Rikki Tikki Dalby
The only species of venomous snake native to the British Isles is the European Adder, and it is never found on the Isle of Man. But the creature winding its way up the rutted lane towards the old stone farmhouse wasn’t.
It would have seemed a trick of the light to anyone who glanced at the road, and it would have been hard to do more than glance because it is the nature of the human mind to protect itself. It appeared as a shadow of inky black, shimmering as it weaved from one side of the road to the other, leaving patches of withered, rotted grass where it touched the vegetation on the edges. It was only as broad as a human arm, with little sign of the sheep that it had consumed, but it was hard to tell where its head was, and its tail didn’t seem to have an end, just stretching on and on.
It wasn’t from here. It had slipped through a gap, a small crack in the world, as snakes do. But now it was here, and it was hungry. Sheep wouldn’t satisfy it. Too dull, not enough brains, not enough spirit. It wound around and around the house, sniffing at the air, probing at the stone walls. It smelled better prey inside.
The serpent crept up the walls and through the windows and down the chimneys, until it was certain that only one human was inside right now. It would feed now, and stay here and wait for others to come.
The girl heard it enter the room. She heard the scraping of scales, and a weird hiss like the static of a wireless. But she was used to hearing odd sounds in this house. She sighed, but paid the noise no mind and stayed bent over the table, focused on her schoolwork. She never looked up as the serpent coiled and reared up, preparing to strike.
Easy prey. Too blind to notice the predator in the room.
SNAP.
The light vanished. The gray overcast sky blotted out by nothing. No light to define the serpent’s form, no shadows to hide it. There was no electricity in the farmhouse, but the air filled with the smell of ozone.
Two points of red light appeared in the blackness, and rapidly expanded until it was clear that they were eyes. Blazing scarlet, the subtle patterns of color in the irises dancing and writhing like flames and breaking free of the edges of each eye, flattened slits of pupils appearing to perpetually shrink without truly changing size.
The serpent turned from its intended prey and struck at the eyes, but hit only stone. They opened again in the other direction. Then more eyes, then more, and more.
SNAP.
The weak light of the gloomy day returned to the kitchen. A bolt of shadow whipped across the room, carving deep into the floor. Shards of stone flew, and the farmhouse shook. The girl screamed, and leaped to her feet, but there was such a great force resisting all movement, and so little binding her or anything else to the floor. It was like moving through treacle. She ran for the door, but her feet just slid as she began to tumble in the shimmering air.
The serpent found its new target, coiling and knotting around a small, disgustingly warm body. It struck again and again, sinking fangs so inimical to life that anything should have been snuffed out with one bite into what should have been flesh. A shrill squeal burst crockery on the counter, but still it struggled.
Then came the explosion. The implosion. The wall of wrathful sound that tore the windows from their frames and the serpent’s cloak of shadows from its body and scattered it around the room, turning everything to night again.
The girl hit the ground hard, skinning her knees and elbows. She lay there in shock, paralyzed with fright at what seemed to be an entire thunderstorm crammed into the kitchen. Something long and sinuous thrashed and writhed, scattering chairs and tables to splinters, blindly seeking a streak of light and flame. For a moment she caught a glimpse of the form of a small animal, back arched, fur standing on end, fur alive with rippling arcs of ghostly fire of the blinding color and intensity of a bolt of lightning, and an eerie blue glow that seemed to pierce through even the walls. She flinched away and closed her eyes, but that image was burned into them for a long time. Sparks of color burst in her vision, and there was a strong taste of metal in her mouth, though she was sure she hadn’t bitten her tongue in the fall.
The serpent was lifted into the air, writhing and fighting to escape now, but it found no purchase on anything. The room was too wide, too long, even for its endless length to touch the walls. There was nothing around it but eyes and teeth and flame. It was pulled, twisted, and tied into knots tighter and tighter until it was bound into a compact, tangled ball, and its death throes fell still.
When the girl found her feet again, there was nothing but the scorched remnants of broken furniture and shattered pots in the kitchen, and a dusting of ash on the floor, and the pieces of something sinuous and impossibly long, now dried out and crumpled and broken and dried out and burnt. More of it littered the ground as nothing but scattered bones.
