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deanwinchesterjournal · 7 years

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Amon Part Twenty Three

“So those two.” Graymark said pointing to the two seater vehicles. “And make sure they have the additional gear as well.”

The orc looked at the blood elf with an arched eyebrow. “Full package is 1250 gold a piece, I'll give you both for 2200.”

Graymark opened his bag. “Here is 2500 gold, full packages, and if anyone asks if we weren't here.”

The orc took the pouch of gold. “You were ninjas.”

Gray nodded and looked back to the group. “He's going to get them set up, so you say Nefarian was killed what, 30 years ago?”

No one said a word.

“What?”

“You just gave that guy 2500 gold.” Twin said. “That's more money than my whole family has ever had. Period.”

“Well, Trolls aren't a high society kind of culture, I'm not surprised.”

Twin started to growl and then stopped. “Smells like an insult, looks like an insult...”

“It's not an insult.” the mage explained. “Look, in Silvermoon the entirety of elven culture is based on perfection so everything, and I mean everything, is far more expensive than normal goods. So we tend to have more money than most races.”

“How much more?” Kaz asked.

“That was the equivalent of about 500 gold to a normal person I'd estimate.”

“You just bought us two mounts.” Vickers said, sounding a little overwhelmed. “From the money in your pocket.”

Graymark nodded. “So blood elves have more money than most.” Vickers nodded. “My family has more money than most blood elves.”

“That's ridiculous.” Twin spat.

“Look, I have no problem sharing. If we need upgrades or gear I can handle the expense.”

“I am not a charity case!” Twin screamed, getting right into the mage's face.

If the made was scared he didn't show it.

“I didn't call you a charity case. Would you lend me a gold piece if I asked?”

Twin nodded.

“Then here.” Gray handed 50 gold over to the troll. “That's the same thing to me. It's not pity, it's friendship. Take it, leave it, I am just offering.”

Twin looked like he was about to throw the money and Kaz moved his hand over Twin's and took the gold. “We do need upgrades and this is a good start.”

“Ok look, you said Nefarian was killed la couple of days ago right?” Gray asked again.

“Thirty five years ago.” Vickers corrected him.

“Same thing, So there has to be people here in Orgrimmar that has to know something how it went down right?”

“Surely.” Twin said.

“Ok, well here.” Gray handed another bag of gold to Kaz. “You two go get our gear and have it stowed on the mounts. Vickers and me will go find some information about Nefarian's fall and his lair.”

Twin opened his mouth to say something but Kaz took the bag and slammed his foot on the troll's foot. “We can do that.”

“Why do you keep stomping my foot?” Twin roared at Kaz.

“Because you might take offense to me kicking you upside your head instead.”

Twin looked at the panda's leg and then measure to his head. “I call bullshi...”

The panda blurred and before the troll knew it he was on his back in the dirt.

“Let's go before they think to add us in their fun.” Gray said to the paladin.

“Not fair!” Twin said to Kaz. “Let me get ready.”

“No.” Kas said, tripping Twin before he could get up.

As Gray and Vickers walked away they could hear the troll let out a blood curdling scream.

“So explain this to me.” Vickers asked, once they were far away from the dueling pair. “You have a library in your bags?”

“I have this.” Graymark pulled out a bound tome with no markings on it. “It is the source codex of Kara's library.”

The tauren looked at the mage like he was speaking human.

“Any book stored within the library at Karazhan can be reproduced here.” to prove his point Gray held the book up to his lips and said quietly. “Unabridged history of the Silver Hand Order.” and then blew on the book.

He opened the book and Vickers was shocked to see script start to form on the blank pages, making a complete copy of the book he had studied under Liadrin.”

“Ok, so you have the entirety of Karazhan in your pocket.” Gray nodded. “And you are over a thousand years old?”

“Over 1,100 years.”

“Fine, and yet you don't know what happened to Nefarian merely 35 years ago?”

“Well before this I studied in Silvermoon and there is very little that is not sin'dorei that penetrates the city. It took the scourge literally knocking on our door to get our attention about the Lich King. My kind really don't take a great interest in your affairs.”

“And why is that?”

Gray shrugged. “Have you ever owned a pet?” Vickers looked confused. “Like a dog or a domesticated feline?”

Vickers nodded. “We owned a tamed coyote when I was young.”

“Ok, and how long do they live?”

Vickers thought about it. “Maybe seven seasons, sometimes more.”

“Ok, so in that seven years did you ever try to keep up with it? It's day to day rituals, see where it went every day?”

“Of course not.”

“Right, and if you did you'd find out two things. One, they did the same thing a lot and two, they didn't live long enough to make the watching worthwhile. That's how my kind sees the shorter lived races. We barely have time to learn your names before you die of old age and we have to start all over again. So much happens in your lifetime that results in very little that most of my people tend to only notice the things that last.”

“Well I am sorry we don't live long enough for you to care.” Vickers asked, rather upset to be compared to a coyote.

“It's not an offense.” Gray said stopping. “And I didn't say I didn't care I said my people. You asked why something like Nefarian's slaying wouldn't be known to my people I ask you, what does his death have to do with Silvermoon? In the scope of things in a thousand years what will his death have wrought? The second war, the one where the alliance laid siege to some territory and such?”

“The second war was much more than that.” Vickers said stiffly.

“Not to my kind. To my kind the only thing really mattered was that we split with the kaldorei about who to follow. Do you see? To you that is history, to my kind it just happened. We still have contracts with Darnassus, there are goods being made in Silvermoon that will be delivered to them. Your kind moves so fast you don't take time to settle things out but my kind, we have more than enough time to take it slow and we do. So you're asking if I knew that a dragon had been slain thirty something years ago is the same as me asking you if you knew Alenjon Sunblade had slain more scourge in The Deadscar?”

“Who?”

“Exactly.” Gray said. “Let's find a veteran and I bet a couple of ales will loosen his lips enough to tell us everything about how the black prince was killed.”

They began to walk again. “I am not a fan of the way your people look at the rest of the world.”

Graymark looked back at him and sighed. “Neither do I friend, why do you think I am here?”

After a few rounds Kaz and Twin gathered up their belongings and headed off towards the Valley of Honor in hopes of finding gear.

“How much did he give us?” Twin asked Kaz.

“Gave me.” Kaz answered.

“Don't be an ass, how much?”

“Enough. Let's go in there.” the panda said pointing at the trader's hall. “They might have something.”

“I hate haggling.” Twin said as he followed Kaz.

The panda looked back at him and smiled. “Then let me show you my true skill.”

An hour later they were in possession of two enchanted rings, a set of old dog tags that possessed some of the strength of the fallen warrior who had used them before and a brand new windwool tunic for Kaz.

“Ok I am impressed, how much we have left?” Twin asked, tucking the dog tags under his armor.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Weapons.”

Kaz glanced back into the auction house when the guard spoke up. “You ain't gonna find anything worth killing with in there.”

Twin looked the guard up and down. He was grizzled and had seen more than his fair share of fights. “Then were can I find something worth killing with old timer?”

“Head back to the valley of strength and find Jamus up above the throne room. Tell him Belgrom sent you. He can hook you up with something.”

“Thank you.” Twin owed slightly to him.

“Throm-Ka.” he said, giving Twin a salute.

Kaz and him walked off. Once they were out of earshot he said to Kaz. “He didn't give us a second glance when we walked in there.”

Kaz nodded. “I noticed. And what was with the salute.”

Twin nodded as they passed another pair of guards and they both stood to attention and saluted.

“What the hell?”

Kaz looked back at Twin and smiled. “The dog tags, I bet they affect how people respond to you.”

Another set of wandering guards stopped and gave the troll a salute. “Oh this can be fun.”

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ask-them-bois · 2 years

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At The End of Everything, Part Two

<<<Prev . Next>>>

TW: major character death, blood, decapitation

TLDR: Everyone arrives, and preparations are finalized.

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Musrio looked around the Arcaneum again, his fingers tightening on the box of blood vials. The spirits were active, restless, sensing what was coming, and the shifting of the candlelight and atmosphere was making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"Mushy. Hey, Mush." Drayco said from where they sat on one of the loungeplanks, waiting with him for the others to arrive.

"What?" Musrio asked, distracted. What else did he need? He had the blood, the others were coming- there had to be more, right? What did Decaying say? First to fall was the first of all-

"I-" Drayco cut themself off with a giggle, "I have a joke for you."

"I'm not really in the joking mood right now, Dee. Ribbit." Musrio frowned, setting the box down and turning around to face his mate.

"Come on, please? It'll make you smile, I promise." Drayco insisted, smiling behind their breathing mask.

"... Okay, fine, what's the joke?" Musrio relented, debating getting another coffee from the small block at the back of the bookhive.

"Why do you ribbit?" Drayco asked.

He blinked. "Huh?"

"Why do you, Musrio, ribbit?"

"Because I have a verbal-?"

"No, no, that's the set up, silly. Just ask why. Why do you ribbit, Musrio?" Drayco leaned forward, their smile growing.

Musrio rolled his eyes. "Why?"

"Because you croaked!" Drayco exclaimed, bursting into a fit of laughter that quickly turned into a coughing fit.

Despite himself, Musrio snorted. "That was terrible. Ribbit."

"Get it? Because you died! You croaked! And you ribbit!" Drayco wheezed, still shaking with suppressed chuckles.

"I get it." Musrio assured them, before he sighed. "Thanks, Dee." He added, the tension in his shoulders loosening as the shadows in both the bookhive and his thinkpan receded.

