#bastdrabbles

[goddesstrolls]

[TW for violence, mass murder]

Teeth bared, shaking with fury and with terror, Rhorim stormed towards the doors of the church.

Ever since that night, the night he was betrayed and his blood was turned pitch black, he'd had something burning within him. Stinging in his veins, bubbling like boiling tar in his chest. He'd choked it down, even when it coated his tongue like bile and made his words bitter and sharp- But it was back with a vengeance now.

Rage. Grief. A fury like a storm he'd never before felt.

He'd been told once his magic was gentle.

There was nothing fucking gentle about what he was going to do to these bastards.

The voice of reason whispered in the back of his head that bloodshed only brought more bloodshed. The majority of these trolls likely had nothing to do with Seanis' death. They certainly had nothing to do with Rhorim's betrayal.

That sickening ichor burning in his chest didn't care. It wanted vengeance. It wanted destruction. It wanted, and by the gods was he going to oblige.

He pushed open the doors. Trolls- Subjugulators, all of them- Sat in the pews, listening to the preacher giving their sermon. No one turned to look at Rhorim as he walked straight down the main aisle.

Rhorim stopped at the podium, invisible to all. His chest heaved, he felt sick with anger.

"All of you..." He murmured, his voice wavering as he interrupted the preacher. The troll stopped as he suddenly became aware of Rhorim.

Rhorim lifted his head, and his shaking hands towards the arched ceiling. He bared his teeth, hissing his desperate, furious prayer.

"...Die."

Black blood trickled from his lips at the word, and the sanctum was plunged into pitch darkness- Blotting out every light, even the moonlight filtering through the high windows.

Rhorim's blood trickled steadily from his mouth, soaking his front and pooling at his feet. The trolls around him were panicking, but they couldn't seem to find him in the darkness despite knowing precisely where he'd been, bodies colliding in confusion and anger.

Black masses of snakes sprang from his blood, invisible in the total darkness. They entangled and bit the limbs of the trolls around him, and their cries of fury and confusion became screams of agony as the venom burned their veins.

Rhorim listened to the screams. He tried to find some sense of satisfaction that Seanis' killers were finding retribution.

The screams faltered into death throes, groans and sobs of pain.

Then, silence.

The moonlight returned, now glistening on the unmoving and contorted bodies of Rhorim's victims, glinting off their spilled blood and along the edges of their gory wounds.

Rhorim's chest felt hollow for the first time. His rage had burned a hole in his chest and it left him empty, cold-

-And alone.

#bastdrabbles #rhorim ic #rhorim izaril #the inkblood #rhorim writing

[divinebastet]

“C’mon, baby, it was a joke!” Cade gave a halfhearted yell down the hall after the woman scurried away, adjusting her slipping robe in an attempt to keep herself decent with nothing else on.

Calling after her was more damage control than anything, as other visitors and workers of the brothel were sticking their heads curiously through their doors, disturbed by the commotion.

It probably wasn’t all that uncommon for the brothel women to get a fright from a client. Still, Cade didn’t know what he’d expected. He sighed and deflated onto the heaps of blankets and cushions on the bed, lying there for several long moments. So much for getting laid tonight.

Not that he was really into it anyway.

As he heard distant commotion in the building he heaved another sigh and dragged himself out from the blankets, deciding it’d be best to just leave rather than cause a further stir. Re-buckling his belt and swiping his shirt off the floor he waltzed over to the open window, and leaned to take a good look outside of it.

Nope, no one below. He had a good vantage point from the second floor. No one would really care about someone skulking about the red light district anyway.

He hopped onto the windowsill, and then jumped straight down to the street below, turning his momentum into a roll along his shoulder and then throwing himself back onto his feet with perfect ease.

“Damn, should’ve tried to put my shirt back on.” Cade muttered to himself, snapping his fingers as he admonished himself for not trying to add onto his parkour.

He elected to merely put his shirt back on as he meandered off down the street, leaving it unbuttoned as per usual. Cade considered stopping at one of the many other brothels, but... It was getting late, and he just wanted to sleep. He didn’t care to pay someone else just to warm the bed.

He made a beeline for the building his company was put up at, making only a few detours to avoid the night watch.

His company had been put up at the townhouse of a local nobleman, as thanks for their help. Cade let himself in, and found someone sitting up in the commonroom.

“You’re up late,” the man at the table- Arkeru- Remarked, barely looking up from the arrow he was fletching. “I expected you to be out getting arrested at this hour.”

“I considered it, honestly.” Cade stepped over to rest his elbow on Arkeru’s shoulder, leaning over to see what he was doing. Arkeru paused like he was considering jabbing Cade with the half-finished arrow, and then thought better of it.

“Something changed your mind?” Arkeru asked.

“Yeah, I’m down in the dumps. I got kicked out of the brothel.”

“Oh, poor Cade. What a shame.” Arkeru’s tone was frigid and dripping with sarcasm. Cade rolled his eyes before Arkeru continued, sounding more genuine. “How did you manage that, anyway?”

“Oh, you know.” Cade waved his hands vaguely. Arkeru stared at him for several long moments until it clicked.

“That did it?”

“Yeah, that did it.” Cade tossed up his hands in a defeated shrug before stepping back, and heading towards his designated room in the house. He turned to walk backwards and face Arkeru as he went, his tone mocking; “You want to come snuggle under the covers with me?”

Arkeru threw the arrow he was holding at Cade- With startling precision- And with equal deftness, Cade caught it before it thudded into his chest.

“Hey. That could’ve killed me.” Cade waggled the arrow.

“Please, it’s not even fletched.” Arkeru rolled his eyes, and Cade tossed the arrow back, laughing quietly before returning to his room without bothering Arkeru further.

#cade ic #cade dovaneri #bastdrabbles #cade writing

[bastsoldtrollblog]

Kairos paused at the entrance to the ruin, taking a moment to exhale deep and prepare themselves. Their breath rolled into a cloud of frozen air and drifted off on the wind.

This ruin was well-hidden within a glacial cave, marked only by a few sigils long since hidden by frost. They’d only found it by attuning themselves to the magic in the area, and dumb luck. The Fleet had a database of historical sites, and using that in conjunction with ruin delver forums they could weed out the ones that were unexplored- Or search the areas that had a suspicious lack of ruins, like in this case.

The map they had on their desk back hive probably looked like the work of a madman, marked heavily with circles, pins, lines, notes.

But they needed more material for their magical studies. What they had at the castle and at hive wasn’t enough, and they wanted to expand their repertoire.

They began down the steps, careful for the ice coating the stone. They kept their fins pricked for any sign of movement below.

What they found below was a catacomb of stone and ice, frozen and withered bodies lying tucked into shelves. Kairos’ fins quivered; Some of these bodies were definitely undead.

They debated for a moment. They weren’t moving, yet, and it was likely they were frozen solid and entirely unable to move.

However, it was becoming increasingly likely they were traipsing into a fellow necromancer’s lair. Whether or not they were still around, it was better to take precautions.

They sunk their sword into the skull of every corpse they passed, whether they could tell it was undead or not. They made marks in the floor as well, mapping their path, what they’d investigated and what they hadn’t. The catacomb was sprawling.

Finally, they reached what they hoped was an end to it; Another flight of stairs leading deeper.

If this was the only exit leading into the catacombs, they might be trapped here by undead if they all awoke. It would bottle-neck them, proving to be a benefit, but if for whatever reason Kairos couldn’t fight all of them, it was a liability in that they had nowhere to retreat to.

Just another risk they’d have to take. They’d come this far already. They went down the stairs, weapon in hand.

The moment they set foot in the chamber beyond, torches flared to life, firelight flooding the long hall. At the end sat a withered, rotted corpse on a throne. Two corpses sat on either side, leaning on the throne as though asleep.

Preparing for a fight, Kairos took a few steps forward. The corpse on the throne took a rattling breath, half-rotted eyes opening for the first time in what must have been centuries.

“Greetings...Little Cataclysm. To what...Do I owe the honor...Of having my brothers slain while they sleep..?”

The raspy, rattling voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“My name is Kairos. I seek your knowledge.” Kairos paused. “My apologies for those I ended. It was a precaution.”

“So wary, young one. You seek lichdom..?” The troll shifted, old bones creaking as though they were slowly preparing to stand.

“I seek all that I can obtain.”

The troll laughed, dry and wheezing.

One of the trolls at their feet stirred, and lifted their head. “An intruder..?- Apologies, my Lord. Rest, I will handle them...” She murmured, and began struggling to stand.

“A guest. Stay, Anaren, you are more weary than I.” Replied the troll on the throne, turning their attention to the other troll at their feet. They grazed a skeletal hand along the unmoving troll’s cheek, as though hoping to stir them.

They turned their attention back to Kairos, after a moment.

“What goal do you have, boy, with seeking knowledge..?”

“It is a goal I seek, one I need knowledge to reveal.”

The troll on the throne hummed thoughtfully. “Share some of your knowledge with me, and you may take freely mine. I have no need of it.”

Kairos shifted slightly, uncertain now. “What do you want to know?”

“Ah...The happenings on the surface. It has been eons since I set foot above. The fate of your ancestor, perhaps..? I was always envious of him...Funny now that his descendant comes to me asking for knowledge...”

“He is long dead, slaughtered at the rise of the Empire.” Kairos didn’t see fit to note that his ancestor was undead as well.

