flying ones had landed. All of them stared at the rainbow drinker.

The factory, they thought. There would be a way to communicate in there. Computers. Phones.

Something.

There had to be something.

They ran for the open entryway, half expecting them to shut in their face just to continue this ridiculous haunted hive nonsense.

The automatic glass doors instead remained invitingly open as Inshii sailed through them and came to an abrupt stop.

The factory was still brightly lit, its lobby the same as ever.

Boot prints still covered the floor. The logbook laid open on the reception desk.

The computer was still there, though its screen was black.

No signs of a struggle.

The doors shut behind them.

They scoffed as they stepped toward the technology.

“Whoever you are, you’ll have to try harder than that.” They drawled. “I’ve been on this planet for over four thousand sweeps. Do you think your cheap tricks intimidate me?”

They reached the computer, looking and listening, their internal antennae twitching in disdain as their fins did the same.

“You might be good with technology, and I don’t know what you’ve done with my trolls, but it won’t end well for you.” They said with supreme disdain. “I’m the butterfly. You’re just a pest.”

Laughter, buzzing and technological, echoed through the room. They couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from - were their hearing aids faulty?

They laid a hand on the keyboard -

And could move no more.

Their whole body froze, except their mouth. Every last segment of their insects was motionless in their skin. They couldn’t even twitch an eye.

How? How could this be?

Then the walls…moved.

They rippled. Like their own insects could do, under their skin.

The metal walls partially warped into flesh, damp pink biowire rising from the hard gray material.

Inshii snarled.

“Stop with your nonsense. What do you want?”

Mercy, came a whisper. Again, they couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It was as if the voice was whispering directly into their hearing aids.

“Mercy!” They laughed - short, sharp and unamused. “I am merciful, compared to much of QPIN. My workers know exactly what their terms are. They know what they will pay, when, why, and how much left there is. They know what mistakes will add more to their sentences or cause them to lose more blood. I don’t have time to humor your dramatics.”

They struggled vainly to move anything besides their mouth.

Nothing.

“SECURITY COMMAND OVERRIDE FIVE SEVEN THREE.” They barked.

Again came the laughter.

Inshii remembered, then, that their eggshell was no more. Destroyed by that wretched hemoanon.

Every butterfly aside from this body had been snuffed out.

For the first time in ten millennia, the eater of countless trolls knew the cornered and furious helplessness of prey.

Then they felt a tearing sensation within them. Legs and wings and chitin, shredded, by a growing foreign presence in their body, a -

A curling, heaving mass of blades burst its way out of their chest. Metallic, yet…alive. As the things crawled like insects, they gleamed like the biowire in the walls. Like the dampness of new flesh.

Coalescing as if from nothing - no.

They saw their own folded white wings and legs melded with the material. Layered into it, without seam or gap, as if they were one and the same.

How?

How could this be?

The blades scuttled around their body. Gripping them. Becoming heavy as they grew more of themselves.

They felt the buzz. Saw the slight visual glitch.

Spacial distortion tech, the false violet realized. And something…something else…

Stunned disbelief spread through them even as the blades weighed them down, growing like a terrible metallic fractal.

This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be how it ended. Not for them, after all these sweeps.

They were the butterfly. One of the two last true drinker swarms.

The blades formed into…arms. Arms that pried their stiff mouth open.

Wings. Luminous metallic wings hanging off their body, spreading across the floor, creeping up and joining with the walls as they grew like kudzu vines before their eyes.

The walls, too, grew out into biowire tendrils, as did the ceiling. The floors as well, in shapes and patterns that to the water of trolls almost resembled the cells of a troll brain.

Inshii - ancient, well-traveled across the empire and its colonies - had no idea what they were seeing.

It didn’t feel like a horrorterror. Their sense of reality was fine; if anything, they felt exceptionally aware, as if the world itself pressed down heavier than usual.

It was no fae. No other supernatural being they had ever encountered. No alien they knew of.

The blades clinging to them, the ones attached to the arms, formed into a vaguely troll shaped body.

The face looking at them was not.

A short, blunt brown face with long serrations on the sides of the mouth. Glowing compound green eyes. A mane of white hair. Two slender silver antennae.

Its segmented, taloned hands kept their mouth pried open, and the face bit their teeth out of their mouth.

Every last needle-like fang was torn from their gums and crunched into pieces.

They’d regrow. They always -

The swarm’s mouth remained empty. Defenseless.

Mercy, whispered the voice again, and this time it reverberated through them - coming from their own hearing aids.

Inshii felt…light. They felt their body start to…break apart. Cleanly this time. Painlessly.