Drayco put their chin in their hand and winked at him. "It's what I'm here for." They purred, "Always gonna be the one to help you, Mush."

"Sappy." Musrio scolded, before he relented, "I'm flushed for you, too."

Drayco grinned, then sat up sharply. Musrio heard it, too, turning towards the direction of the front doors as their guests arrived.

Leading the crowd was his own ancestor, the Decaying Mind, with his mate, the Incoding, at his side. Behind them came Incoding's morails, the Ruthless Deepbite and the Innocent. Ruthless was hand in hand with his mate, the Warhound, as Innocent strode proudly next to his pseudo-lusus, the Deadscar Wanderer.

Behind them, the spirits of the bookhive spitting and hissing at him, was the Hounding, towering over the entire crowd. He squeezed between the bookshelves, which bent and warped away from his presence by the magic they were imbued with.

Musrio straightened up as the adults entered the cleared lounge space.

"Hello, Musrio." Incoding grinned at him.

"Hello."

"Drayco." Ruthless nodded to the young bronze.

"Wassup big fish?" Drayco grinned back, the animosity between the violetblood and Drayco's own ancestor, the deceased Forsaken, non-existent between the two of them.

"You're Alastr's grub?" Warhound raised an eyebrow.

"Yup! Sorry about him... erm, murdering you, and everything, ma'am." Drayco laughed awkwardly.

Warhound just snorted and shook her head.

"Where are the rest of them?" Musrio asked, "The descendants?"

"They're on their way." Incoding assured him. Just as he spoke, the door opened again, and Musrio craned his neck to look.

Corden came bounding down the rows of books, his horns nearly knocking several off their shelves. "Drayco!" He yelled, bowling over his bronzeblooded friend.

"Hi, Cordy!" Drayco laughed, leaping up to catch him in a hug before they fell on the couch together.

"Musrio." Makeno growled as he strode past the rustblood.

"Makeno." Musrio acknowledged, the two of them ignoring their partners' display of companionship.

Behind them came Rufuss and Gehero, the rancher and farmer, who gave Hounding a wide berth as they warmly greeted everyone else. Next came Vornik, striding proud and silent, then Zeruki, heralded by the jingling of the bells on his tail.

"Dopey-mopey place ya got here, Mushy-mash-rio." He commented, his tail lashing from side to side, "Shits and bitches all wrapped-trapped up in the tragic-magic- I don't vibe with it." He frowned, jagged teeth poking out of his lips.

"Neither do I." Musrio sighed, "With any luck your presence isn't necessary."

"Then why the flippity-dippity fffffuck am I here?" Zeruki huffed.

"Because I don't know if it is necessary. Ribbit."

Zeruki cocked his head at him, the tealblood's face impossible to read behind his bangs.

"Hark! Wherefore must we meet in such a hive of gloom?" Both looked over as Alaric's voice rang through the bookshelves, the muzzled jadeblood appearing from the dark.

"Heyyy, it's the campy-vampy bro! What's up, brah?" Zeruki's tail was cacophonous as it wagged. It stopped abruptly, though, as he and Musrio both spotted the two other trolls behind Alaric.

Everyone else spotted them, too, and the din of greeting each other paused.

"Hey, there you are, brat." Hounding commented.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Makeno snarled, fins flared as Fayroe and Ashhur came to a stop at the edge of the space.

"We came to help." Ashhur announced, and Warhound gasped.

"You... You're Krakyn's...?" She shot a glance at Ruthless, who nodded.

Ashhur just blinked at her, all four eyes out of synch and unimpressed.

Fayroe stepped forward, towards Makeno, whose hackles were instantly up, and Corden leaped forward to place himself between the seadwellers.

"Get away from-"

"I'm sorry, Makeno." Even the spirits fell silent in Musrio's ears as Fayroe took another step forward, a pained expression on his gaunt features. "I'm... I'm sorry. You don't forgive me, I know, and I don't deserve that. You don't have to believe me, either, but... I am. I understand now, and I am... sorry." The fuchsiablood then bowed to him, folding himself in half, before he rose and looked at Zeruki and Corden. "I'm sorry to you two, too." He added.

"Cringe." Zeruki deadpanned.

Makeno's fins flickered. "What the fuck happened to you?" He asked, his voice void of emotion.

Fayroe turned back to him, then looked over their shoulder at Ashhur. "I found a morail." They said, before they looked to Deadscar, "And a mentor. And... my common sense, I suppose."

Hounding looked at Ashhur. "You made a morail out of that bubblegum bitch?" He asked his former apprentice.

"Yes."

Makeno said nothing for a moment, appraising his ex. Musrio saw Corden sidle back to his side and take his hand. "You're right." Makeno said at last, fingers tightening on his morail's, "I don't forgive you, still. But... Congrats, I guess. Stand away from me."

Fayroe nodded, turning and striding to the far side of the space. Ashhur went and stood with him, he and Vornik exchanging uneasy glances. Vornik turned away, one hand reaching up to touch the huge scar on his arm.

"Well, we're all here, now." Incoding said after a pause. He, and everyone else, looked to Musrio. "Now what?"

Musrio swallowed, looking around at the crowd. His friends, his allies- his ancestor's corkboards of strings and thumbtacks came to his mind as he all but saw the tangled threads that weaved between each troll.

Now what, indeed, he thought. He had them, he had the blood, he had magic... He just needed to put it together to call the chosen child. He took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, before he turned to Decaying.

"How do we summon the chosen child?" He inquired; for once in his life, Musrio was asking for help.

Decaying smiled at him and opened his mouth, but someone else spoke first.

"Starting without me, Almawt? I thought you'd at least wait for the star of the show to get here."

Musrio whipped around, fear-fueled magic springing to his hands instantly at that voice. "Oliver! How did you find us?!" He snarled.

Oliver, Bohwie, and the Hierophant emerged from between the shelves.

"I brought them." The Hierophant said, "The children of Neviserrath Apocriyna should be united to meet that which they both desire."

"I am no child of Neviserrath." Musrio spat.

Oliver tittered with laughter, leaning forward on her cane. "Of course you're not, darling. You're just an undead freak with unworthy powers." He spat, "You don't even know what you're doing, do you?"

"Maddel, there's no need for hostilities." Hierophant admonished, "You're both Neviserrath's followers, you should-"

Oliver whipped around. There was a hiss of unsheathing metal, several shouts of surprise, and the Hierophant fell to the floor, his head bouncing and rolling to a stop against one of the chairs.

"There is no "both" you doddering old coward. There is just me." She said mildly, resheathing her blade back into her cane.

Shouting broke out, the clamor nothing but buzzing in Musrio's ears as he watched cobalt blood ooze across the carpet from the stump of Hierophant's neck.

The first Harbinger, the one who had unwittingly started all of this... was dead. Musrio hadn't cared for the troll, but he still thought... He stared at the azure robes that matched his own, the true reality of what he was facing crashing over him.

"... the blood is spilled by dragon and usurper. First shall fall the first of all, and then one more, the false start of stories untold, until the bane of worlds and the innocent constellation are born of sacrifice."

"You killed my ancestor!" Bohwie shouted, looking pale under his face paint.

"He served his purpose." Oliver sniffed dismissively, stepping away from the body to more shouting.

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone froze as the Hounding's voice thundered thought the bookhive, even the spirits withdrawing. Musrio snapped out of his terror and looked up at the giant, who was standing with his shoulders hunched, eyes glowing purple as he glared between Oliver and Musrio.

"This ain't a place of any kind o' the holy moo-beast shit the two of you are spewing. Call your false savior or I'll cull the lot o' ya! I'm only here to spite Enforcer, and he ain't even here. So quit wastin' my time!"

"He's not going to be here. Nor is Bladepen." Fayroe spoke up, sharing a look with Ashhur, "We left them a little occupied."

Musrio took a deep breath. "Fine." He turned to Oliver and Bohwie. "You're outnumbered and you have no power here, Maddel, so you're going to fucking cooperate, or else neither of us get what we want. Ribbit." He said firmly, "Do you know the ritual?"

Oliver glowered, despite her mask. "Of course I do." They spat, "But I'm not telling you! Give me the blood and I'll call the chosen child myself."

Musrio crossed his arms, planting himself firmly in front of the box. "Not happening."

"BB." Oliver snapped her fingers, and Bohwie's eyes flashed blue, only for them to turn purple a second later. He yelped in pain and flinched away, covering his eyes with his hands. "What-?"

"You have no power here, either, Mr. Akshai." Gehero spoke, the purple in his own eyes fading.

Musrio nodded to the farmer in thanks, before he turned back to Oliver. "What's the ritual?" He asked again.

Oliver hissed, her knuckles pale from her grip on her cane. She said nothing for a long moment, before she sneered. "You really don't know?" She straightened up, raising her chin proudly, "You don't even know that it calls for a sacrifice, do you?" He laughed at the silence that fell.

"Oh, darling. Are you really so naive? Our God doesn't just want blood. Like when it gave you powers, like me, like Drayco- it needs a body, too."

A body. Cold dread splashed through Musrio's chest. "... until the bane of worlds and the innocent constellation are born of sacrifice." Decaying had said.

Oliver laughed again and turned their head left and right, scanning the crowd. "One of your little friends has to die, Musrio. I was just going to use you, but... You poor, poor thing... How are you possibly going to pick?"

Pick? Musrio scowled, his mind made up in an instant. "I'm not." He said, crossing his arms, "I'll do it myself. Ribbit."