“The Empire..? Which?”

“The only one there is; Her Imperatorial Conqueration, the first and only Empress, has held all of Alternia in her grasp for thousands of sweeps now.”

The troll gave a rattling exhale, a sigh of disbelief. “I had thought it would be Cataclysm...”

“He was close, or so the records claim.”

“This Conqueration must have been a fearsome foe indeed.”

“So tangibly feared that there is little written about her. Or perhaps that is only her lies.”

“Well...How intriguing. Go on, then. Seek all the knowledge you can contain. If you see fit to come back, I would not mind hearing more...But I sense you are impatient.”

Kairos only bowed in response. They might come back; But probably not.

One of the trolls at the lord’s feet, Anaren, was trying to get up again. The lord made no attempt to stop her this time.

“I will accompany him, Lord. We should not let a stranger wander as he pleases...”

The lord waved their hand. “As you please, Anaren.”

She checked the state of a sword on her hip, and then took some wavering steps to Kairos. Her gait steadied as she walked, and she raised her head to hold it high.

“Come. I will bring you to the study.”

#kairos ic #kairos mikari #kairos writing #bastdrabbles

[goddesstrolls]

29 for Darric?

[Scratching]

A bead of sweat slid down Darric's cheek and hung at the curve of his jaw, threatening to continue down his neck.

He ran his tongue, sharp and narrow, over his teeth. It took all of his will not to go back into the street and turn that fight into a massacre.

It felt like something in his stomach scratching to get out. Trying to leap up his throat and take him over, a crawling hunger that made him quiver and drool like a dog over a piece of meat. The smell of blood, sweat, flesh torn and exposed, the smell of fear still reached him, and it was overpowering.

He was starving like he hadn't eaten in nights. But it didn't weaken him, no- Instead, it brought an iron strength to his limbs. He was a monster, his body built to kill.

Darric kept himself half curled up, tense like a coiled spring, flexing his claws under his gloves.

If he moved, even an inch, he might not be able to stop.

#darric ic #darric forrex #darric writing #bastdrabbles

[goddesstrolls]

((TW for animal death))

Lloric unlocked the padlock holding the gate to his hive shut, the chain jingling as he loosed it.

He hadn't been gone long, barely an hour. He'd left the front door open, after all. Not that he had much to steal, or anyone would get very far with his lusus there.

The bite had been bandaged and tended. Doc had complained about him coming in for outside injuries- But he was getting paid either way.

Lloric locked the gate again behind him, and then walked up to the hive. Light spilled out through the open doorway.

He pushed open the door to find his lusus waiting. The two-headed dog raised his tail and bared his teeth when he saw Lloric. Not a friendly greeting, to be certain.

Lloric shut the door, never once taking his eyes off his lusus. The animal got in moods like this from time to time, attacking Lloric for seemingly no reason. He was just waiting for the dam to break again.

He made to step forward, challenging his lusus to keep him out of his own hive.

His lusus charged- But he jumped higher than Lloric was anticipating, paws landing on his collarbone. His lusii's weight threw him onto his back, and he felt the dog's fangs meet his throat.

Lloric froze as his lusii's teeth sank into his flesh.

He'd expected this, sooner or later. Figured it would happen when things were worse, when they were hiveless and it didn't look like they could get a place.

What he didn't understand was why it came now, when he was making more money, when he had a nice place for them to live.

His lusii's fangs didn't sink deep. He held on for several long moments, and then let go, backing away.

Lloric stared at the ceiling. It was a familiar feeling, right now. He couldn't count the amount of times he found himself lying on his back, expecting to be dead in a matter of moments.

It didn't feel like he was bleeding out, though. He sat up, and put a hand to the bite wounds on his throat. There was some blood, but not much.

His lusus was standing there glaring at him. Lloric dropped his hands into his lap.

"The fuck do you want from me?"

His lusus bared his teeth and then snapped his jaws in a short snarl. Lloric took that to mean 'more'. He never was enough, for anyone.

He started to get up. His lusus snapped his jaws near his arm. Lloric swatted at his lusii's face.

"What?! I don't know what you fucking want!"

His lusus met his gaze, and lunged. Lloric could tell he was going for the throat again. He caught the dog by the side of the neck and slammed him onto the floor, beginning to shift into his half-wolf form as he grappled with the animal.

He wrapped his own, now canine jaws around his lusii's neck, without applying any force, but the dog fought against his teeth. Lloric closed his jaws tighter out of reflex.

Not too tight, he thought. Just about the same amount his lusus had bitten into his own throat.

He held on until his lusus stopped fighting him, pinning him down with one large paw.

Lloric lifted his head, and immediately realized how much blood had pooled on the floor. How still his lusus was, eyes half-lidded. His heart dropped into his stomach, a chill passing over him.

"Dad?"

#bastdrabbles #lloric ic #lloric venati #lloric writing

[goddesstrolls]

@ase-trollplays

"Hi Corali!!"

One of the two trolls on camera gives a cheerful wave. She wears a loose black hoodie with the hood pulled up, and a surgical mask covering the lower half of her face.

The other troll- Thiomi- Is gagged and tied to a metal folding chair.

"You know, both of us really expected better of you." The disguised troll leans down to place both hands on Thiomi's shoulders- Thiomi flinching at the touch. "Sitting around drinking yourself stupid for nights on end instead of looking for your dear moirail! I bet hearing that would break poor Thiomi's heart. Oh wait-!" The disguised troll looked to Thiomi to gauge her reaction, smiling behind her mask.

The disguised troll straightens, pulling a bowie knife out of the front pocket of her hoodie. She flicks it open and tilts it, light catching off the blade. "I'm not here to stand around criticizing you, though. I have a point to make!"

The disguised troll sidles up to Thiomi's side, leaning down to press the edge of the blade to her cheek. Thiomi squirmed, and the disguised troll grabs one of her horns to keep her steady.

"I thought I'd share with you how it feels to watch one of your quadrants be hurt, while you just stand there, helpless. Just like I had to watch while you hurt my quadrant! Apparently you do this so often that you couldn't even trace it back to who it was. I figured it's high time someone taught you a little lesson."

The disguised troll presses down on Thiomi's cheek with the knife, leaving a deep, but clean gash. Thiomi choked with a sob through the gag, olive tears running down her cheeks and mixing with the blood.

The disguised troll slashes through her other cheek, mirroring the first cut. Then the disguised troll grabbs Thiomi's shoulder and gouges from the top of her arm, down the back of it, all the way down to her wrists where the bindings were. She dances around the chair to do the same on the other side while Thiomi struggled and cried.

The disguised troll straightens to toy with the now-bloody knife in her hands. "Just remember, I know where all your quads and friends live! And I won't hesitate to do this aaaaalll over again if I see your fucking face again, Corali. Did you know there are trolls who specialize in hunting purplebloods? Do you know how cheap it is to hire trolls like that?" The disguised troll giggles, toying further with the knife.

"But none of that has to happen if you be a good little lowblood and keep your head down! Neither you nor your pretty little quads are as invincible as you think they are."

"Anyway~! I've taken up enough of your time. Bye~!"

The video cuts off. It was taken with Thiomi's phone, and sent to Corali as a text from Thiomi.

#bastdrabbles #joclyn #ase-trollplays #ask to tag

[goddesstrolls]

[TW for poisoning, murder, dismemberment]

Okahni hated taking out targets in the city.

Too many prying eyes and too much light. But getting Almata's ex anywhere less populated would be more difficult, so he would just have to be careful.

The purpleblood in question had left his hive and, based on his agitated state and route, was planning on going to Almata's hive again.

Okahni's previous interceptions had made him wary, moving more cautiously and making an effort to take in his surroundings.

Ashira was waiting in an abandoned apartment on an upper floor, keeping an eye out for the purpleblood's approach. Okahni waited, clinging to a pipe above a dark, damp alley.

There came a faint sound from the gutter pipe. Two taps, then three rapid taps, a code Ashira and Okahni had established to mean the purpleblood was approaching from the south.

Okahni readied himself first, inhaling silently through his mouth as he raised his right hand. He placed his pointer and middle fingers pointing up in front of his lips, and forming a ring with his thumb, index, and pinky fingers. The Garo sign word for 'hide', but with sufficient focus it also activated a spell.

It would cloak him in darkness until the spell were dismissed, or light were shed on him. He was fairly high up, but he wanted to be certain the purpleblood would not notice him.

He shifted his position somewhat, staying on the wall with just an eighth of an inch of brick under one heel and one hand on the pipe. It was plenty steady, the brick wouldn't cave and neither would the pipe, and he wanted to have some freedom of movement.

Taking another breath, Okahni circled the center of his throat with his thumb and then drew his thumb along the bottom of his jaw, and outwards. The sign for 'speak', usually in the context of making someone speak or spill their secrets. This time, Okahni focused on Almata's voice- Activating a spell to steal it.

He'd been following this troll long enough to feel fairly confident that the idiot would fall for this trick.

Finally, he readied his dart. This time he had selected a potent poison rather than a sedative- A strong paralytic which first caused intense sweating and rapid heart rate, and then paralysis of the limbs and body. It would incapacitate him in four minutes, and kill him in ten.

Okahni had tested a range of sedatives on him during his interceptions, and felt confident that the dosage he'd chosen would work like a charm.