Butterfly by butterfly, they flew out of their skin on a will that was not their own. They circled round the biowire and the wings, landing on the shoulders of the thing with its hands still gripped around their empty mouth.

They changed.

The pure white insects became metallic and iridescent, and Inshii could not feel themself anymore as they turned, quicker and quicker, fading away as every last part of the swarm became something else.

Consciousness dying, Inshii witnessed their own end unable to do anything, drained of self but by bit.

Soon all the butterflies had left their skin, and the air was thick with silver insects.

The rainbow drinker was no more.

Only their stolen, altered body remained.

—

Hundreds of debtors, transported outside the city and sealed out of it by a forcefield, found a cheerful notification on their phones showing proof that their arrears and records were gone from QPIN databases.

Stupefied, they wondered how this could be. They wondered even more when they’d found the money and supplies provided for them.

They did not question it or linger, leaving behind the miserable town and its factories as quickly as they could, given that several were weakened from frequent blood loss.

They could only assume, as a mass of crows rose and flew from the city, that this was some sort of bizarre miracle.

The birds circled above them overhead, seeing that no harm came to the newly freed trolls as they stumbled away into the night.

Free at last.

#cloud writes #inshii #guardian artifice #Platar's community service comes in handy again: everyone say thanks Platar #Tuuya somewhere: I feel an odd sense of relief

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bimbelcpnskedokteran2025 · 3 months ago

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oceanparfumelegant · 2 years ago

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trolloled · 1 year ago

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"(###) That_is_very_close_to_almost_making_sense. (###)"

"(###) Anyway. (###)"

"(###) So_it_is_a_bit_like_thermodynamics. (###)"

"(###) You_cannot_'create'_from_nothing,_some_manner_of_payment_is_exacted. (###)"

=> You nod. That has logic to it. As extremely silly and illogical as it is to pay some nebulous concept of 'energy' to rip a hole in the universe, anyway.

=> At least it has something you can follow to it.

"(###) Leaving_aside_the_insanity_of_trying_to_quantify_'luck'_as_a_resource_to_pay... (###)"

"(###) How_does_one_realize_they_have_'potential?' (###)"

"(###) How_does_anyone_figure_out_their_methodology_if_it_is_not_the_same_between_people? (###)"

=> Could you have potential? You doubt it. You've never levitated or turned someone into a frog or anything like that. Nor was anything like this mentioned in the journals you'd recovered.

=> You're still approaching this at the wrong level. Dial back the scholar a bit.

[I just said there are guidelines. Those are the consistencies.]

=> As consistent as it's going to get, anyway. Which is most of the time, at least!

[The only concrete thing about magic is that there are prices to be paid. One doesn't simply just cast a spell with no consequences- everything takes energy, and more complex tasks require components.]

[Components range from valuables, oddities, herbs, animal or monster parts, or sometimes, parts of the troll body. Even more... intangible things like a memory or one's luck.]

[Some feats will 'cost' more than others in both energy usage and components. This price is what sets the difficulty.]

=> Like your example earlier. A scratch doesn't take much from your body to heal normally. Therefore, it doesn't take much in the way of magic to heal.

=> But coming back from the dead? Not only is it nigh impossible- it's an ordeal on the person. There's no easy way to do that even with magic- and some methods even require giving your own life in exchange.

=> You close your eyes for a brief moment, hand to your chin in thought.

[What's inconsistent is one's ability and way of paying the cost. That is to say, not everyone is capable of magic.]

[Those that are capable all have varying levels of potential. And that, is a whole other conversation.]

[... So I guess it depends on whether or not you have any potential, as to whether or not you could use magic. But 'silly gestures' aren't going to cut it.]

#tumblr just straight up never told me you replied truly epic #nihils-trolls #platar rp

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tobeyandkirstendunstfan4life · 12 days ago

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Spider-Man's Arch Femme-Fatale Enemies