"No!" Drayco, Decaying, almost everyone immediately protested.

"The boy of magic must remain, teach the child and bring peace again." Decaying muttered.

"I'll do it, then." Zeruki suggested, "I can't diddly-dong-die anyways, I'll pop-and-lock right the fuck back up."

"Hm... Doubtful, when the Neverending Ebonblack will consume your every cell, soul, and very existence." Oliver said, before she laughed.

"I'll do it!" Corden offered.

"Uh, no?" Makeno frowned at his morail.

"I'm a robot, Ken-ken. I don't have a soul for the weirdo to eat." Corden reminded him.

"You're not a robot, though?" Oliver frowned.

"Shut your whore mouth!" Corden barked immediately, to which Oliver only laughed.

"I'll do it." Vornik said softly, "I'm a limeblood, so-"

Incoding put a hand on the shifterbeast's head. "Nope. You and Amadri aren't going anywhere, you're too precious."

"Aw, precious. How cute." Oliver sneered.

"Do you ever sshhhut up?" Zeruki muttered.

"I can do it." Gehero said, ever the helpful purpleblood.

"Yeah, let him do it!" Hounding agreed.

"Shut up." Every other ancestor told him.

Innocent looked around at the descendants, before pulling his mask down. "What is wrong with all of you? Why are you offering yourselves like this?"

"I live in a garrrbage dump, I don't got shit-flip else to do." Zeruki shrugged.

"None of you are offering yourselves as sacrifices! If anything, it should be one of us! You're all children, and you haven't even died before!" Warhound said hotly.

"Incorrect." Zeruki, Musrio, Drayco, and Alaric all rebuked.

Oliver was laughing again. "You're all a bunch of self sacrificing fools!" She cackled.

"... Why don't we just offer them?" Corden suggested.

"If you even try to touch her I'll rip you apart, pissblood." Bohwie snarled.

"Oi!" Incoding scowled.

"Everyone stop." Drayco spoke up at last. They got to their feet and looked around. "I'll do it. I was the original chosen child, it's only fitting, right? This is what I was meant for."

"... and then one more, the false start of stories untold..."

"What?! No!" Musrio rounded on his matesprit, "You can't, Dee, you-" Drayco put a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

"Mush, think about it. These guys need you, and none of them are truly a part of this. I was already given a second body by Neviserrath, it's possible it'll just take that one back and I'll be fine."

Musrio stared up at them, dread turning their blood to ice. "But what if it doesn't? What if it just kills you? Ribbit?"

"I'm already dead, and perpetually dying of Malum Langorium." Drayco reminded him, "Neviserrath's powers are all that's keeping me alive."

Musrio shook his head frantically. "No- no! You can't, Dee, I can't- I can't lose you again, ribbit!" He protested. Even as he spoke, though, tears pricked his eyes; in his heart of hearts, he knew this was the right choice.

The only choice.

Drayco smiled softly, and Musrio knew they knew it, too. "It'll be okay. I'm always going to help you, right?" They looked over at Decaying, then Oliver, before they nodded. "I'll do it. I'll be the one to call the chosen child."

#at the end of everything #musrio almawt #all trolls #story time #long post

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ask-them-bois · 1 year

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Not added: The Forsaken (dead), Bluegill (dead), and The Hierophant (dead)

#ooc #ooc post #all ancestors #poll

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ask-them-bois · 2 years

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The Luckiest

(A Yearning Blades drabble because I'm listening to their playlist and being sappy.)

Ft. @jazztrolls ' Sinopa

Bones broke and whips cracked, metal screeched off metal, ripping through the roar of the crowd. Sweat and blood filled his nose and made him want to vomit, his armor so hot it was fusing to his skin. His vision was blurry and red as he stumbled away from his defeated opponent.

And then he was safe, in the trees, with his tent and healing wounds, alone, until a small, round face peered at him from over the underbrush. A cloud of curly hair bobbed ahead of him as they danced down the path, singing a made up song and chasing frogs. Unnaturally bright green eyes lit up in delight as his arrows found their mark, and pride soothed the inner wounds.

And then there was her. Like a benevolent wraith, out of a silent storm of moth wings. Powerful, graceful, kind. She greeted his charge with snacks and a smile, and him with kind words and gentle, brief touches. Again, and again, he came back to witness her, again. Captivated by her poise and wisdom, she did not flinch from his callused and rough hands when he presented her with a dagger. Be safe, he silently pleaded, take this and be safe. Arming them was the only way he knew to protect them.

And the pain, the torture, was back as he refused to give in, refused to reveal his charge's location. Death was a mercy, and then a friend, when he woke like no time had passed, and found her still breathing. Found his charge as a grown man. Found that she had not forgotten...

When Ishran woke, the sun was still setting, the sky outside a hazy green-grey. His dreams and memories slipped away quietly like the night's lovers, forgotten until he was lonely and asleep again.

But he was awake, and not alone. She was here. She was with him, in his arms, pressed against his chest. Still asleep. Safe.

He should get up, he thought; he should dress, and prepare for the night's travels. Prepare the coffee and breakfast, assess supplies, and pack their gear.

But from under the sleeping bag and covers, all of that felt so far away. The tent flap was at his feet, but it was miles away, insignificant, when she shifted in his grasp, her breath ghosting over his neck as she sighed. His fingers brushed through her pepper hair, rough hands being ever so gentle as they push back a lock and tuck it behind her ear.

He should get up, he thought again, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Not when she was right there, in his arms, her sleeping face caressed by the last of the sunlight. To pull away, to even think of jostling her or disturbing her, hurt worse than the memories.

So he stayed, where it was warm and safe. He waited four hundred sweeps for this, the world could wait ten more minutes.

#yearning blades #drabble #jazztrolls #the deadscar wanderer #drabbles #long post

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ask-them-bois · 3 years

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Of Monsters and Matriarchs, pt 2/3

pt.1

TW: PTSD flashback, attempted mugging

TLDR: Deadscar heads for the desert. A new troll arrives.

Ishran cinched the strap on his bag and stood, swinging the pack onto his shoulder. He picked up his war hammer, sliding it into its holster between the bag and his back. Finally, he tied up his hair, made sure his campfire was out completely, and set out.

He’d been camped on the outskirts of the city for several nights, but now, mere hours after the meeting with Musrio and the other ancestors, it was time to leave. He made for the trackscuttler station, remembering the Decaying’s directions.

He stepped up onto the platform and looked around; the station was empty, as far as he could tell. No one was even in the ticket booth, the lights all dark. He found an old board that listed the trackscuttlers’ arrival times, but all of them were marked the same way: “Canceled.”

It was abandoned, he realized. Trackscuttlers were still a popular mode of transportation all over Alternia, and he idly wondered what would cause the station to shut down. Perhaps a better one had been built elsewhere.

Regardless, he put his curiosity aside; the inquiry of why a station was powered down was not his mission. Finally, he located a map of the tracks, in a case that stood in the middle of the station. It depicted most of the continent he was currently on, and it was easy to locate the desert; the landmass he resided on only had one, albeit a rather large one.

If Lucina wasn’t there, then he’d have to head overseas. First things first, though- he located the tracks that wound through the desert. There was only one track, and someone had scribbled over part of it in red marker.

Undeterred, Ishran followed the trail to the station he was currently at; it stood to the west of the desert, which meant he had to head east. Satisfied, he turned to survey the tracks by the station. They pointed north and south, but following the northern one would eventually take him the correct way.

A squeak of a shoe behind him was his only warning as a knifepoint was suddenly pressed to his shoulder.

“Give me everything in the bag, geezer, or I’ll gut you like an oink-beast.”

Ishran didn’t move for a moment, before he finally turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder.

Behind him, their only knife left pressed against the oliveblood’s skin, looking rather gaunt and messy, was none other than Fayroe Fallen.

The young fuchsia’s eyes were bloodshot, their undersides dark from lack of sleep. His fins were wilted, horns bare of jewelry; he’d either hidden them or sold them. He was covered in bruises and scrapes, his clothes worse for wear than ever before.

Outwardly, Ishran didn’t react at first, but his thinkpan was flashing warning lights as wailing sirens went off, unbidden memories whirling through his mind as he stared at those horns.

Pain, pain, pain- shackles, bolts embedded in his wrists, chains beating his back, dragging him like a dog, the coliseum, his hammer, smashing through skin and muscle and bone. Breaking, breaking, scars and bleeding and no rest. Beast and troll crying out, the deafening cheers as his knuckled crumpled bone like faygo cans-

The whirring, chittering, subsonic roar of the drones. His hammer screaming off of carapace, chitinous armor flying across sand, sparks from the contact and then- pain. Naught but pain, struggling to breathe, burning lungs and broken ribs and PAIN-

When he snapped back to himself, Ishran found himself knelt on the prince’s chest, the knife spinning across the floor and his hands on the kid’s throat, teeth bared. Fayroe had his arms up to shield himself, as if expecting a beating.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, please-! I didn’t mean it, please don’t kill me!” The seadweller’s wails suddenly cut through the ringing in his ears. They sounded terrified and desperate, sobs hitching in their chest.

Ishran stared down at the sniveling fuchsia, his hands lax around their neck as he tried to mentally catch up with what just happened.

“Please, I didn’t mean it- I’m j- j- just so h- hungry- I w- wasn’t going to hurt you!” Fayroe continued to babble, covering his face with his arms.

The oliveblood managed to lurch to his feet and stumble away. He leaned on the map case with one hand, his blood-pumper hammering in his chest. Adrenaline was screaming through him, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a long time. He couldn’t breathe properly, he almost felt sick, but he managed to suck in a shaky breath.