He spied the purpleblood's shadow passing in front of the alley entrance. He called out in a soft whisper, mimicking Almata's faltering manner of speech. Her voice came from his throat, calling the purpleblood's name.

The purpleblood's attention snapped over, and he stepped into the alley, looking around.

This was the tricky part. The alley was narrow, and hitting him with a dart in the right spot from this angle was difficult. He wouldn't have chosen this method if he didn't think he could do it, though.

Okahni threw the dart. It sunk into the side of the troll's neck near the connection to his shoulder- Right on the jugular.

Okahni also knew this troll was loud. Taking his hand from the pipe and leaning back so his own center of gravity would help keep him on the wall- Being otherwise held up by just one foot on that eighth of an inch ledge- He focused on the purpleblood and pressed the fingertips of both hands together. He formed a sort of cage with his hands, centering the form of the purpleblood below within it.

The sign for 'stop', specifically stopping whoever the sign was aimed at or was referred to after. In this case, it made the purpleblood freeze halfway through the gesture of reaching up to pull the dart from his neck. He couldn't speak, and could only do as much as breathe and move his eyes.

It would only hold for ten seconds if Okahni dropped it. He held the gesture, pain lancing through his temple.

He would have to hold it for at least a minute, if not more. The pain spread slowly, spearing red-hot through his arms and boring its way through his head. He could see the purpleblood suffering, too- Sweat breaking out on his face and dripping down his jaw, his eyes bulging as the poison took hold.

Finally, the purpleblood's eyes rolled. Okahni held the gesture for another few seconds before releasing it; It would hold for ten more seconds after that.

Exhaling slowly and carefully from the exertion, Okahni dropped down to the still-frozen purpleblood. He waited for the cage spell to release and caught the unconscious troll as he collapsed, and dragged him to the back of the alley.

He crouched between the purpleblood and the alley entrance. His shadow spell would cloak the purpleblood as well and help prevent them from being noticed.

The minutes crawled by. Okahni's limbs ached, nerves stripped raw from the ancient magic he'd used, but he was pleased to have been able to use the signs. It was the first time he'd used the sign of the mockingbird- The spell he'd used to steal Almata's voice.

Several trolls passed by the alley. One spared a passing glance but did not seem to notice anything amiss- Likely seeing only empty shadows.

After eight minutes he checked the purpleblood's pulse. He wasn't breathing and his face had gone purple, eyes half-lidded and rolled back. His heart was still beating, but barely.

Okahni waited until he couldn't detect any signs of life, not breath nor a heartbeat, and then paused to listen for footsteps on the street outside.

He rapped his knuckle once on the gutter. After a moment, another ping followed from Ashira; Confirmation that there was no one nearby.

Okahni hauled the purpleblood onto his shoulders, and scaled the wall into the apartment where Ashira waited.

Okahni dragged the purpleblood to the bathroom and hung him from ropes anchored from the ceiling before slitting him open, and letting him bleed into the tub.

While the troll bled, Okahni returned to the empty apartment and began making himself some tea. Inundated with magic, it would soothe his nerves aching from magic usage. He heated the water simply by cradling the kettle in his hands, and then brewed the tea.

Ashira watched with rapt attention, and Okahni quietly walked them through the steps- Heating the water to the perfect temperature, steeping the tea for the proper amount of time.

He'd done this multiple times, but Ashira knew by this point that he would repeat himself a lot. Learning to brew tea correctly was just the first step in learning to create one's own poisons and medicines.

The tea was pale gold in color and glowing faintly. The warm drink did indeed, soothe his aches, and Ashira had some tea too, trying to repress their expression at the taste and attempting to find something to enjoy about it.

"If you don't like it, you don't have to hide that much, at least." Okahni mused around the rim of his cup. Ashira made a face at their cup of tea.

They quietly enjoyed their tea, and then Okahni went over the poisons he had on his person with Ashira. He'd gone over them before, but now he was going over specific ones in more detail, discussing how they were made and exactly what they did to the troll body- And explaining how this was important to know when choosing a poison.

After more than an hour, Okahni got up to check on the purpleblood. A decent amount of his blood had drained, and Okahni took out one of his larger daggers to begin hacking the troll apart.

Ashira took each piece and wrapped it in waxed paper, tying it with thread to form a parcel, and stowed them in a waxed bag. Once the purpleblood was rendered completely into neatly packed pieces, Okahi used what little water remained in the pipes to rinse the blood off the tub and his hands. Ashira did the same at the sink.

Okahni removed the heaviest parts to carry himself, hiding them in various places in his cloak. Eventually Ashira lifted the satchel.

"It's good." They whispered- It was light enough for them to carry. Okahni nodded.

"Let's go."

Okahni and Ashira took their leave out of separate windows, taking different routes out of the city.

Once Okahni reached the trees, he whistled for Siima, who already wore his harness with a small box which contained some paper and a pen.

He wrote a note:

"The task is done. He will not bother you further."

He didn't sign it. He gave the note to Siima, and directed him to fly to Almata to deliver the news.

#bastdrabbles #okahni ic #okahni taraze #okahni writing #ashira ic #ashira hyderi #ashira writing #lashysdomain

[goddesstrolls]

Out of Hive and Home

Previous: Comforts of Hive

((Another collab with @nihils-trolls))

It was a nagging feeling in the back of Arctus’ mind. Something about Quilis’ sudden drop off the face of the planet didn’t sit right.

Though he had declined an invitation to her hive once before- Simply because he liked to be found indoors the least amount possible- The fact that he was theoretically welcome sat alongside her disappearance.

He lay a hand on the doorknob of the broom closet in the shop. He didn’t need to have seen the location he wished to go; The shop needed only the vaguest of concepts, and it would choose a location on its own to drop him. Normally, he only wanted to go somewhere remote, somewhere cold, and so on.

Arctus opened the door. Rather than a broom closet, beyond the frame was grass and tree-spotted hills. He peered through, finding a veritable castle crouched on the hill, old stone and gothic architecture. 

He’d trust that the shop had indeed brought him to Quilis’ hive. It knew her, after all. 

He stepped out into the moonlight. There was a dark rectangle in the shape of a doorway behind him, providing a view back into the shop. He reached back inside to shut the door, the doorway vanishing entirely as it was shut. It left nothing behind but thin air, and a cold autumn breeze.

Arctus turned, and strode up to the hive, seeking an entrance. Wondering if he should try to find something like a front door. He’d only just gotten close when he caught wind of something.

Something was not right. Arctus curled his lip in disgust, a low growl escaping him with his breath rolling away in a cloud of fog on the wind. He was now glad he had decided to visit.

The Something was so closely aligned with his own elements, a being of the shadow plane- That he could determine the hold it had over the hive right away. A sensation in his chest, a resonant frequency from the foul energy radiating off the hive. He decided not to bother with finding a front door, nor with any modicum of manners. If Quilis had brought this thing upon herself, he would have a word with her; If it had found her, perhaps even through him, then he had rid her of it.

He found a door and opened it. Beyond was a long, stretching hallway that seemed to keep getting longer as he watched. The walls were striped in purple and white, almost the texture of nylon canvas. At the end, a light shone through the crack of a doorway.

Arctus bared his teeth, growling to himself again as he stepped inside. He made his way down the hall, making no effort to conceal the growing shadow of his presence. Darkness against darkness, it wouldn’t surprise him if The Something did not notice him or even, foolishly, deigned not to bother with him in favor of toying with Quilis.

This particular variety of demon fed off of fear, warping an enclosed space- Such as a hive- Into scenes that would deeply frighten its prey. If Quilis had been here since he last heard from her, her willpower had to be waning very thin by now.

He bit the finger of one of his gloves to pull it off and then sunk his claws into his own chest, leaving deep gouges oozing black blood. Tiny, blobby creatures, each no larger than a coin, and dozens of them, sprang from the wounds. His snake tattoos fled from his skin, pulling away and dropping to the ground, suddenly solid. Arctus flicked the blood from his claws, creating more of the shadowy creatures. The blobby creatures and snakes skittered away from where he walked, seeping through shadows to reach other parts of the hive. 

He reached the end of the hall and pulled open the door, finding a spacious circus ring beyond. Faceless trolls jeered and laughed from the stands, moving jerkily as though in stop-motion. The sound of the crowd was strange and discordant, like the approximation of something that had never heard it before. 

Arctus’ gaze flicked about for some sign of an exit from here. The spotlight swung, following a troll on a trapeze high above. They flew from the bar, posing gracefully in the air; For a beautiful moment hanging in the void as though hovering before falling straight down and splatting directly against the circus floor.

Arctus ignored this vision entirely, moving through the ring to an entryway on the other side; More shadowy creatures pushed their way from the wounds on his chest, scuttling away as though their tiny lives depended on it.

The tunnel led to a set of stairs leading upwards, dimly lit with some lights flickering faintly. A short flight- at the top of the landing stood wide double doors, having ornate steel trimming. 

Arctus made his way up them without hesitation, and pushed open the doors.

Beyond was a sheer drop, at least seventy feet. Glancing around, several sets of impossible stairways sprawled onwards and upwards- moving slowly to different doors like clockwork. Faceless paintings of unknown trolls in finery decorated the walls.