A high-pitched voice from nowhere laughed. “That was the best sport I have had in years, but you are too small and you taste empty. Send your big brothers and give me a proper meal, I am tired of rats and poultry!”
It is a mongoose’s nature to hunt snakes.
~~
So I had a silly idea. Gef is a mongoose, a creature best known in folklore for being a relatively harmless critter that hunts and kills things that are much, much more dangerous to humans. So what if Gef was a small, friendly eldritch abomination that protected his people from much, much nastier enemies?
(incidentally, the “ghostly fire” is ionized air, and the “eerie blue glow” and sparks of color are Cherenkov Radiation generated in the air and inside Voirrey’s eyeballs! Gef may be a boastful little shit but his warnings are truthful!)
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How do you imagine Levan/Revan/ Mallenoa's husband?
Appearance, personality etc.
Revaan/Laverne/whatever-his-name-is's title sort of implies that he might be from a fantasy-Eastern country (they've established that in Twstland, 竜 = Eastern-style dragons, andドラゴン = Western-style dragons). and that's about as much as we know right now about...anything in regards to what he might look like. so I've been trying very hard not to form too much of a mental picture of him, because I'm still hoping we'll get to see him (or at least a silhouette)! ergo, in my head, he kind of looks like this:
so handsome. surely Malenoa fell in love at first glance.
I do think the funniest thing about what we've learned so far is that Malleus being kind of quiet and reserved and dignified...absolutely did not come from the Draconias. and he sure as heck did not learn it from Lilia. so he probably got a lot of that from his dad! the vibe I get from how Lilia talks about him is that he could be a bit of a prim little fancyboy sometimes, but was (mostly) willing to go along with his wife's zany antics out of love. he sounds sweet, honestly! I'm sorry he (maybe) died. :(
my favorite thing about Mal's parents is that Malenoa and Lilia's dynamic was "long-suffering guard and princess who has long been the cause of said suffering":
but then they would happily join forces in order to gang up on Revaan:
tl;dr Revaan was the straightman in Malenoa and Lilia's comedy act until it all ended horribly whoops
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ougghhh everyone’s talking so fondly about lionpaw and his new friendships made by the ripwater event but all i can think about is his mention of ashfur’s comment. and how lion probably thinks it’s just a little joke but ash might actually mean it :(
There's this little pearl of a theme hidden in the Ripwater Episode, if you look carefully; abuse acts on people in insidious but subtle ways.
It's Mistystar who's defensive of asking for help or admitting a problem, thinking of what she did to Leopardstar and also repeating cultural sentiment that once victimized her herself.
It's Squirrelflight shouting at her daughter for acting like she used to, because she's spent some years being yelled at in a similar way
It's Hollypaw who isn't allowed to enjoy her achievement of saving Otterpaw's life or lean into how much she has in common with Lakepaw, because she's ashamed of how she did something "wrong" by snooping
And lastly, it's Lionpaw, who's starting to believe the vicious comments that Ashfur says about him. I referenced Willowpelt partially for the sweet little irony of him teaching her recipe to her unknown grandson, Ripplepaw, but ALSO because Ashfur is starting to isolate him.
Willowpelt is the Head of Hunting, currently, a position that Lionblaze is going to succeed her in. I don't think Ashfur is playing 4D chess quite yet, but there's a couple of little motivations knocking around in Ashfur's heart for why he's nasty whenever Lionpaw interacts with her;
Ashfur hates Willowpelt, because of the events from Ferncloud's Parting. He isn't aggressive to her directly, but he does spread rumors and slander whenever possible, happy to remind others of her exile.
Lionpaw getting close to Willowpelt will annoy him. Ashfur both hates and resents his apprentice, but also feels POSSESSIVE of him. He feels like Willowpelt will "steal" what's his.
A simple but hard truth; Ashfur wants Lionpaw to hurt. Maybe Ashfur sees it in his head like "telling the hard truth" or "toughening his apprentice up," but when he makes those malicious little comments, makes him recoil with hurt, it feels righteous.
Maybe in the next draft, it should actually be Ashfur, not Blackclaw, who comes to growl at Lionpaw for bonding with Lakepaw over the spears. Maybe have Willowpelt come in to show them how to properly use one and that's actually what set Ash off. Like he just used xenophobia because it was convenient in that moment.
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