“Who… are… you.” He spoke through clenched teeth. Behind him, the sniveling stopped abruptly.

“Wh- what?”

“You’re Enforcer’s spawn.”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, his voice shaky but even.

“I’m- I was just- I am-”

“Out with it, boy.” Ishran snapped.

“I was sleeping!” Fayroe shouted, his voice echoing around the empty station.

“… Here?”

“Yeah?”

“… Why?” Ishran wasn’t sure why he was asking. He didn’t even want to know, but the talking was making the buzzing in his skin fade. He turned to face Fayroe again, and saw the young troll had sat up, eyes huge in the gloom.

“Why do you care? Who are you?” They sniffed.

“I do not care. I am Ishran.” Deadscar stated bluntly, “Now answer my question.”

“I don’t take orders from lowbloods.”

Ishran’s brows settled low, and he turned away. “Fine.” He headed for the tracks.

“Wh- you’re leaving?”

“I have places to be.”

He heard Fayroe scramble to their feet. “Wait!”

He stopped.

“… Where… where are you going?” The fuchsia asked, trying to sound casual.

“Why should I tell you?”

“W- well- because you’re the Deadscar, aren’t you? Fath- Godric, talked about you a lot.” Oh, Ishran didn’t like that. There was a beat of silence, in which Fayroe was probably expecting a response. When that didn’t happen, he continued. “Take me with you.”

“I do not take orders from highbloods.”

“Wh- yes you do! You have to!”

“No.”

“But- but- but that’s-”

Ishran turned around to look at the descendant again. “I take orders from no one, boy, especially not the successor of the Enforcer.”

At that, Fayroe laughed bitterly, catching him off guard. “Successor? Not anymore, I’m not. Descendant, sure, but no successor.” He scuffed one foot against the platform. “… I got chased out. That’s why I was sleeping in here.”

They were interrupted as their stomach let out a feeble, yet loud gurgle, and they put their hand on their stomach. Their fins, somehow, drooped further.

“You are hungry.”

“I don’t have any money. I’ve got nothing but my hop-beast.” Fayroe huffed, shuffling his feet some more. “Godric saw to that.” Ishran looked around for said hop-beast, but Fayroe shook his head. “I left her with… erm… a friend. Or I guess, a former acquaintance, an engineer, who I made take her for a while. But she’s all I got.”

“Then we understand each other.” Ishran said, unmoved. Fayroe looked up, puzzled. “All that you see on my back is all I have anymore.”

“Oh…” An awkward pause fell. Tired of lingering, Ishran turned away again. “Wait- where are you going?” Fayroe called.

“To the desert.”

“Take me with you!”

Sighing, Ishran turned back once more. “Why?”

“I… I can be useful! I’m good at this survival stuff- I’ve lasted this long! It’s been…” They quickly ticked on their fingers, “Five weeks? Six?” They frowned, before looking back up. “Regardless, I can rough it, same as you, but I’m not… as good. Teach me, please! I’ll listen to everything you say, I’ll be helpful, I’ll-”

Ishran wasn’t really listening past that, memories once more overwhelming him. For a moment, he didn’t see a fuchsiablood, but a lime, standing before him and demanding to be taught how to use a bow. He’d been alone on the road for so long- his blood-pumper twinged with the thought of being on the move again with Amadri.

“- and, okay, I don’t know how to start a fire, or cook, or clean, but I’m willing to learn! I just don’t want to be alone anymore...” Fayroe’s words cut through the fog again, and the vision of Amadri was gone. “And I swear I won’t-”

“Fine.” Ishran said, making the younger troll stop.

“Huh?”

“You may join me. But you are to listen to my every order. You may be fuchsia, but I am your elder. You will not speak down to me, and I will not punish you for the sins of your father.”

Fayroe blinked at him, before they grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Okay! Yes! You’ve got it, Deadscar!”

Ishran nodded once, and turned away for the final time. “Come, then.”

“Wh- now?”

“Yes, now.”

He kept walking, hopping down from the platform and following the tracks. Behind him, he heard Fayroe scoop up their knife and run after him. “Thank you, thank you, oh you won’t regret this, I swear!”

Ishran only grunted.

“So where are we going?”

“The desert.”

“Yeah, I know. Why, though?”

“To find someone.”

“Oh. Who?”

“A woman.”

Fayroe sighed, giving up on making conversation. He trailed after Ishran, pouting in silence, as they followed the tracks. . . . Regret, regret, regret- Irritation buzzed under Ishran’s skin like stinging wasps. It’d been just over a week- nine nights, to be exact- since he’d set out with Fayroe in tow. It’d taken a bit of rearranging on Ishran’s part, and a stop in a town to pick up extra supplies, but they were managing well enough. The oliveblood had even been nice enough to get Fayroe his own sleeping cocoon. His tent was really only meant for one, but Fayroe was small enough that they could squeeze in it together to sleep.

They woke before the sun had fully set each night, ate, and set out, stopping for only fifteen minutes every four hours for water and a small snack. When dawn approached, Ishran found a place to set up camp. They had dinner, then went to bed.

All of that would have been fine, had he had Amadri with him. But-

Ishran was not a religious man, yet he was just about ready to pray for mercy. Fayroe did not. Stop. Talking. Perhaps it was because he’d been alone for so long, but what was usually blissful silence was filled with chatter about anything. By the end of the third night, Ishran knew Fayroe’s life story, albeit unwillingly and without any prompting.

The complaining, too, grated on his nerves like sandpaper on stone.

“My feet hurt.” Fayroe had whined, three hours into their journey on the first night.

“They will toughen.”

“Can we take a break?” Was asked the second night, after they’d just set out.

“No.”

“I’m thirsty!” was announced mere minutes later.

“Now is not a time for drinking.”

And “How much farther do we have to go?” was a constantly repeated question.

“Far.” was the constantly repeated response.

Over and over, on and on. Ishran was ready to stuff wax into his ears to make it stop; he longed to have his matesprit with him instead- at least her voice was soothing, and not the snotty, whining drivel. When they made camp, he gave Fayroe tasks that either sent him away or forced him to stop talking, just for a reprieve.

On the sixth night, still following the tracks, they made it to the desert. Ishran filled their canteens and refreshed their rations at an outpost before they’d proceeded.

The desert was made up of rust red sand dunes, towering higher than ocean waves in storms.

It took them half an hour to make it over the first dune, before Ishran had an idea and turned around.

Returning to the outpost, he rented a pair of scaly-hoofs; draconic hoof-beasts used for crossing the desert. On the creatures’ backs, they made it over the dunes with ease. The dunes eventually faded behind them, until they were crossing miles of sandy plains.

For the next few nights, they saw little around them, even as they continued to follow the tracks. There was sparse vegetation, and an occasional covered well where they could refill their drinks. An abandoned shack or two where they could camp. Wild lusii avoided them, and Ishran only ever saw them at a distance.

On the ninth night, though, Ishran urged his beast to a stop before a sign.

“Turn back! Forbidden land!” was scrawled on a sheet of metal in curly writing.

Fayroe came to a stop beside him, examining the sign, too.

“What now?” He asked, pulling down his scarf; he’d wrapped it around his face to keep the sand out of his gills and mouth.

“We keep going.”

“But it says-”

“I can read. But we keep going.”

Ishran snapped the reins, and his beast carried on.

The further they went, the more signs they saw, all in the same writing.

“Danger!”

“Turn back!”

“Cursed land ahead!”

“Monsters roam beyond!”

“Unholy beasts dwell yonder!”

Ishran ignored them all, until, at last, they crested a hill and came to stop at the sight before them.

Bleached white by the sun, the teeth gleaming in the moonlight, was a massive, monstrous skeleton. Beyond it, just visible on the horizon, was the twisted and warped remains of a crashed and abandoned trackscuttler, laid across the tracks.

“What the fuck is that?” Fayroe exclaimed as he rode up beside Ishran.

“A beast’s bones.” He replied, before he suddenly remembered the Decaying’s words:

“No water but the sapphire eye, guarding to the metal serpent. Beast of thirst, watching beast of slake, guarded by beast of bone. … Follow the screaming serpent’s trail, into the red, and find the corpse of lifeless gods.”

Ishran looked towards the trackscuttler again; from the distance, it was faint, but he could make out the gleam of water. A lake, if he were to guess. An oasis.

“A beast of bone.” He corrected himself, “We are close.”

“We are?” Fayroe repeated, surprised. “Oh, good.”

Ishran urged his beast into motion again, and they descended the hill, approaching the skeleton.

It truly was massive; one of the beast’s claws was four times the size of Ishran himself. He couldn’t be sure what it used to be, but it had a gnarled muzzle full of monstrous teeth, and he counted four eye sockets. Twisted and curled horns protruded from the skull, piercing the sky. To walk from the skull to tail would take a half an hour, at least.

As they were by the skull, though, Ishran stopped again. He looked around at their surroundings; nothing moved, not even the wind. He could see what looked like an outcrop of cliffs and rocks to the south. Looking up, he saw the moons were nearing their peak.

“We’ll stop here.” He decided.

“Already?” Fayroe asked.

“Yes.” Ishran turned and dismounted.

Fayroe had learned by then that he wouldn’t get a lot of explanations for much, so he dismounted, too. They put the tent up in silence, up against the jaw of the skull. After a moment’s deliberation, despite being out in the open, Ishran decided to start a fire.