He huffed in annoyance; Some of his shadows had already made their way through here and gone through some of the doors, narrowing his options; He picked one that he thought he could just barely jump to.

Arctus leapt without much deliberation. He just barely grabbed the ledge, boots thudding against the wall with no foothold. At the same time, however, a long, shadowy hand darted through the doorway, grabbing Arctus and pulling him up. Kneeling, Arctus looked to a puddle of darkness as the hand retracted into it. 

“Thank you.” He said, putting a hand to the wound on his chest to siphon away some of his blood and plunging his hand into the pool. Something within the pool gave a raspy gurgle in thanks, and Arctus straightened to continue.

The room before him seemed to be a concert hall. He stood at the top of another landing, two stairways on the left and right lead downwards to a checker-tiled floor. In the center of the space below was an elaborate grand piano, alone with a bench. Further beyond that, another set of similar looking doors to the ones behind him.

Arctus moved down the stairs and across the checkerboard floor, the piano holding his attention for a moment; It wasn’t part of The Something’s illusions.

He returned his attention to the doors and opened them.

—--------

Quilis sat huddled in a corner, doing her best to avoid looking at any of the mirrors that lined the walls and ceiling. She had sat down and decided not to leave, unable to really find it within her to go on just yet. From somewhere around the corner, she heard the sounds of a crowd. Sometimes echoing laughter, sometimes blood-curdling screams. 

Every now and then she’d look up to make sure nothing had changed- seeing reflections of people she once knew. Nothing ever did before; but this time, some… inky black blob scuttles over to her. At first, she considered squishing it as it ‘waved.’ Though, something made her refrain from doing so.

More began to crawl in from out of seemingly nowhere, bouncing around on the floor while she looked on- a bit confused. A wild change from previous illusions, if it was one. Although, a sudden, loud clatter of the door snaps her out of her confusion- drawing her wary attention.

Arctus stood at the door, his attention snapping to her nearly immediately. Blood black as ink soaked the front of his shirt from gouges in his chest. Ignoring the mirrors, he made a beeline for Quilis and dropped into a kneel near her.

She pressed her back against the wall behind her, as if trying to retreat somewhat. 

Arctus tilted his head to peer at her from under the shadows of his hat, the ghost of some mixture of wariness and concern lacing his otherwise neutral expression. He shooed away the black blobs with a wave of his hand, before addressing her.

“Are you alright, Quilis?”

She glances away at the blobs for a moment, then turns it back to Arctus. “I’m trying to figure out how much of this is real,” she states- clearly tired.

“I am real,” Arctus replied, though he knew well enough that she couldn’t trust his word. “As is my blood.” He gestured vaguely at the retreating blobs, and then cast a disdainful gaze at the rest of the room. “This- An illusion of the fearmonger. I will send you away from here.” Arctus brought his hand to his mouth to sink his fangs into his palm- Not daring to draw a dagger when Quilis was so wary.

She scrubs her face with her hands and sighs. “H-hold on just a sec, I was…” She pauses a moment, brushing her bangs back. “I was in the middle ‘f something. Well, more almost done with it, to be honest.”

Rummaging through the pocket on her sweater briefly, she then pulls out a folded piece of paper. Opening it up, she then slams it against the wall next to her- the paper burning away to leave behind an engraved magic circle.

Arctus watched, and stared for a moment at the circle, reading the magic within it. A spell to lock the hive, and prevent it from shifting further.

Then, his head snapped up, like some unheard sound drew his attention. He stared off down the hall for several moments, and then narrowed his eyes.

“It seems I’ve been noticed.” He said, and then made to straighten. He held out his hand to help Quilis to her feet.

She eyes him for a moment, then accepts the help to stand, though wincing briefly. “I have one more to place… somewhere around here. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Let us make haste then, and finish this.” Arctus glanced away again, eyes still narrowed, though his exact feelings were difficult to read. 

“Agreed,” she says, turning to head where the hallway bends. At the end lies yet another door, presumably leading to more of the maze that now makes up her hive.

Pushing it open reveals another steep drop- Quilis looks down to see the circus ring from before. Before her lies a small platform with a tightrope high above the ‘crowd’ below, leading to another door. Grumbling some, she steps out without much hesitation.

Arctus, having followed, stepped through the door and took a look at the tightrope spanning the distance to the other doorway. He watched Quilis cross the tightrope with no issue with a blank look.

As sudden as a light turning off, pitch blackness spread from behind Arctus and enveloped the room. Nothing could be seen of him, or the illusionary ‘crowd’ below- Such a deep darkness that if Quilis held her hand in front of her face, she wouldn’t have been able to see it.

It was gone as suddenly as it appeared, and Arctus was standing on the other side next to her.

She blinks at him for a second, but continues through. Quil now stands in what looks like her old parlor, the piano nowhere to be found however. She pulls out one last sheet of paper from her pocket, and slams that against the wall much like the last.

Moving into the center of the space, she peels back the rug to expose the hardwood beneath, then feels around in her pocket again- hoping to find something to write with.

“Fuck,” she mumbles to herself. “Thought I had more on me.”

Pausing a moment to think, she kneels down and rolls up her sleeve. Quilis takes a breath and bites into her arm, drawing purple blood. She spreads it across her hand and begins weaving the final piece of the ritual- an overly complex design. Just to be safe. 

Finally, she places her hand in the center of it all- leaving behind a print to finish it off. The circle in front suddenly glows brightly, along with the one on the wall behind the two of them. Several echoing, loud clanks and thuds reverberate through the hive, signaling the success of the spell.

Arctus’ gaze flicked between the glowing circles, and then he lifted his head at the series of distant thuds and clamor. His gaze returned to Quilis as he waited for her next move.

“Wish I could be of more help,” she speaks up, “-but I think that’s all I’ve got in me for now.”

Arctus made to move past her, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder as he passed. “It’s a wonder you still have your sanity. You’ve done more than enough.” He turned his gaze to the doorway ahead, narrowing his eyes. “I will handle the fearmonger.”

With the hive no longer shifting, Arctus could locate its presence far easier. He continued into the next room, darkness following him as he blotted out every light, passing through walls where there wasn’t an endless void between them. 

One of his blood-blobs had found the fearmonger earlier, alerting it to his presence- And it had moved rooms after quashing his scout, perhaps the smartest move it had made thus far. 

But now, it could run, but there was nowhere to hide. Arctus stalked the halls freely, until he entered the final room where the being waited.

It was an enclosed darkness, featureless yet somehow walled. As though part of the room, the being waited, a formless mass of eyes and mouths full of teeth. 

Baring his own teeth, Arctus overtook the enclosed darkness with his own magic. He forced the space into an open, endless void of nothingness, leaving the demon with nothing to hold onto. As it flailed, he advanced on it.

It tried in vain to flee as Arctus lashed out. It squirmed under his grip as he dragged it closer. 

Arctus parted his jaws wide, and ate the fearmonger whole.

#long post #arctus ic #arctus izaril #bastdrabbles #nihils-trolls #more writing posted at midnight

[goddesstrolls]

Rhorim pulled his hood further over the face, though there wasn't a soul in sight and his passive magic already helped him move unseen.

Dawn inched closer, the sky slowly lightening from an inky black to a pre-dawn blue, stars blotting out one by one in the encroaching sunlight.

He approached a silent storefront, long since locked up for the day. A faded sticker bearing the Empire insignia had been stuck in the window along with various other stickers and notices, things like 'No Loitering' and 'Empire Certification of Operation'...

Rhorim reached into the satchel at his hip and retrieved its heavy contents: A brick.

Sure, he could use magic. Blend with the shadows to pass under the door. But he'd be on camera anyway, and the stolen goods would be noticed- So why not take the easier route?

Rhorim smashed the brick into the door. It took two, three blows, the glass was damn sturdy- But finally he bashed it enough to step through.

He'd hardly passed the threshold when an alarm blared. He ignored it and stepped into an aisle to do his 'shopping'.

He would be on the cameras- But his figure would be hazy and insubstantial, not a single detail able to be discerned except perhaps his height.

The alarm continued to scream as he meandered. He picked up a pre-made journal and thumbed the pages before setting them down with a frown.

Rhorim turned to various pens and writing implements hung on hooks next to the journals. He plucked one down and bit open the packaging, giving it a cursory test on a convenient bit of nearby scratch paper. Dissatisfied with that as well, he set it down and looked over the available pens again.

A hulking drone shadowed the shattered doorway. Jet black eyes scanned the store, but failed to see Rhorim despite him being taller than the product shelves.

It stepped inside and Rhorim continued to ignore it, pulling another pen down and testing it. Satisfied enough with this one, he tucked it into his bag, and then picked up a stack of plain paper. He tore open the wrapping to thumb the papers, considering the weight and texture, while the drone stalked the aisle next to his.

It's mandibles clicked faintly in apparent distress as it could sense him- But could not locate him. It moved into the end of the aisle and turned to look directly at him- Past him. Satisfied with the paper too, he grabbed several more stacks and tucked those into his bag as well.

The drone turned to step into his aisle. He lifted his head to look over at it, and then sidled past it. It whipped around to look at him- Still seeing nothing- And he paused.

Rhorim sunk a fang into his fingertip, and reached out to lay a gentle hand on the drone's arm.