Gwen Stacy: The ex-girlfriend turned archenemy of Peter Parker/Spider-Man and former best friend turned archenemy of Mary Jane Watson-Parker, Gwen had a hatred for and blamed Spider-Man for the death of her father Captain George Stacy and was Peter Parker's girlfriend until Peter was done with her because Gwen was disrespecting Aunt May, Peter dumped her because of it, and then Peter started dating Mary Jane Watson because MJ was kind, and respectful to Aunt May, and After Spider-Man dumped Black Cat because Felicia Hardy was NOT understanding his life as Peter Parker, Peter returned to Mary Jane and MJ admit that she always known that Peter was Spider-Man still loves him both as Peter Parker and Spider-Man, and then Peter and Mary Jane married, and MJ became supportive towards Peter in his life as Spider-Man, this "caused" Gwen to think that Mary Jane "betrayed" her friendship, Gwen dated and had kids with Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin, the Goblin told Gwen Stacy that both Peter Parker and Spider-Man are the same person, meaning that Goblin revealed Spider-Man's secret identity as Peter Parker to her and lied to her by saying that Peter killed her father, and Mary Jane was supporting him, which further increased Gwen's hate for Spider-Man, wanting revenge on him and Mary Jane, After Green Goblin died killing himself, trying and failing to kill Spidey, Gwen vowed to make Spider-Man and MJ suffer, Gwen killed Aunt May and put Mary Jane's Aunt Anna in the hospital, becoming Spider-Man's female archenemy and an archenemy of Mary Jane. Gwen was OSCORP's CEO after Harry Osborn was fired for taking his father's mantle as the Green Goblin, Gwen cowardly feared that the company might turn against her, causing her to resign, Harry quit being the Green Goblin and redeemed himself, Harry was restored as the CEO of OSCORP and Gwen became mayor of New York to fulfill her vendetta against both Peter Parker/Spider-Man and Mary Jane, Gwen's hate for Peter/Spidey and her former best friend Mary Jane continues her vendetta against them.

Felicia Hardy/Black Cat: The ex-girlfriend turned female archenemy of Spider-Man and the secondary archenemy of Mary Jane Watson-Parker, Spider-Man dumped Black Cat because Peter learned that Felicia's father Walter Hardy was friends with Dennis Carradine, the man who Peter let go and the man who murdered Uncle Ben, and Peter dumped her for not understanding his need to be both Peter Parker and Spider-Man, and When Venom possessed Spider-Man, the symbiote made Peter murder Walter Hardy, Felicia's father, causing Felicia herself to resent Peter and want Spider-Man's head on a silver platar, After Spider-Man rejected Venom, causing Venom to resent and blame Spidey for abandoning it, and bond with the broken reporter Eddie Brock, and when Spider-Man fought and defeated Venom, Black Cat stocked Peter with a vengeful glare, and when Peter went back to Mary Jane, Mary Jane admitted that she always knew that Peter IS Spider-Man, and became completely understanding of his superhero life, and MJ herself loves him both as Peter Parker and Spider-Man, so Peter and Mary Jane made their relationship work and they got married, Soon after, Spider-Man came face to face with Black Cat and they fought and Mary Jane helped Peter, and thus: Black Cat become Spider-Man's second female archenemy and Mary Jane's secondary archenemy. Felicia Hardy and Gwen Stacy are in a romantic sexual relationship with one another, Gwen dated Felicia after Norman Osborn's death, While the relationship between Peter Parker/Spider-Man and Mary Jane Watson-Parker is healthy and Peter and MJ genuinely love and care for each other, the relationship between Gwen and Felicia is the opposite, Gwen and Felicia see each other as sex partners, meaning that Gwen and Black Cat obviously hate each other while Peter and Mary Jane love each other.

Frances Barrison/Shriek: the girlfriend of Cletus Kasady AKA Carnage, became Spider-Man's third female archenemy when she killed the redeemed Eddie Brock when Shriek was about to kill Spidey, Eddie, who now had control over Venom, saves him, Venom survived, Brock was killed, Venom escaped, Spider-Man took down Shriek and defeated her, Eddie Brock died after a second separation from the Venom symbiote, Eddie apologizes to Peter and Mary Jane for all the petty and selfish things he did to them when he was bonded with Venom, and Brock died in his state, giving his life to save Spider-Man's selflessly and Shriek was arrested. After all that Shriek became Spider-Man's third female archenemy.

And those are Spider-Man's three female archenemies: Gwen Stacy, Black Cat, and Shriek.

Gwen Stacy, Black Cat, and Shriek: Gwen and Black Cat are the only two who know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man, and their hate for Spidey is more personal, and both Gwen and Felicia are archenemies of Mary Jane Watson-Parker, Spidey's wife.

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cloudbattrolls · 1 year ago

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Local old bitch has no idea what to make of another sapient butterfly swarm.

@cloudbattrolls

#Inshii: unfortunately still out there despite Platar and Tuuya’s efforts #Klirro made them retreat from the battle of Hanhai but they are still alive. they can be killed now but it would still be very difficult

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bimbelkarantinacpnsstpnsurabaya · 2 months ago

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trolloled · 6 months ago

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Gatekeeper

"Human judges can show mercy. But against the laws of nature, there can be no appeal." - Arthur C. Clarke

Toyhou.se version

Platar sat upon a fallen tree, careless of the various insects that promptly scattered at his arrival. In front of him was the rest of the forest, unnaturally quiet. The trees around him seemed less natural and more like an encircling crowd, their tops disappearing into the darkness of the night.