“What if something sees it?” Fayroe asked uncertainly.

“That’s the idea.” Ishran grunted as he got a meal together and passed the seadweller a canteen. Fayroe had been rather selfish with the water, insisting he needed more due to his aquatic nature. Ishran wasn’t totally sure if that was true, but he was willing to give up a portion of his share if it stopped the whining.

Once camp was set up, they’d eaten, and the beasts were given their due of food and water, Ishran sat down, using the beast’s saddle as a chair on the ground. He pulled his dagger out of his boot, and dug in his bag, pulling out a half-carved figurine of a moth.

He set to work carving, flicking the scraps into the fire.

Fayroe sat on his own saddle, chin in hand, as his knee bounced impatiently.

“Whatcha making?” He asked, just to say something.

“A gift.”

“For who?”

“My partner.”

“You have a partner?”

“Yes.”

“What- what’re they like?”

Ishran paused and looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

“I dunno. Are they the woman we’re here for?”

“No. She is visiting her morail.”

“Oh.”

Ishran had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He resumed his work in silence.

“I’m bored.” Fayroe announced after two minutes.

“Then find something to do.”

“Like what? We’re in a desert! It’s not like there’s a filmhive out here.”

“Count the teeth in the skull. Go hunting. Brush the sand off the beasts. Take a nap.” Ishran listed without looking up.

Fayroe didn’t want to do any of that. After another minute of silence, they spoke again. “Why are we even stopped? We could keep going, you know.”

“We are where we need to be.”

“But there’s nothing out here!” Fayroe pouted.

“That’s enough!” Ishran finally snapped, setting his knife down and looking up. “I am aware there is nothing, but this is the spot I have been seeking.” He explained, ill-tempered, “Now is as good a time as any to rest, for I do not know what comes next. The beasts are tired, I am tired, and I am working out what to do. But there is no point running ourselves to exhaustion without direction, nor is there a point to whining! If you are bored, make yourself productive!” He snarled the last part, “You do not know what is out here, and our voices will attract unwanted attention. Do you wish to fight wild animals? You can’t even skin a dirt-spud!”

“But the fire would-” Fayroe began meekly.

“Would deter animals unused to the light, but be a beacon, perhaps, to the woman I am looking for! You have no thoughts other than those for yourself, boy, and I am sick of it! I did not force you to come, and if you are going to continue to stay, then you will hold your tongue and wait, same as I am!”

Fayroe had shrunk back so far he’d nearly fallen off his seat. Slowly, he scowled, and sat back up. He dropped his gaze, glowering at his shoes. “You sound like him.” He muttered lowly, ““Sit down and shut up, Fayroe. You don’t understand anything, Fayroe. I’m having you fucking tortured for your own good, Fayroe.””

“Perhaps that is because you never stop talking.” Ishran grouched without meaning to.

“Maybe that’s because I’ve never had someone to talk to!” Fayroe snapped back, just barely managing to keep their voice down.

Ishran opened his mouth, before Fayroe suddenly sat up and twisted to stare into the darkness towards the distant cliff outcrop.

Slowly, they got to their feet, eyes trained towards the south. Ishran paused, too, caught off guard by their sudden change in behavior. Neither of them moved for several seconds.

“Boy, what-”

“Sshh!” Fayroe flapped a hand at him, fin-fronds flaring wide as they leaned forward. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, but- do you hear that?”

Ishran paused again and listened, but no sounds other than the fire and the huffing of the beasts came to him. “What do you hear?” He asked.

Fayroe frowned, squinting towards the outcrop. “It’s like… a growl? But constant. A roar? It- look!” He suddenly pointed towards the cliffs.

Ishran fished a pair of farsight-goggles out of his bag and stepped up beside Fayroe, raising them to his eyes. At first, he saw nothing, until he saw the dust plume.

Following it with his eyes, he saw… something, racing towards them. It was dark, and hard to make out, even with the goggles, due to the distance. Whatever it was, it was making a beeline for their camp.

Ishran lowered the goggles.

“Sit down, boy.”

“Wh- shouldn’t we run?”

“No. We will wait for it to come to us.” Ishran returned to his seat, slipping the goggles into his bag.

Fayroe hesitated, but slowly took a seat again.

“What if it’s an enemy?”

“Then it will be dealt with.”

Ishran calmly picked up his dagger and block of wood again, and resumed his work, while Fayroe watched the thing approach.

“Do you have a gun?” He asked after a moment.

“No.”

“Crossbow?”

“I do not use long range weapons.”

“Oh…”

Finally, after fifteen minutes, Ishran could hear the rumbling, too. He decided to break camp and pack up, before he picked up his hammer, bags resting at his feet. Five minutes more, and he got to his feet as the thing roared up to the camp, only to come to a sudden stop.

Now that it was close, Ishran could see the noise had come from an all-terrain buggy, its driver bent low over the handlebars.

The driver in question slowly sat up, pulling goggles up off its eyes.

“Who are ye?” It demanded, dismounting its vehicle, “Thou be on accursed lands and must make leave, posthaste!”

“We could ask you the same thing, weirdo.” Fayroe said haughtily, his hand going for the knife on his belt.

“Stand down, boy.” Ishran ordered. He lowered his hammer himself, squinting at the jadeblood. “What’s your name?” He asked, voice carefully neutral.

The jade looked at him, tiny fins twitching. “Mine compatriots called me Cyber, but mine name be Alaric Evrren.” With a flourish of its hand, it bowed low to the oliveblood.

Outwardly, Ishran’s expression did not change. “Do you know a woman named Lucina?”

Alaric stood back up, brushing its hair back with a flick of its wrist. “Aye, be ye seekers of my ancestor?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“We were sent by her husband.”

“We were?” Fayroe asked, surprised.

Both midbloods ignored him.

“Oh, thou speaketh of the great captain? Mine forefather, Faslet?” Alaric nodded slowly, eyes scanning over the two of them. It drew its tongue over its fangs thoughtfully, before it nodded and turned away. “Upon thine word, I trust thou. Follow, and I shall shepherd ye to Lucina.” It mounted its buggy again, slipping its goggles down over its eyes.

Ishran nodded and turned, heading for the scaly-hoofs.

“It’s a funny little weirdo, isn’t it? What does it mean?” Fayroe asked quietly as they sidled up to Ishran.

“They will take us to Lucina.”

“Yeah… who is that?”

“The woman I am seeking.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Once the beasts were saddled, the fire kicked out, and Ishran and Fayroe on their mounts, Alaric revved their buggy to life. It waved and shouted something, before it was off, tearing across the sand.

Ishran and Fayroe snapped the reins and gave chase.

The beasts managed to keep up with the buggy as they made for the cliff outcrop in the distance, the roar of the buggy’s engine drowning the night in noise.

Finally, Alaric swerved to a stop before the cliffs, and the other two slowed their mounts.

Cutting the engine, Alaric leaned on the handlebars and pointed. They’d come to a stop before a yawning cavern opening, one that looked troll-made. It was into the dark cave that the jadeblood pointed.

“Mine foremother lies within.”

Ishran nodded. “Boy,” He addressed Fayroe, “set up camp.”

“Aren’t we going in?” Fayroe asked, surprised.

“No.” Ishran dismounted and grabbed something from his bag, before he walked away.

“So… what’s with the muzzle?” Ishran heard Fayroe ask as he moved some distance away from the cave.

Putting his back to the other two, he turned his attention to palmhusk he’d procured. It was definitely nothing fancy- an older version he’d gotten for cheap at a pawn shop- but it still worked, and was durable for travel. Thumbing through the menus, he raised it to his ear as it rang.

“Aye?” The trembling voice of Ruthless picked up after a few rings.

“We found her.”

[Everyone please welcome Alaric Evrren! (Link to bio)]

#of monsters and matriarchs #story time #alaric evrren #the deadscar wanderer #fayroe fallen #long post #very long post

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ask-them-bois · 3 years

Text

Of Monsters and Matriarchs, pt 1/3

TLDR: Musrio has a talk with Oliver and the ancestors.