Its attention snapped to him, mandibles clicking and hissing as it suddenly became fully aware- And then it froze, thin blood bubbling at its mouth. Black snakes erupted from its mouth and the gaps in its chitin, and it collapsed, dead- The snakes melting away into rivulets of blood on the linoleum.

Rhorim continued his meandering, picking out a few more supplies as another drone appeared at the door. It clicked something to alert a third drone standing behind it, smelling the spilled blood of its kin. Both drones entered, and Rhorim, with his satchel full, decided he was done for the day. He walked towards the shop entrance, hefting the brick he'd used to enter- And flung it through the far window.

Both drones immediately turned to the shattering window, and Rhorim strolled through the door, invisible to them as he'd been with the first.

Two more drones were approaching the storefront and the dawn sun was rising. Rhorim slipped into an alley to avoid the sunlight, and began making the long trek home.

#bastdrabbles #rhorim writing #rhorim ic #rhorim izaril #the inkblood

[goddesstrolls]

A Lock More Complex

((Another collab with @nihils-trolls))

Marzic landed among the trees just beyond the camp, and checked his inner pocket to assure the key was still present.

By all accounts, it looked like an ordinary key. Hardly anything fit for the shackles of a godling.

The five keys had been merged into one, and now all that had to be done was to undo Ebidel’s chains. It sounded simple, and Marzic hoped it wasn’t deceptively so.

He kept the key in his hand as he walked into the camp. His lusus stood watch among the trees some ways off.

“Ebidel.”

The godling in question raises his head to look at Marzic. He’d apparently been here for some time, sat at the base of a tree closeby.

Marzic merely lifted the key, tilting his head slightly. It felt odd to be so casual about this. “The keys have been collected.”

Ebidel is quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in an utterly confused expression. “... What?”

“I have spent the last few perigees collecting them with the aid of two mages. They’ve now been consolidated…So your freedom is at hand.” Marzic did his best to speak carefully.

Looking away, Ebidel brings a hand to his face- seemingly at a loss for words. He clearly hadn’t expected Marzic to find all of those keys so quickly, let alone at all. After another pause, he speaks up again. 

“I guess it is.”

Marzic knelt beside Ebidel, turning the key in his hand. “Are you prepared?” 

He didn’t care to make any promises that this would work, nor voice his doubt in the abilities of the aforementioned pair of mages that had helped him.

“No,” Ebidel said bluntly. “But I don’t think there’s a moment I will be.” For once, he looked nervous. 

Marzic gave him a faint, wry smile. For once himself, he looked weary. “That’s the spirit.” He said softly, as he reached for the first shackle on Ebidel’s ankle and inserted the key. It popped open with a click, revealing several small mouths lined with jagged fangs present on the inner surface.

The shackle falls away and lands on the ground with a soft thud. As it lies there, it begins to disintegrate- leaving behind nothing but dust and a noticeable disturbance in the air. 

Marzic felt a dense wave of energy washing over him, giving him pause. His lusus tossed his head and pawed at the ground, nickering nervously. Marzic’s gaze flickered up to Ebidel’s face, and then he moved on to the next shackle.

The second shackle fell away like the first, followed by another wave of power. Marzic continued through, taking Ebidel’s hands and unlocking each shackle. When the fourth and final one fell away, he lowered Ebidel’s hand, and the key vanished into dust in his palm.

Now free of his bonds, Ebidel takes a look at his hands, not used to there being no gleam of metal. He studies them for a bit, as if gauging something, then glances up at Marzic. “Well, I suppose we can do two things while we’re here.”

Marzic was already beginning to stand as Ebidel spoke. He glanced down, genuinely puzzled. “Hm?”

Ebidel moves to stand himself, continuing. “You wanted your curse broken, did you not?”

Marzic’s expression immediately soured. “You are no longer under any obligation to uphold that.” He hissed, his tone suddenly sharp.

“But I’m not wrong there, am I?” Ebidel restrained himself from crossing his arms. “I may not be obligated; however, it’s something I want to do regardless.”

Whatever retort Marzic had seemed to have died on his tongue. He glanced away, eyes narrowed as he appeared frustrated. Habitually, he ran a hand along the scabbard of his sword and curled his fingers loosely about the grip. “...Very well.”

It was strangely begrudging, considering how badly he seemed to want his curse broken. However, he didn’t seem to have any intent of voicing his thoughts.

The rust shifted his weight some, picking up on the fairly obvious clues. “What, is there a problem?”

“No.” Marzic said curtly, though his annoyance made it clear there was some sort of problem. “It was just unexpected.”

Ebidel rubs his temple and sighs. “I’m not stupid. Or oblivious. Could you just… talk to me?”

Marzic flinched slightly, obviously disarmed. His annoyance had fallen into a flat, stunned look, which then shifted through a few emotions ranging from weary to regretful before finally falling on exasperation. “I didn’t think you cared about what I had to say.” 

Weariness laced his annoyed tone; He seemed worn thin, too tired to care too deeply about anything. “I arranged to handle the curse myself. That is all.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Ebidel’s tone usually doesn’t have much emotion to it, but now borders on strained. He drops his arm down to his side. “I don’t know how you intend to ‘handle’ it, unless-” 

He cuts himself off, grimacing at a thought. Marzic was glaring daggers at him, his jaw set as though to say, ‘it’s exactly what you’re thinking’.

“It doesn’t matter.” Marzic hissed.

Ebidel sighs, bringing his hand back to scrub at his face. “Look, I care about what you have to-” He stops again. “I see a place where I can help, and I want to help. Alright? Just- Stand still.”

“And I am allowing you to help. I don’t know what more you want.” Marzic still found a moment to protest before Ebidel reached out to put a hand on his chest. He gave an exasperated sigh, and tried to relax, seeming exhausted.

As Ebidel lay his hand on Marzic’s chest, the sigils inscribed on his skin began to glow, reacting to the attempt to break them. Marzic winced as the curse tightened its grip on his heart, and Ebidel carefully unworked the deep, vitriolic spell.

The sigils glowed brighter, and then shattered into nothing. At the same time, the shackle around Marzic’s neck broke, and the two halves fell to the grass with a dull thud.

Marzic opened his eyes, and ghosted his fingertips along the bruised ring along his throat where the iron shackle had been.

Bringing his hand back down to his side, Ebidel squints, furrowing his brow. “Hm.”

Marzic seemed to have an inkling of what that meant already. He put a finger to his own lips, pushing them up to confirm that his long fangs were still present- Not a natural trait, but one from his curse. Despair flickered in his eyes, but he said nothing.

“Well,” Ebidel spoke up, “The curse is broken, and I was able to revert the changes it made. Except for one of them.” He glances to the side. “It’s… not of your troll nature. I can’t affect that.”

Marzic clearly understood, but seemed exhausted by this turn of events. He dropped his hand and sighed through his nose.

“No,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

He glanced aside, into the trees, raising his head and attempting to regain his composure- But his energy was quickly flagging. “I have- Something to attend to…” Marzic’s voice faded as he struggled to do so much as remain conscious.

Sweeps of going without food, sleep, or so much as water were rapidly catching up to him. His eyes rolled, and he collapsed- thankfully, not onto the cold, hard ground.

#bastdrabbles #marzic ic #marzic monair #the bloodfey #nihils trolls #drops important plot stuff at midnight #its fiiiiine

[goddesstrolls]

Cat and Mouse

Kairos stood against the wall, arms folded.

If they could avoid going underground ever again, they’d gladly take it. This rambling cave was a pain to navigate, even with a light and a map. It took them twenty minutes of stumbling over stones and cursing under their breath to reach their target’s cavern hive.

They had replaced the boulder over the entrance precisely how they had found it. If the lights left on in the hive were any indication, the inhabitant would be back before long.

They had already searched the place- The owner’s lusus apparently not present, which was just as well, because Kairos was not told what to do with the beast. Their client had requested a scarf belonging to the target, and her phone. Both of which Kairos had located- The phone left sitting on the table was another indication that their target was sure to be back soon.

Kairos’ fin flicked as they heard something outside- A small shuffle carrying through a gap between the boulder and the entrance. Something else was out there. They readied themselves, pressing their back to the wall.

The boulder vanished, and a small figure hurried into the hive. In such a hurry, in fact, that Kairos had to dart forward in order to reach her. By her curved horns and small stature, they knew her to be their target.

They threw a bag over her head and cinched the drawstring around her neck, ignoring her shriek of surprise and fear. They grabbed her arms and forced her hands behind her back, and slammed a knee in between her shoulder blades to both stun her, and knock her to the ground.

Kneeling there to pin her with their body weight like an insect through a needle, Kairos pulled a pair of solid handcuffs off their belt and clipped them onto the oliveblood’s wrists. They snaked their hand under the bag enough to put an anti-psionic collar around her neck.

Entirely unnecessary, as far as Kairos could tell. Their client claimed the oliveblood was a pacifist and had no psionics. She screamed and fought against the cuffs and they straightened with an annoyed huff, considering giving her a kick to shut her up.

Movement outside the hive caught their attention. A giant mouse the size of a car was barrelling towards them.

Ah, the resident’s lusus.

Kairos lifted their head and glared at the animal, their destructive magical energy heightening enough to hum off the walls of the hive. A silent warning: Cross that threshold, and I will slaughter you without even lifting a finger.

The animal froze outside the entrance- Seeming distraught but not daring to enter. She could sense their energy, and as badly as she wanted to aide her charge, she knew she didn't stand a chance against Kairos.