Little moved in his periphery, save for the slight rustle of leaves in the wind that moved through the air. Directly ahead of him, in a small clearing, was a crack in the air. The fissure twisted and swayed almost delicately, tendrils of royal purple pulling at its seams from within.

The anon watched the tear in reality for several minutes, though no reflection of what he saw appeared in the lenses of his mask. He sighed heavily. There were things moving inside of the fissure, creatures flitting about on the thin edge of perception. They had many wings one moment, then an uncountable amount of legs and eyes. Like a river, their shapes moved and shifted with each moment, flowing from one form to another with complete ease.

Platar reached towards the straps holding his mask in place and carefully undid them, moving the item down into his lap as the cool air hit his face. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted. Even now, a thin azure tint could be seen flashing across his irises. He a hand to his face then, feeling the scar tissue running across it.

He could at least still feel the texture of his glove despite the damage done to his face. The shapes in the crack continued to flit back and forth and his eyes matched their movements. His hand moved away from his face and back to the mask in his lap.

"First it was the lights," he said to himself, frowning. "Then it was the creatures. Then it was the people."

"Now this."

He stood up, leaving the mask resting on the log as he marched forwards. He came face to face with the rift, and now he could feel a sort of heat coming from it. Something twinged inside of him as he felt it, and he winced. He raised his hands towards the tear, brow furrowed. He had no real idea what he was looking at, at best he could only guess that it was something that shouldn't be. Something something else had torn open to let other things in, or perhaps to provide an escape for itself from within.

He blinked, realizing he could hear voices from within. They were furious - he thought. Or were they terrified? Something big was happening somewhere within, possibly something terrible for them.

An eye stalk poked through the rift, staring right at him.

The sight of it set his teeth on edge as an inexplicable sense of irritation poured through him. Then the feeling passed, and then he found himself outside of himself.

He could see himself standing there, locked in a staring contest with the single eye. He felt his mouth open, and the words came spilling forth as if he had always known what he was going to say.

"This is not your plane, and your kind have caused too much damage already."

"The fae. The harbinger. Mages. Your meddling has gone on long enough."

An inspiration took ahold of Platar, and he felt himself poured back into his body, glaring daggers at the eye which grew ever wider. His hands lashed out, taking a hold of the air itself around the fissure. It felt solid, like taking hold of a sheet of canvas.

"The way is shut, and the Watchmen keep it."

With a sharp tug, Platar's hands twisted in the air. There was a soft gasp as the eye withdrew just in time, two halves of reality slamming back together without a further whisper.

Just like that, the sounds of the forest rushed back in to fill the silence. Crickets filled the air, animals moved about in the underbrush, and the soft hoots of owls came from above.

The anon stepped back from the empty space in the air. No, it was not empty. Not fully. A soft crack could still be seen, glowing faintly against the night.

He returned to his mask and strapped it back onto his face, lifting his flamethrower. He adjusted the nozzle on it, then took careful aim as he squeezed the trigger. It all made sense to him, and at the same time, it did not.

The fire glimmered briefly as it lanced out, licking the air greedily where the tear formerly hung, yet it did not fall onto the ground to consume the forest. A single, steady, concentrated beam curled into the air and down.

The wound was cauterized, and the glow faded entirely. Platar stared at that space for a few moments longer, then took another deep breath. He shifted the weapon into its usual resting position across his chest, thinking quietly.

Then, without a further word, he marched off into the forest.

#platar things #lard writes #ooc as lard

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cloudbattrolls · 1 year ago

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Make Of Me

Thrixe Varzim | Present Night | The Ruins of An Unnamed Forest

Thrixe beheld the ashy ruins of what had once been a forest, blackened stumps and scorched piles of leaves, exposed rocks dusted with ash. He was the only troll - person - for a mile, he was pretty sure; he couldn’t sense anyone else.

Archimedes hid behind his legs, hissing.

Though in most respects a normal gryphon, the pet he’d made shared his sensitivity to the state of growth in the world around them. They could both feel that this forest hadn’t been destroyed by any natural blaze; it confirmed what he had heard.

That someone called the Torch had razed it.

Some forests did need fire to grow. Yarrow loved burned earth; some seeds only germinated after a fire, and sometimes dead growth needed to be cleared so new life could thrive.

This forest, however, had been young. Not ready to feed an inferno yet.