TW: None

~~~~~~~~ Musrio knew exactly what god had chosen to shove its bulge up his wastechute and fuck him over when he’d walked into Scarbucks to see none other than Oliver fucking Maddel standing at the counter, chatting amicably with the barista.

The sun had only just set, so the coffeehive was nearly empty, and Oliver turned her head at the sound of the dongshouter above the door ringing. Musrio froze on the spot, despite Oliver being unable to see him. As he watched, a small, knowing smile spread across Oliver’s face, and the rustblood knew beyond doubt that Oliver knew exactly who stood behind her.

“Good morning, Almawt.” He said politely.

Musrio said nothing, rooted to the spot by his surprise. After a moment, he shook himself out of it, magic springing to his palms as he braced himself for the oliveblood to make a move. And since Oliver couldn’t see him, he flipped them the finger.

Oliver seemed unperturbed by his silence. “I was hoping to come across you soon, you know. I didn’t realize it would be now, but, ah well. Better now than never, darling. Come, order your drink, on me. We should talk.”

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” Musrio scowled.

“Oh, I know you don’t want to, but I think you and I need to. Just give me ten minutes, darling.”

“I’d rather eat glass. Ribbit.” Musrio spat.

Oliver tittered, taking her drink from the barista. “With the amount of venom you ingest, would that even do anything?” She inquired, turning to fully face him. “Five minutes, then? That’s all I’m asking for. Perhaps we can set some of our grievances aside.”

Musrio narrowed his eyes, understandably suspicious. Oliver tisked, shaking his head.

“Well, I’ll be over here if you change your mind. Darling, put this man’s drink on my tab.” They said, talking to the barista over their shoulder, before they turned and headed for a booth far away from the other patrons, their cane clicking against the floor.

Musrio strongly considered turning around and walking back out. His feet were burning with the urge. At the very least, he was going to get what he came for, though. He approached the counter and gave them his order; a black coffee with as much espresso they were legally allowed to give him, and whipped cream.

It came out rather quickly, and he took it to the personalization station, watching Oliver out of the corner of his eye the entire time.

The oliveblood had taken a seat, and was tapping on his palmhusk, an earpiece reading out his claw’s placement on the screen as his purse and cane laid on the bench beside him.

Musrio reached into his robe, to his satchel, and removed a vial of a viscous, clear fluid. He splashed a healthy amount into the coffee and stirred it, before pouring in a few packs of sugar. He turned towards the oliveblood again, debating himself silently for several seconds.

Finally, he approached the booth, and wordlessly slid into the opposing bench.

Oliver didn’t look up from her palmhusk, but she smiled. “So glad you decided to join me, darling.”

“Five minutes starts now.” Musrio said pointedly.

Oliver hummed, flicking tabs away on their palmhusk before closing it down and setting it aside. “Indeed.” They knitted their fingers together, resting their chin on them. Even with their eyes covered, Musrio got the impression Oliver was staring him down. “We have quite the history together, don’t we, Almawt?”

“No, we don’t.”

“Oh, but we do. Perhaps not directly, but we shared one very important troll.”

“We didn’t share them; you took them away and gave me back the broken pieces. Ribbit.” Musrio snapped.

“If that is how you remember it, darling, sure.” She hurried on as Musrio opened his mouth to speak, “You know, it’s quite funny. I don’t even know what you look like, darling, yet this… animosity has grown so dark between us, that even I am blinded by it. I am thankful that I am a phoenix, so that I might have a chance to cut through the murk with a gracing light.”

Musrio scoffed. “What are you getting at, Oliver?”

“I am getting at your surrender, Musrio.” Oliver said bluntly, his smile suddenly dropped.

“My what?”

“I am asking you politely, and once: I ask that you surrender your side now, before this gets messy and trolls get hurt. I don’t care if you join me or not, but simply… stop fighting. There’s no way you can win- you see that, don’t you?”

Musrio’s claws dug into his palms as he curled his hands into fists. “Trolls are going to get hurt regardless, Oliver- you’re planning a fucking genocide! Ribbit!”

Oliver sighed, shaking his head. “Sacrifices must be made, for the good of-”

“The only troll this would be good for is you.” Musrio cut them off.

“Darling, please. Surely someone as logical as you can see how the odds are stacked? On my side, I have the entirety of the Black Hand- nearly three hundred strong- BB, the Enforcer, and the Bladepen.

You have a drunk, a chef, a pair of broken batteries, a pair of mangy mutts, a gardener, a rancher, a madman, a chronically sick child, a philosopher, a retired soldier, and a failure.” She listed them off like she’d practiced this. “That’s not even to mention those of us who are undecided, such as the Hounding, the mutant reds, and the dear prince. Your side is mere has-beens and broken trolls, darling. I am offering you a chance to surrender with grace, rather than see them all culled.”

Musrio took a deep gulp of coffee in hostile silence, setting his cup down with force. “That’s where you’re wrong, Oliver.” He said, his voice dark. “I “have” nothing. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for demons and shifter-beasts and robots. I didn’t ask for soldiers and thieves. They took a good look at the fight you’re trying to start, and chose to back up the one troll you seem afraid of. Ribbit.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’m not afraid of you, Musrio.”

“Then why are we having this discussion?” The rustblood demanded, “If you aren’t afraid, why meet me like this?”

“Because I, platonically, pity you, darling. Watching this all go down is like watching a warren of hop-beast grubs try to fight a howl-beast. Frankly, it’s depressing that the Infinite Scapegrace thought you were a suitable rival to strengthen me.”

Musrio’s mouth opened in shock. “You think that’s what this is? Ribbit?” He hissed, “That I’m some big obstacle your god put in your way to test your mettle?”

Oliver tipped his head. “Of course, darling. Why else would you be so inferior, yet so maddeningly annoying?” Musrio growled, low in his chest, and Oliver raised her hands in surrender. “No offense.”

“Oh, all offenses taken.” Musrio snapped. He slid out of the booth, standing up. “I think I’m done here. I’m not surrendering, Oliver. That’s not a fucking option anymore. I don’t give a damn about you, your god, or even this piece of shit world, but I do give a rat’s ass about the fact that you collectively ruined my fucking life. Ribbit. Fuck you, fuck the Black Hand, and fuck Neviserrath.” Oliver tensed in his seat, “I didn’t ask for this. All I fucking wanted was to be a professor and marry my partner. But since you ruined that, since you started this bullshit and I got no say in my participation, I’m going to put an end to it. Ribbit!”

He spat out the final croak, snatched up his coffee, and stormed out.

It took the entirety of the twenty minute walk down to the docks for him to calm down. He called Drayco as soon as he was a few blocks away from the coffeehive and told them everything that had happened.

“Holy shit, babe.” Was Drayco’s response, “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Mush.” The bronzeblood sighed, “I… I don’t know what to do or say. This all started because of m-”

“Don’t, Dee.” Musrio said forcefully, before his dropped into an almost uncharacteristic softness, “This isn’t your fault. It’s Oliver’s. You know that. Ribbit.”

“… Yeah, I know.”

“This will be over soon, Dee, and we can put this all behind us. We just need to find Lucina.”

“Are you headed to them now?”

“Yeah. I’d just stopped off to get a drink.”

He heard Drayco suck in a sharp, gurgling breath. “Well, good luck, then. Call me after and tell me how it goes.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I love you, Mushy.”

“I love you, too. Ribbit.”

Musrio hung up as he approached the docks, and ascended the ramp of the Warshark. Standing on the deck, smoking a cigarette, was the Ruthless Deepbite.

He let out his breath, smoke streaming from his mouth and gills.

“They’re all waitin’ in the dinin’ block fer ya, lad.”

Musrio paused, looking up at the violetblood. “You know what this is about, don’t you?”

Ruthless nodded, the haunted and exhausted look in his eyes, for once, slightly alleviated by the faintest spark of hope. “Aye. There’s only one color left.” He looked out towards the water, his tattered fins flickering. “Krakyn wanted ta be here fer this, but he can’t come this close ta shore.” He said.

“You can tell him about this afterwards. Ribbit.”

“Aye.” Ruthless dropped the butt and crushed it under his boot, before he turned and headed for the hatch. “Come on, then.”

He hauled open the hatch, and let Musrio into the bowls of the ancient ship.

Down the corridor, Ruthless let him into a large room that once crammed a crew of four dozen trolls into tables to eat.

Now, only the Incoding, the Innocent, the Decaying, the Deadscar Wanderer, and, inexplicably, the Hounding and Ashhur, sat around a table, the former sat on the opposite end of the two latter. They all looked up as Musrio and Ruthless Deepbite entered.

“Welcome, young Almawt.” Innocent signed politely.

“Hi. Thank you all for coming.” Musrio nodded. Awkwardly, he took a seat at the head of the table, while Ruthless took a seat between his morails. Taking a sip of his coffee, he cleared his throat. “I… suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here.” He internally cringed at saying such a cliché line. “Well…” He took a deep breath, trying to settle his sudden onset of nerves; he’d never been in a room with so many adults before. “I’ve got a lot to explain.”

Knocking back another gulp of poisoned coffee, the adults were silent as Musrio launched into the story; his death, his revival, his title as the second harbinger, the Black Hand, Neviserrath Apocriyna, the chosen child, the ritual, Oliver’s goal, and his mission. He spoke for over an hour without pause, leaving nothing out as he explained the reasons for their revivals, and why he’d needed them in the first place.

“… and now,” He said, his throat beginning to ache from talking for so long, “we’ve come down to the final color: Jade. Ribbit.”

Musrio watched Innocent and Incoding’s eyes slide directly to Ruthless.

The large seadweller swallowed. “But ya’ve tried a hundred times ta bring her back, lad. Nothin’s worked.”