They scoffed faintly and doubled over to grab their still screaming, crying, begging target off the ground.

“Shut up.” Kairos snarled in her ear. Her screaming immediately died away into a sob, and they dragged her through the hive to a clear area they had picked.

A teleportation circle had been drawn on the floor. They disappeared through it with their target- And the circle destroyed itself behind them, leaving no trace.

Kairos and their victim reappeared in a vast expanse of ice and snow. The temperature here was easily twenty below zero, and their victim gasped with the sudden change. She continued to shake with sobs and, now, the cold. Kairos slung her onto their shoulder like a sack of potatoes, careful that the bag on her head didn’t fall off, and walked up to a stone cairn stacked in the frigid haze.

They sunk a fang into their thumb to draw blood, and pressed it to a rune drawn on one of the stones. With a rumble, a hidden door in the ice at their feet slid open.

Kairos brushed a hand against the bloodied runes, destroying all trace of their blood, and walked down the steps. Another graze against a rune on the wall shut the door behind them.

They carried their sobbing victim through the hive, past various traps. As they dumped her on the ground of an empty room, they felt their phone buzzing in their pocket.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Kairos pulled their phone out and glanced at the caller ID as they left the room.

They returned a few moments later, growling under their breath. They walked up to the shivering oliveblood and knelt next to her.

“Do you know why you are here?” They asked.

"... S-someone is trying to hurt a good friend of mine. They want her to be s-scared." Stammered the oliveblood.

“Your moirail, to be specific.” Kairos replied. “Yes, this is in fact, entirely her fault. She hurt the wrong troll, and now she reaps the rewards. You are simply collateral damage.”

"Are... are they a yellowblood? Or a violet?"

“You’re lucky I wasn’t told not to answer questions.” Kairos drawled, sounding mildly amused. “Neither. A jadeblood. But apparently she is acting on behalf of her matesprit.”

"I'm s-sure I already know your answer, but... who hired you?" The oliveblood squeaked, surprisingly bold considering Kairos kidnapped her easily and could be planning on killing her, for all she knew. "How long will you keep me here?"

“Her name is Joclyn. That is all I know.” Kairos straightened, their boots scuffing on the ice. “You’re to stay here until I am told to free you, or kill you.”

Kairos headed for the door.

“I’ll warm up this room, so you don’t freeze to death before then.”

#kairos ic #kairos mikari #bastdrabbles #kairos writing #ase-trollplays

[goddesstrolls]

Last Word

((Collab with @nihils-trolls; TW for beheading and death))

Marzic walked up the crumbling stone steps, his steps echoing in the empty hall.

While he expected this to be yet another obnoxious maze, locals gave stories telling of a man-eating monster here. No one who entered ever returned.

The wayfinder charm he wore under his robe tugged him onwards, pointing him towards the second-to-last key he needed to release Ebidel from his bonds. It still infuriated him that it had taken this long for the godling to be released, requiring only the help of two mages and a particularly dogged monster hunter.

He knew, of course, there were many factors that led to this situation, but it was aggravating that he had to clean up a mess that should have been cleaned up many times over.

“Ebidel.” He spoke the old godling’s name to call him forth, glancing to the side where he anticipated Ebidel to appear.

As soon as he does, the rust seems to walk into his peripheral. Per usual, no flashy or dramatic entrance.

“We’ve arrived. Keep your wits about you.” Marzic said, and then turned his attention forward as he walked through the crumbling gateway. Normally he didn’t get much of a response from Ebidel, and so expected no comment- but the silence was interrupted this time.

“Something’s off,” Ebidel says curtly. His eyes narrow as he looks ahead into the ruins.

Marzic paused, his gaze flickering about warily as he honed his senses. It certainly wasn’t a welcome place, but he didn’t sense anything unexpected.

“It reeks of blood- of death, here. This presence feels familiar for whatever reason.” However, he continues onwards. “I agree about being cautious.”

Marzic lay his gaze on Ebidel for a few moments, taking in his body language before continuing on himself. “I was told there was a man-eating monster here. Of what variety, I am uncertain…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes slightly as though he perhaps had a hunch he did not see fit to voice.

The step of two trolls now was the only sound. The gateway opened into a closed courtyard with a ruined fountain. Marzic’s calm and confident demeanor masked his caution; He was quite certain there were no traps here, determined as he scanned the area.

The fountain was half-destroyed, once a statue depicting a woman emptying a jar into the fountain basin. The basin itself smelled foul, a musk of putrid and ancient decay. One glance was enough to confirm that rust blood had once filled the basin, and poured from the woman’s jar. A coy smile played on her lips and Marzic could see two puncture marks on her neck, crusted with red as though blood had once trickled from them.

Marzic gave a thoughtful hum, laced with disgust.

Ebidel crosses his arms and shifts slightly at the sight of the fountain. “Are you still uncertain?” he says, gesturing vaguely to the ‘centerpiece’ of the room, tail flicking ever so slightly.

Marzic rolled his eyes and did not grace Ebidel with a response, passing the fountain and continuing into the hall beyond. 

This looked as though it had once been an archive, or library of some sort. Tall rows of shelves loomed on either side, their contents ruined or removed, tossed carelessly aside and left to molder. At the end of the room, Marzic could see some sort of stone table; An altar, perhaps.

He slowed at the entrance to take in the room, searching for the suggestion of other exits before continuing in.

There were two doorways; One, large and arched, seemed to lead downwards and was gated shut, though the bars looked so decrepit that Marzic thought he could brush them aside with the back of his hand. The other had a massive shelf thrown in front of it, an obvious attempt at a barricade.

Falling in behind, Ebidel locks his gaze on the altar for a moment- that is, before heading over to the barricaded door. An annoyed hum escapes him as he crouches to heave the shelf out of the way with little effort.

“So much for stealth,” Marzic remarked icily, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword as he watched.

“There’s no other way out from down there.” Ebidel says back, flatly- as if he already knew that.

Marzic narrowed his eyes and walked up, pausing again a few steps behind Ebidel. 

“You do not have to be here.” He said quietly, his tone pointed.

The rust looks back, a slight scowl resting on his face. “If I’m right about what’s down there, I want to be here.” He then opens the door and moves ahead.

Marzic did not respond; He just took his hand from the hilt of his sword, and followed Ebidel down.

The steps led into pitch blackness. Water from somewhere above dripped intermittently against the ruined stone tile of the hall below. A corpse, long desiccated, huddled at the foot of the stairs. Marzic paused to lift its head, disturbing dust and dry bones- Noting the jade accents on the troll’s ruined clothing, and their long curved canines. He could see no injuries; Starved to death, perhaps.

He looked up to see Ebidel disappear further down the hall, seemingly on a mission.

Marzic continued to follow without a word, keeping an ear out for signs of starved rainbow drinkers that had managed to survive whatever happened here. The hall stretched on into darkness; At its end was a barricaded door, lit with runes drawn in rust blood glowing brightly despite their age.

Ebidel stands at the door, backlit somewhat ominously by the red glow. 

Marzic paused behind him again, eyes on the obvious seal on the door. He had a few ideas on how to bypass this, but those were more forceful than perhaps was needed now. He watched Ebidel’s turned back, waiting.

After a moment of staring, the godling cuts his arm- drawing the blood into shape. It flows and solidifies in his hands, into the shape of a sort of oversized hammer. Marzic’s ideas were likely less forceful, given he then draws back the weapon and slams it against the door.

The runes project a translucent, red barrier at the moment of impact- one that begins to crack and shatter. The glow then fades, leaving the two of them in darkness once again.

Marzic gave Ebidel a half-second, wondering if he were about to hit the door with the hammer again, before drawing his sword. As he drew it, spectral flames blazed to life, wreathing the weapon in brilliant orange light.

He shouldered past Ebidel to thrust the blazing blade into the now unprotected door. It sank through as though it were made of soft clay, and not solid wood and metal. The flames consumed the wood with unnatural speed, reducing it to ash in mere seconds, spreading outwards from the point the blade pierced.

Beyond was a small stone room lit only by a few candles upon a raised altar. A decrepit troll stood with his back to them, gnarled hands raised and rasping whispers permeating the dark.

The troll, dressed in ancient finery reduced now to rags and wearing a ram’s skull mask painted with jade blood, turned to face them both, clutching his knurled staff in both hands. 

“Ah, my esteemed guests…Welcome.” The troll rattled, his voice a hoarse whisper, as though he hadn’t spoken in a millennia. His gaze behind the mask seemed to flick from Marzic, to Ebidel.

Not humoring the old troll, and clearly unamused, Ebidel’s hammer shifts to a scythe instead. A low growl escapes him, but no words.

The troll tilted his head slightly, the crooked smile on his face obvious despite being hidden behind the mask. “Come now…There is no need for such hostilities.” He extended a ring-laden hand to Ebidel, but his attention was on Marzic. “He is useful…No? You have me to thank.”

Marzic did not respond nor react, his expression utterly neutral. It was clear the old troll was trying to intimidate him in some sense- Implying that he had the power to chain a godling.

Power that Marzic wagered had likely long since decayed, or he no longer wielded. 

He stepped into the room, lowering his sword and standing aside. The old troll’s gaze followed him. Though, it should have been kept on the aggravated rust.