Torch, he thought with slightly morbid amusement. You ruined this place. But I guess I should thank you. Overgrowing an existing ecosystem is bad for everyone. This, though…

Thrixe walked into the first space between the stumps, and he began to sing.

“I’m…made of bones of the branches the boughs and the bough beating light..”

First; the soil. Nothing could grow without a strong base, nutrients and insects to make a living system again. He reached deep into the earth with his power, feeling out the survivors, tempting them back to the dirt near the surface.

Bacteria and insects thrived again, buried eggs hatching, crawling and wriggling through the earth, and he nudged the nitrogen to begin replenishing.

Then the air itself. It still had traces of smoke; he had altered his lungs slightly to cope with it better, growing a temporary skin-shield over his gills.

He sprouted tendrils weaving into the air, absorbing the toxins and fostering the oxygen, cilia sprouting to filter it and catch particulates dangerous to life. He grew more out of the few remaining microorganisms in the air, using their life as a base for his own, clearing away the acrid smell and tainted gases.

Eyes glowing a bright violet-white, he took a breath.

“Well my feet are the trunks…”

He reached for the roots, shriveled and starved of nutrients - the ones that were still alive - and he regenerated them, encouraging new growth. Not too much - he didn’t want the restored trees to crowd each other out, to have no room to grow further.

He was setting the place back on its course, not allowing it to rapidly choke out again.

Tendrils extended from his legs into the earth, tilling it, taking dead plant and animal matter and turning it to rich compost that he fed directly to the new roots he made. He extended several feet underground and into the air now with his gleaming pink and violet network, further using the existing life to spread himself.

He smiled a wide, slightly jagged smile in giddy in anticipation.

From the mouths of his many extensions he continued:

“And my head is the canopy high!”

The trees burst back into growth with a creaking and crackling of wood and sap, a thunderous cacophony as they went from withered to blooming, shedding their ashy skin for fresh bark and flowers. Stumps became fertile, springing up with mosses and lichens. Small plants pushed through the ground.

As the trees settled, their new wood hot from the change that had sprung it into being, they blinked with scattered violet eyes, woven through with veins of grayish pink. Starfish tendrils rippled among the soil, spines dotting the leaves of the underbrush.

“And my fingers extend to the leaves in the eaves, and the -“

Thrixe as the forest breathed, felt the moons on himself, rustled in the breeze…and with a choir of content sighs, took himself out of the plants, let them fade fully back to their natural selves. His extensions faded to nothing, and he had only one body again.

A bit sad, just the one. It was fine! He had nothing against it, it was the one everyone knew him by. The one he always had to appear in for everyone but Zanzul.

Or Vallis, but Vallis hardly counted as company, he thought with a roll of his eyes.

Archimedes had already taken off, no doubt hunting some small animal. He hadn’t raised anything from the dead…but it had been tempting. He was a bit tired, though. It wouldn’t be good to push himself.

Thrixe flopped on his back, lying on the newly grassy ground.

“Brightest shine, it’s my shine…” he finished the verse softly, looking at some ivy and marigolds that still glowed faintly pale violet.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Didn’t he sign his works as a painter? It didn’t hurt to leave a small trace of himself behind, not enough to interfere with the forest life.

No one would ever know it was him, that’s what mattered. No troll he loved would ever know what he could be like, as long as he let it out safely and away from their sight.

A bug crawled on his left fin and it flicked involuntarily, tickled by the tiny feet. The skin-shield over his gills had since dissolved, and they shone violet, rippling slightly.

Yes, he could show small parts of himself, if trolls were all right with it. But he had to ask first, had to be careful.

He looked at his black-tipped claws, which had been that way for a while, and he was fairly certain extra fins were coming in on his arms and legs as well. No, he wasn’t the only seadweller with such things, but he wondered how much else he had to grow.

Uryali had had tendrils in his fins, and permanent extra eyes…he definitely didn’t want those. Maybe there was a way to at least choose which traits he got, since the process was probably impossible to stop entirely.

He got up, shaking dirt out of his curly braid, and looked back at his work. This place should thrive now, he hoped.

Archimedes flew back to Thrixe, and he hugged his furry, feathery pet before letting him go to fly alongside him.

He walked away, leaving the forest to flourish once more.

#cloud writes #I actually had the idea for this months ago but only now finished it. even though it's not all that long #thrixe varzim #horrifying man. but at least he wants to use his powers responsibly #song he sings is the queen's rebuke by the decemberists #Torch is Platar btw he belongs to Lard

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bimbelcpnsjakarta · 2 months ago

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