“That’s the thing.” Musrio shifted in his seat, “The Hierophant came to me, and told me why we’d been failing.” He leaned forward, “Ruthless, your wife isn’t dead.”

A very loud silence fell as the violetblood’s face went slack with disbelief. “… She…?” He tried to speak, his voice faint. Slowly, he began to shake his head. “No, no, that can’t be right! She died in my arms! I watched-”

Musrio held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not denying that she died. She did. Ribbit. But she came back, long before I ever even hatched. She’s a rainbow drinker, Ruthless, and she’s waiting for us, somewhere.”

Ruthless sat back in his seat, before he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands as he digested this. His fins began to flare, before they drooped, only to hesitantly flutter upwards again. Incoding and Innocent each put a comforting hand on his shoulders as he digested this.

For a minute, Musrio honestly thought the seadweller was going to cry. At last, though, he took a deep breath and sat up again, running a hand over his face. “I…” he shook his head. “Okay. Sorry. Okay. My wife’s alive.” His voice cracked, “Where is she?”

At that, Musrio could only shake his head. “I don’t know. She could be anywhere on Alternia- for all I know, she could be off-world. We need to plan, to-”

“To what? We can’t possibly sweep the entire planet for her.” Incoding interjected.

“I know that.” Musrio huffed, “But we need some place to start.” He turned to Ruthless, “Think, Deepbite. There must be a place the two of you went to that she’d know you’d think of, or something. Ribbit.”

Ruthless frowned, brows furrowing in thought. “… No. The only places I could think of would be ‘er grave, or here. Most everythin’ ‘tween us happened on this tub.” He stamped his foot, and the ship responded with a creak. “An’ trust me, I’d know if she were here.”

Musrio swallowed the growl in his throat. “Well, then…” His gaze wandered the room, as if the answer would be scrawled on the walls. He turned to Deadscar, next. “What about you? You’ve been all over Alternia, have you seen anywhere that could be a rainbow drinker’s hideout? Ribbit?”

The Wanderer considered it for a moment, before he shook his head. “That is too vague a question. I have seen hundreds of places where it would be easy for a rainbow drinker to dwell.” He rumbled.

Musrio reached up and fiddled with his necklace, thinking. Looking over the gathered trolls again, his gaze landed on his own ancestor, the Decaying Mind. Brigan was staring fixatedly at him.

“… You know, don’t you?” Musrio asked him.

He nodded.

“What?” Ruthless rounded on the older rustblood, “How?”

Musrio sighed. “Brigan saw all of this happen before it even occurred, when he was caught between life and death. Ribbit. It destroyed most of his mind, which is why I gave him his title.” He explained.

“Rotted, totted, off to the maggots.” Brigan hummed, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Then tell us, Bri.” Incoding took his matesprit’s hand, squeezing it gently, “Where is Lucina?”

Brigan looked up at him, squinting at the goldblood’s face. “Oh, Cody…” he sighed, making Incoding start in surprise.

“Where is she, Almawt?” Ruthless repeated, more forcefully.

Brigan began to sway, his lips pursed. Slowly, he scowled. “Words, words, words. Rotten like my pan, spilling black ink on black paper. Leviathan drowned by wolf, heralded by scorpion, stealing my lexicon. Incomprehensible, even to the Ebonblack.” He said, sounding frustrated.

“… What?” Innocent asked.

That was when Ashhur suddenly stood up. He walked around the table to face Decaying, leaning towards him. “Incomprehensible, against the Ebonblack.” He chirred, “Scrambled eggs in fried pan. Indigestible for gods. Poison. Use it.”

“Brat, what’re you doin’?” Hounding growled. Ruthless shushed him, as Decaying fixed his gaze on the young mutant.

Ashhur made several clicks and hums, all four eyes blinking out of sync. “The raining bows sipper is…” more clicks, “hiding. You know?” He asked.

Decaying nodded, enthralled. “I know.” He agreed, a look of hopeful wonder on his face as he stared at Ashhur.

“Where do you know?”

“Where do I know…” Decaying repeated, scratching his stubbly cheek. He opened his mouth and shut it several times. “The monster.” He said at last, seeming pleased with himself. He pointed at Ashhur, “Monster to monster, water to sand. No- no water, but the sapphire eye, guarding to the metal serpent. Beast of thirst, watching beast of slake, guarded by beast of bone. You know?”

All of Ashhur’s fins waved, almost hypnotically, as he thought this over, Decaying leaning forward with anticipation. Finally, Ashhur turned to Hounding. “What call you, the place of sand with no water?”

“The desert?” Hounding raised an eyebrow.

Decaying slapped his free hand onto the table, shook it out, and pointed at Hounding, nodding emphatically. “Desert, dessert, sweetness in sugar sand and gritted gold.” He turned to Ruthless. “Therein lies the where I know, what I know, who is known. Follow the screaming serpent’s trail, into the red, and find the corpse of lifeless gods.” He said, as if that was both comprehensible and important.

“Cody?” Ruthless turned to his morail, hoping for a translation.

“The hound of war lies in the desert.” Ashhur spoke instead, “Guarded by a beast, of one kind or many.”

“Okay… what’s a screaming serpent?” Incoding inquired.

Ashhur looked to Decaying.

“Metal, screaming, scuttling upon legs of centipede, but a serpent none the less.”

“Oh- a trackscuttler.” Incoding realized. He glanced at Ashhur, impressed. “How did you… manage to make him do that?”

Ashhur shrugged. “He cannot speak the way his pan speaks. I am,” he hesitated, clicking to himself, “broken worded, with your tongue. Broken tongue,” He pointed at himself, “broken thinkpan.” He pointed at Decaying, “Together, we make the words.”

“Well, then...” Innocent signed, “We head to the desert, and follow the trackscuttler trail.”

“All of us? That seems… like a bad idea.” Incoding frowned, “We don’t know where in the desert she is, or even which desert. The supplies alone would be a huge burden, and-”

“Then I’ll go.” Deadscar interrupted shortly. He rose to his feet, “I have crossed many deserts. I can search on my own.”

“Now, hang on.” Hounding squinted at Ishran, “Why the hell are ya goin’? I’m the tracker; my name is the Messiah’s damned Houndin’, after all.”

As one, the entire table turned to look at him. “... Why are you here, even?” Innocent inquired, “Last I checked, you weren’t on our side.”

Hounding nodded to Musrio. “The scumblood told me I aught’a come. Said I could get away from Godric.”

“I thought Godric was your boss.” Innocent pointed out, “He is the one that set you on us in the first place. Why would you want to get away from him?”

Hounding eyed the limeblood reproachfully. “Name one laborer that actually likes their foreman, sewerblood, an’ I’ll hang up my ax. Motherfucker pays me ta clean up his messes, but that doesn’t mean I want ta do it. The jobs the church gives me are more important than offin’ off some bitchblood with a big mouth.”

“...”

All the other adults gave each other a look.

Musrio shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Hounding is no longer the bigger threat here. We have Oliver, and the Enforcer to worry about. Ancient animosities have to be set aside. Ribbit.”

“It’s true…” Incoding said thoughtfully, before he snorted a laugh and turned to Hounding, “You’re basic, big guy. You’re season one’s villain.”

Hounding growled at him. “I could still rip ya in half right now, pissblood.”

“An’ ye’d get a bullet in the eye fer it.” Ruthless hissed.

“Stop.” Musrio said sharply, “Now isn’t the time.”

“Aye.” Ruthless agreed, looking around. “But it’s decided, then? Ishran’ll head fer the desert ta search fer Lucina. When ‘e finds her, we’ll come a’runnin’.”

The others nodded.

Ishran turned towards the door. “No point in wasting time. I will leave now.”

“Already?” Innocent asked, surprised.

Ishran looked towards his former charge, his expression momentarily softening. “Yes. I will be in touch.” He said, before striding out the door.

With that, Musrio rose to his feet, before he bowed to the gathered ancestors. “You have my thanks, all of you, for hearing me out. And… I’m sorry, for all of this. If it was my choice, I would have left your souls to rest. Ribbit.”

The gathering broke up, then, Hounding and Ashhur leaving promptly after. Musrio stood on the deck of the Warshark, texting Drayco as the three morails chatted nearby. The young rustblood looked up as a hand touched his shoulder.

“Puzzle to puzzle, pieces to rest.” Decaying murmured, coming to stand beside him. He looked up at the moons; they were full and fat that night, bathing everything in silvery purple and green. “Connected, all of them, until the picture is made blurry by the buried secrets. Clicked together, string to thumbtack, followed by the puppet wires, until they all tie behind the boy with demons in his blood and gods in his brain.”

He looked down at Musrio again, an unreadable expression in his eyes as he gazed intensely at his descendant. “The line will be blurred, paint will spill, but painters spared. Follow the lines, balance, tight-rope walking, but let ashen feathers run amok. Flames consume breath until redemption breaks the puzzle. The bane of worlds and innocent constellations will be the salvation of us all.”

He squeezed Musrio’s shoulder, before he wandered away, leaving the young rustblood to contemplate the oncoming events.

#of monsters and matriarchs #story time #long post #musrio almawt #oliver maddel #the innocent #the incoding #ruthless deepbite #the decaying #the deadscar wanderer #the hounding #ashhur jaybez

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ask-them-bois · 2 years

Text

Happy Wriggling Day, Deadscar!🎉🎉

#ooc #ooc post #the deadscar wanderer #fantroll birthday

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ask-them-bois · 3 years

Text

Of Monsters and Matriarchs, pt 3/3

pt.1 pt.2

TW: None

TLDR: The final troll arrives.

“Hark!” Alaric leaped to its feet, staring out into the distance. “Yonder, strangers approach!”

Ishran wiped the crumbs out of his beard and swallowed the last bite of his meal, getting to his feet. “Boy, get up.”

Fayroe cracked open an eye from where he laid on Alaric’s buggy. “Eh?”

“They are here.”

Fayroe sat up in time to see two distant figures rapidly approaching.

Within minutes, Incoding, Ruthless, and Innocent arrived at the camp.

Ruthless was sat behind Innocent, on the back of Vornik’s lusus, Alphadad. The three-headed howl-beast dropped down, letting them slide off his back.

Incoding pulled Glitch Rider, his motorbike, to a stop, cutting the engine.

“Hello again, Deadscar.” The goldblood grinned, hopping off his vehicle.