In a flash, Ebidel leaps forward and lashes out against the cultist. His scythe meets the staff that was raised barely in time, failing to fully block the blow. It cuts into the rod and his shoulder, drawing vibrant green blood.

Marzic sheathed his sword and merely watched, the flames dying away. Meanwhile, Ebidel continued his rageful assault.

“How dare you-” Hissed the old jade, struggling against the force of the blow, spitting furiously at both of them as though Marzic could be intimidated or reasoned into calling off the enraged godling. He made no such motion.

Clearly ignoring anything he had to say, Ebidel raises his scythe to cut downwards again, breaking the staff and cutting clean against the troll’s torso. Blood spills heavily from the deep gash, splattering across the floor.

He stumbled back, barely catching himself on the altar behind him. Clearly his efforts had been put towards merely preserving himself against the sands of time, and maintaining his power had fallen by the wayside. 

He made a final, desperate glance towards Marzic, who flatly met his gaze through the dark eye sockets of his ram skull mask. In a last ditch effort he raised his broken staff with a wild cry, a bolt of energy flying from the staff’s head.

In the same half-second, Marzic drew his sword, slashing into the bolt and deflecting it into the stone wall. The cultist fell backwards, thrown by his own spell, final moments spent watching his fatal failure reflected in the sheen of Ebidel’s scythe. 

It was raised to the level of his neck; clearly, he was waiting for just the right moment. In one fell swing, the blade slices cleanly through with little effort. The old troll’s head rolls forwards and onto the cold floor.

Marzic relaxed, sheathing his sword once more. He strode silently past the old drinker’s corpse and to the altar, upon which sat an old tome and a few other items belonging to the ancient cultist. 

He glanced over the tome, noting- With his limited understanding of the old tongue- That it seemed to be a timed, highly destructive spell of some sort. A bomb that was likely to be set off when they entered, but had been interrupted.

There were clearly magical items strewn about the altar- A wand, an athame, a strange-looking silver needle- That would make any adventurer’s night. Marzic ignored these as he instead opened a small chest sitting on the altar, the wayfinder charm under his robe tugging towards it.

The chest was unlocked. Inside, on dusty velvet cushioning, sat an old metal key; Ornate, with the bow marked with the ancient rune meaning ‘3’. After a moment’s inspection to assure there was no curse on the key itself- Marzic didn’t put it past the old bat- He removed it from the chest and tucked it into the inner pocket of his robe.

Then, he turned back to Ebidel, who was occupying himself with stomping the cultist’s skull in.

“Do as you will. I am done here.” Marzic walked past him, back into the hall. He might worry that the troll was a lich- But nothing in the room seemed to radiate enough magical energy for that, and he had little desire to scour this place looking for something that might not exist.

The godling, now still and covered in jade, made no response- letting Marzic go without another word for the time being.

Marzic paused, and looked back at him again once he reached the doorway- But if he had anything to say, he held his tongue, and disappeared into the dark.

#long post #marzic ic #marzic monair #marzic writing #the bloodfey #bastdrabbles #nihils-trolls

[goddesstrolls]

Ritual

((TW for gore and self-mutilation))

Marzic knelt amongst the trees, his pale skin appearing to glow in the dappled moonlight. 

He’d removed his armor and shirt to avoid them getting stained, and he knelt before a flat river rock. On it sat a bowl of water, a rag, and a whetstone which he rhythmically ran the edge of a hunting dagger against.

With some proper food and rest, he had regained the strength that failed him after his curse was broken. And then with his newfound energy, he went to Arctus to fulfill the last of his current obligations. 

Marzic had promised his sword- A priceless and powerful artifact attached directly to his lusus. It was both payment for his aid, and it was his means of assuring the sword went to good hands.

He hadn’t intended to be around to keep watch over it once Ebidel was freed, after all. But of course the godling had his own ideas, and broke Marzic’s curse- Meaning he didn’t have to end his own life in order to break it himself.

And Marzic kept his word, offering the sword to Arctus even though he would continue as a monster hunter- Arctus refused, saying the weapon had been offered under the assumption Marzic wouldn’t need it.

Seeing as Marzic felt Arctus and Quilis had done the bulk of the work in finding the keys to free Ebidel, that left a debt which needed paying.

Marzic lifted the hunting knife to check the edge. Satisfied that it was razor sharp, he pulled his long hair forward over his shoulder. He reached back and took one wing, lifting it carefully, and then positioned the knife near the base.

He re-situated the knife until he felt the cold steel of the blade flat against his skin. He took a breath to relax his body thoroughly, and then plunged the knife into his flesh.

Breathing carefully and moving slowly, he slid the knife through the connective tissues holding his wing. With the close proximity to his spine, there were many nerves at the attachment. The pain was white-hot and searing, sharp as the blade he was using to sever the nerves.

Whenever his hands shook too much, he paused to breathe before continuing. Even after the first pass, his wing was still firmly attached, clinging by some stubborn, aching sinew like a loose tooth.

Marzic made his second pass and tugged his wing free of the viscera barely holding it in place, and then laid the appendage out on the stone.

Blood trickled down his back from the aching, deep wound. So much as shifting his shoulder was painful, the muscles gouged deep and part of them cut away. But, it would heal, and his wing would regrow.

Marzic inspected his severed wing for damage. The many paneled membranes glittered in the moonlight, shifting in hues of brilliant blue. Seeing no harm had come to it in the removal process, Marzic cleaned and cut away the gore at the base, leaving a clean ball-joint nub. 

Free of the blood and viscera, it was easy to forget that this had been attached to him by nerves, vessels, tissue; and that was exactly what he wanted.

Marzic cleaned the hunting knife and ran his thumb over the edge to check it again.

Then he reached behind his back, exhaling as he lifted his other wing, and repeated the process.

#bastdrabbles #marzic ic #marzic monair #marzic writing #the bloodfey

[goddesstrolls]

(TW for death, murder, attempted strangulation)

Arctus stood behind the chair Meline sat in. Acolye’s still body lay in the bed, her face covered by a sheet.

“Please come eat, Meline.” Arctus said, his voice soft. “You haven’t since last night.”

“Where were you?” Meline asked, her voice hoarse with disuse.

Arctus paused, unease fluttering in his chest at the sudden question. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid.” Meline rasped, her tone hollow yet sharp as broken glass. “Where were you, Arctus. Why weren’t you here with us?”

“I was looking for a cure.” Arctus furrowed his brow. Meline could be stubborn- but he hadn’t expected this hostility. “Meline, please–”

“Fucking bullshit.” Meline hissed under her breath, interrupting him. “Lying sack of shit. You could have saved her, and instead you were fucking off to god knows where.”

Arctus set his jaw, trying to keep his temper at the venom in her tone. It was unlike Meline to jab at him like this- The three of them had lived together for sweeps without much fighting. She was wrought with grief, angry for the decline and death of her moirail and trying to find someone to blame. 

“I spent perigees trying, Meline. I… Regret as much as you do that I wasn’t here when she passed-” Arctus tried, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Bullshit!” Meline suddenly snarled, whirling around to fix her red eyes on him. “You could have been fucking poisoning her for all I know, with your stupid potions!”

“She was my matesprit as much as she was your moirail! Why would I-” Arctus snapped, and Meline jumped up, fury alight in her eyes. She lunged at him, and he thought she was reaching for his collar- but she wrapped her hands around his throat instead.

“I loved her as much as you-” Arctus rasped, his voice strained from the grip on his throat.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up already!” Meline screamed over him, squeezing his throat with every ounce of force she had.

Arctus gave a choked gasp and clawed desperately at Meline’s hands, trying to pry her off. 

Failing that, he planted his hands on her shoulders and shoved her away. That broke her grip and she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet and bashing the back of her head against the bed frame as she fell.

Arctus stumbled back, gasping for breath, staring at Meline as she lay still. He wondered for a moment if he had just killed her. He tried to say her name between his heaving, but his voice was silent, just the faint hiss of escaping air through his vocal chords.

Meline stirred, and, visibly struggling, started to get to her feet. She clawed at the bed frame for a hold, having difficulty coordinating. She lurched towards Arctus, her breathing labored, the yellow of her eyes tinted red. 

Arctus backed further away, drawing the small dagger he used for hunting.

“Meline. You’re bleeding- You’re not yourself.” Arctus tried to speak again, his voice just above a whisper. His hand shook as he gripped the weapon, praying its presence would be enough to keep Meline away.

It was not.

Meline lunged again for his throat and he raised the dagger. He couldn’t tell if he jammed it into her chest or she simply threw herself into it.

She fought with eerie silence against his arm braced against her collar to keep her away, claws raking across his face.

“Meline!” Arctus spoke as loudly as his bruised throat would allow and grabbed her wrist. “Listen to me!”

Blood bubbled at her lips. Her attempts to attack him were flagging and she began to sink to the ground.

Arctus sank with her to his knees, catching her and laying her down despite her weakening resistance. She fell still, staring with unfocused eyes towards the ceiling, and she didn’t respond as he jerked the knife from her chest.

He slit her throat to end her suffering. As her blood pooled on the floorboards, he watched the life drain from her eyes.

As the seconds trickled by, it struck Arctus that he was alone.

The hive was silent. Not so much a home now, as a cold tomb.

Arctus straightened. He lifted a hand, obscuring Meline’s face from his view and focusing on a drop of her blood on his hand.

He was alone, now.

#bastdrabbles #arctus ic #arctus izaril #arctus writing

[goddesstrolls]

Echo Chamber

(Writing collab with @nihils-trolls)

Arctus picked through each individual item that littered the shelves, counters, and various containers scattered through the shop.

The shop did not like to be organized- It seemed whenever Arctus tried to impose some semblance of order, the shop scattered things again. He’d given up on the endeavor long ago.

The shop was upset, again. But not in the same way it had been before, creaking and groaning and knocking things off the shelves. No, this time, it was dead silent.

But something was definitely wrong. Arctus knew only by the fact that he’d gone through a door only to step back into the same room he’d just come from. The teleportation enchantment on the closet wasn’t working, the door leading just into the empty closet instead of wherever place he wanted it to go.

The shop was unresponsive. If it were playing tricks on him, it would have laughed at his confusion. 

Whatever it was, it was increasing. Something felt wrong, like a knife being slowly twisted in his gut and winding his innards and muscles around it in a tense knot. 

It felt like the space were shrinking and growing both at once, warping in a way he could not fully perceive. 

Arctus hoped it were just some item he’d brought in that was upsetting the shop. It didn’t seem to be anything he’d brought recently, so perhaps something had been activated on accident- Or something just spontaneously appeared, that happened sometimes too.

The doorknob of the front door rattled, and then the door opened. Arctus looked up, furrowing his brow- He’d locked and placed a seal to block entry, but if the shop wanted to let someone in, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Quilis, completely oblivious to anything going on, steps casually through the entryway. Looking up herself, she’s met with Arctus- standing amidst more of an eclectic mess than usual and frowning at her sudden appearance. 

She looks as if she was about to say something, but pauses a second first- clearly feeling a bit awkward. “... Am I interrupting something? I can just…” 

The door slammed shut, interrupting her. Arctus’ frown deepened, and he stalked past Quilis to the door, trying the knob only to find it stuck fast. Arctus gave a faint huff and returned to rooting through the scattered items at the counter without a word.

It’s only now that she notices the seal slathered in blood on the door, clearly made to keep people out. Including her, it seems- though she’s stuck here now.

“Uh,” she starts again. “Well, since I guess I’m here, do you want help with whatever it is you’re doing?” 

“If I knew,” Arctus said, shooting what almost seemed like a glare at the shop ceiling. “I would say yes.”

The space continued to warp, slowly, barely noticeable at first- and then everything suddenly flipped.

The entire space spun, orienting itself upside-down. Arctus and Quilis hung from the ceiling which had, until a moment prior, been the floor. Everything else stayed in its place, as though gravity itself had been reversed within the room along with the orientation.

Quilis looks up now- or rather, down- at the rafters that were somehow, still above their heads. It was more than a bit disorienting, trying to make sense of it.

Arctus took a wobbling step, his sense of balance thrown by the sudden perspective shift, and then growled in frustration. The space was continuing to warp, bending and contorting more aggressively. Some walls shifted backwards and others inwards, and then the front door slammed open.

Beyond was nothing at all, an endless, inky black. The entire shop shuddered, and then went still.

Arctus hesitated, as though waiting for another shift, but it didn’t come. The room was still, no longer warping- though they were still on the ceiling. He tentatively made for the door, glancing back at Quilis as though expecting her to follow.

She looks around him at the pitch-colored nothing out there, and raises a brow. “Do you really think going out there is a good idea?”

“We are in a space aligned with shadow.” Arctus replied. “Remaining here may be a worse fate than what awaits us there. There is something wrong.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Arctus stepped through the doorway, briefly placing a hand on the frame as though to steady himself in the void beyond- and vanished the second he was past the threshold. 

A little unsettled by that, Quilis pauses. “Yeah, no kidding,” she sighs. However, she wasn’t about to stay behind here, and makes her own way towards the door with little issue. She stops again before finally stepping through, accidentally colliding with Arctus and suddenly finding herself in the shop’s small back room instead of outside.

This room’s orientation seemed normal again, and Arctus- his brow still furrowed- looked back at her before taking a step forward to give her more space. He looked around, then the room suddenly shrank by several feet, the walls moving unhindered through the counters laden with alchemical supplies. The movement makes Quilis flinch in surprise.

The door blipped entirely out of existence, and the walls began to close further in, the building giving a drawn-out creak. Arctus reached out to lay a hand on an encroaching wall as though hoping it were intangible- having moved freely through the counters, after all- but found it was quite solid. The ceiling and floor were moving inwards too, the entire space growing smaller and smaller with each passing second. 

Arctus braced both forearms on the adjacent walls, groaning from the effort of keeping the building from consuming them. The creaking slowed, and the shrinking of the space ground to a halt- But Arctus’ arms shook from the weight bearing down on him. He couldn’t hold it for long. 

Meanwhile, Quilis tries to think of something- anything in her repertoire that might be able to help. Her go-to spells would take time- something they clearly didn’t have. Coming up short, her expression twists. She starts to panic. 

The room jolts a few more inches inwards as Arctus’ arms threaten to give. He growls- Or perhaps it’s a groan of pain.

Something snaps for Quilis finally, all semblance of calm fleeing in an instant. “Fucking- goddamnit,” she says exasperated. Something wells up within her chest.  “I’d be able to think of a way out if things would just fucking- stop for one second!”

She can’t keep the frustration out of her tone anymore. It seeps past her broken facade, some other chaotic energy springing forth from behind it.

Arctus gasped, and then gave a sigh of relief as the pressure on his arms halted. He slowly, tentatively lowered his arms, and then lay a shaking hand on the now-still wall. Whatever Quilis did, it stopped the shop from crushing them- for now.

Arctus pulled a knife from his belt and, without warning or hesitation, jammed it into his chest between his ribs. He gave a ragged gasp as the air escaped his lungs, and sagged towards the floor, blood dripping in a pool as he tugged the knife free. 

“Get us out of here.” He wheezed, sinking to one knee and planting a hand in the growing pool of blood beneath him. A pair of arms- Long, spidery and inhuman, extended from the pool and enveloped them both, pulling them through into darkness.

When Quilis’ eyes adjusted to the dark, she found herself in a barren, shadowy landscape. Dead trees dotted the desolate plain, and dark clouds roiled overhead. Arctus was nowhere to be seen, but his blood still pooled beneath her, bubbling as though at a boiling point. She looks around to take in her environment, treading carefully forwards. A moment to breathe.

Arctus appeared from the pool, breaking the surface as though he’d come from a great depth and gasping for air. He claws at the pool’s edge, and Quilis offers a hand- which he grabs with the desperation of a drowning man. She pulls him from the pool, and gasping, Arctus stumbles onto solid ground and doubles over, catching his breath.

As he does so, Quilis digs around in her pocket and pulls out a marble- etched with some ornate design. She drops it to the ground underneath her foot, places a hand on Arctus’ back, then crushes the bead. The dreary scenery is gone immediately- replaced with a dimly lit office of some kind. 

Arctus straightened, taking a breath and laying a hand on his chest. Then he lowers his hand to his side, apparently having regained his composure.

“Thank you.” He says, his voice somewhat hoarse.

Quilis sighs lightly in response. “No problem. … You… want to rest or something for a minute? We’re just at my old shop. Closed, for the time being.” 

Arctus lifts a hand to his face, looking deeply weary for a moment as he bores his fingertips into his brow. “I will be fine.” He sighs, lowering his hand again and moving towards the door. “If you see the shop again, do not enter until I contact you.”

He retrieved a vial of ink- or perhaps blood- from his inner coat pocket and dabbed some of the contents on his fingertips. He drew a small sigil on the doorframe, and then opened the door- the space now looking into the shop from the view of the closet door.

Arctus looked in warily for a moment- and then stepped through, closing the door behind him. The sigil on the doorframe burned away, leaving nothing in its wake.

#bastdrabbles #arctus ic #arctus izaril #arctus writing #nihils-trolls

[goddesstrolls]

Rotavh stared at the red numbers on his phone screen, indicating a large charge to the card he'd given Joclyn.

He chewed the inside of his cheek. It was a roll of the dice. At worst, she'd get defensive and angry if asked about it. The most likely response was that she'd be dismissive about it.

Better to make it seem like he was just asking to make sure the purchase was hers. He leaned over, showing her his phone screen. "Joclyn, was this yours?" Rotavh hovered a thumb over the negative number.

"Yeah." Joclyn gave a coy smile and pressed her finger to her lips in a 'shh' motion. "It's a secret."

Rotavh looked at the screen again. "Is it related to your joyrides on my motorcycle?"

"Oh, you noticed? Whoops." Joclyn's smile became a bit sheepish. "You're not mad, are you?"

"Well, no, as long as you're staying safe and wearing your helmet..." Rotavh frowned, as Joclyn grinned and leaned against him. She tilted his face towards her- Away from the phone screen, and kissed him.

"You're always so thoughtful~ I'll be safe, promise." She said, leaning against him.

Rotavh gave her a small smile- He knew that pressing her further at this point would just make her angry, and so would continuing to seem concerned.

It was probably fine. Or whatever it was would blow over. He wasn't entitled to know everything she was doing, anyway.

#bastdrabbles #rotavh ic #rotavh suloch #rotavh writing #joclyn