“Greetings. Where is the fourth one?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean Bri? He didn’t want to come.” Incoding shrugged, “Something something, “this isn’t where he belongs.””

“Ishran, who- who is this?” Innocent was staring nervously at Fayroe.

The fuchsia slid off the buggy, pulling himself up proudly. “Fayroe Fallen. I’m Ishran’s apprentice.”

“No, you are not.” Ishran rebuked.

Fayroe opened their mouth to argue, but seeing all three of the morails bristling at their mere presence, they changed their mind and shut it again.

“Why is he here?” Innocent frowned.

“I do not know. He followed me from the city and I cannot make him leave.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” Innocent mused.

Incoding growled, and Fayroe’s fin-fronds flickered nervously at the sound. “I- hey, look- I’m not doing anything, see?” They raised their hands in surrender, an uncertain smile on their face. “I’m just hanging out with Deadscar.”

“You can ignore him, Incoding. He will do nothing.” Ishran sent a pointed look towards the young troll, who nodded, hopping back up onto Alaric’s buggy and taking a seat.

“Yup! Doing nothing, see?”

“He’s the Enforcer’s brat.” Incoding rumbled.

“Sure am, but you don’t see him risking life and limb for some strange lady in a hole.” Fayroe huffed.

Incoding narrowed his eye, but Innocent stepped forward before they could continue.

“Where is the other one?” He asked, looking around, “I saw three trolls here a moment ago.”

Ishran looked around, too, only to realize Alaric had disappeared. “I do not know.”

“I hath been to see the foremother. Thou doth wish to see her slumber? I think not. I assumed thou would prefer to meet her in her wake.” Alaric’s voice echoed up from the cavern as it emerged from the tunnel. It came to a stop, looking between the morails, before its gaze settled on Ruthless. “Hark, forefather of mine. I am thine descendant, Alaric Evrren.”

Ruthless’ face was completely unreadable as he stared at the young jadeblood. He’d been silent since they’d arrived, his hands trembling at his sides. “Yer…” He said faintly, “Yer my brat?”

“Aye, thine bastard by blood.” Alaric grinned, its tiny fins twitching.

“You’ve got three of them now.” Incoding pat Ruthless’ shoulder sympathetically. “Makeno, Krakyn, and now this one.”

Ruthless could only nod, unable to take his eyes off the jadeblood’s horns. “S… So, she’s in there?” He croaked.

“Aye.” Alaric stood aside and waved into the darkness. “She awaits you, forefather.”

Ruthless swallowed dryly, but didn’t move.

“Ru?” Innocent gently touched the seadweller’s arm. He looked down at the limeblood, then at the goldblood.

“I…”

Innocent smiled softly. “It is okay. We will wait here with the others.”

Ruthless could only nod.

On stiff legs, he moved towards the cavern entrance. He didn’t look back as he was swallowed by the dark, and the others sat down to wait.

Ruthless didn’t know where he was going. It was incredibly dark, even for his sharp eyes. The wind brushing past his fins was cold, and brought him the impression of branching stone halls by the way it moved.

The smell of bleach and incense, of sopor, and the tang of copper were perforated through the air. He was in a brooding cavern, he realized; long abandoned but still operational. He could hear the hum and beeping of vats and recuperacoons in the distance, down the side corridors.

His mind was clamoring and silent at the same time. He didn’t know where he was going; he just moved, without his thinkpan’s command. Trembling fingers reached up and grasped the wedding rings that hung around his throat.

Finally, there was change to the dark around him; the tunnel curved to his left, before it opened into a large chamber, which he stepped into and paused.

A desk, a recuperacoon, dozens of lit candles, scattered papers, weapons- that was all he was able to register, before the shadows moved.

In the quarter of a time it took to blink, there was something sharp pressing against the side of his neck, the cold metal burning against his gills; a spear, he recognized distantly, as he felt a presence practically materialize behind him.

“Who the hell are you?” A low voice snarled in his ear.

Ruthless’ heart wrenched.

He’d know that voice anywhere, even after four hundred sweeps of silence. He closed his eyes, a shuddering breath making its way out of his lungs.

“Lucina.”

The name fell from his lips like the rasp of dying man’s last words.

The silence that hung in the air was momentary, but it spoke of a lifetime. Only to explode like a supernova as the spear hit the floor.

“Erimus?”

A sob punched its way into the seadweller’s throat, and he held his breath as he turned his head to look.

It was her.

She was here. She was real, and alive, and- and she said his name.

“Aye.” He croaked, his eyes brimming with tears. “Aye, Lucy, it’s- it’s me, I-” He went to reach for her, but she stepped back.

Erimus froze, his hand still extended, as he finally seemed to take in the jadeblood’s appearance.

Even in the dim light, he'd know here anywhere. She was his Lucina, but she was… hardened. Older, and greyed. She wore his old cape.

The cape he had buried her in.

“L… Lucina?” He repeated, confused now, as the jadeblood stared at him. “It’s me, it’s- it’s yer Erim.”

“Is it?” She asked; her voice was steady, void of emotion, but it cracked in the air like a whip.

Erimus swallowed the lump in his throat, and could only nod.

Lucina crossed her arms, looking the voiletblood up and down with her eyes. “You look like him.” Her eyes settled on the wedding rings hung around his neck. Her glare bore into them like she was attempting to melt them, scrutinizing the golden bands. Her gaze lifted back to his eyes.

“Where were you?” She demanded, her voice shaking now. “Where have you been, Erimus Faslet?” She stepped forward and seized his shirt, hauling the eight foot seadweller down to her height. “It’s been four hundred sweeps, you rat bastard. Explain yourself, now.”

Erimus reached up and grasped her hand in his own; her fingers were so cold. “I’m sorry.” He rasped, his throat strained and raw from holding in four hundred sweeps of grief. “I’m so sorry.” His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees before her, unable to tear his eyes away from her face. “Ye… Ye died, Lucina. And I- I couldn’t- I couldn’t do it on my own. I didn’t know ye were… like this. If I had known, Lucina, I would have clawed my way out o' hell ta come back- I’m so sorry.”

He bowed his head, his hand clinging to her fist like it was all that tethered him to the world. He was shaking, overwhelmed and painfully sober.

His breath hitched as he heard her fall to her knees, and felt arms wrap around his shoulders. Without hesitation, he embraced her, crushing her to him like he’d die if he ever let her go again.

Her face pressed to his neck, and he buried his in her shoulder. Violet tears slid down his face and sunk into the fabric of her cape. She was crying, too- he could feel her trembling against him.

“I’m so sorry, Lucina.” He whispered. “I’m so sorry I took so long. If I had known, I would’ve-”

“Silence, you fucking fool.” She muttered, hiccupped, before she laughed breathlessly. “You’re here now.”

Erimus could have cried anew. He nodded, his grip tightening around her. “Aye… I’m here now. I’m- I’m here, and I swear I will never leave ye again, Lucina Evrren.”

The rainbow drinker slowly pulled away, gazing up at her husband with tear-filmed eyes, yet not one had slid down her face. She reached up and cupped his stubbly, scarred cheek, and he melted into her touch, turning his head to brush his lips against her palm.

“What good is kissing my hand, Erim, when my lips are right here?” She whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Do ye want me ta kiss you?” He breathed.

She said nothing.

And even after four hundred sweeps, after a thousand years, after they had both died and returned…

He kissed her.

He kissed her like he’d kissed her before, like he’d kissed her when they woke up in the morning together. He kissed her like how he'd done before, after they sparred. He kissed her like he’d he'd returned from a swim at sea and found her waiting. He kissed her like he was the one dying in her arms.

He kissed her like it would hurt to stop.

He felt her new fangs against his lips, and he only kissed her harder.

And she kissed him back, like four hundred sweeps had done nothing to erode their crimson quadrant. She kissed him like the ring around his neck was still on her finger. She kissed him like they’d just seen one another again at the end of a battle. She kissed him like they were in the crow’s nest, watching the stars. She kissed him like she had when she had to say goodbye.

She kissed him like it hurt, and she couldn’t stop.

She tasted booze on his tongue, tasted smoke and grief, and only kissed him all the more fiercely.

When they finally parted, if they ever did, they clung to one another, to the only other warm body in that cold cavern.

Outside, Erimus’ morails and companions waited for them. Outside, their middle child waited, too, adjusting the muzzle on its face. Far from them, deep in the sea, their eldest son waited to see them again. And their youngest waited to meet his foremother.

Outside, the world was waiting. But it hadn’t waited, it hadn’t grieved, for four hundred sweeps. So it could damn well wait, as the Deepbite and the Warhound parted only long enough to whisper to one another. Parted only long enough to remove the seadweller’s necklace. Parted only long enough to slide the rings back onto the fingers of their rightful owners.

Then they held one another, kissed one another, a little longer.

(Everyone please welcome Lucina Evrren! Link leads to her bio!)

#of monsters and matriarchs #story time #long post #the warhound #ruthless deepbite #the innocent #the incoding #the deadscar wanderer #alaric evrren #fayroe fallen

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ask-them-bois · 2 years

Note

Orr Amadri and Ishran interactions….

Amadri took a long drink of his coffee, watching the lightning bugs flicker around the back lawn ring. He was sat on the back porch with Ishran, as the oliveblood examined his bow.

The Wanderer was home for once, but Amadri knew it wouldn't be long before he wandered off once again.

"... So how is Sinopa?" He asked after a pause, the only other sound being the chirping of crickets and the brush of the wind through the trees.

"Hm. She is fine." Ishran murmured, pausing to take a sip of his own coffee. "You need to replace your string soon, it is beginning to fray."

"I am already making one." Amadri assured him, "But, Sinopa? You have barely spoken of her since the two of you got together. You did not even tell me the story there."

"There is no story. I wrote her a letter, her morail delivered it, she came to meet me. She agreed to travel with me." Ishran said simply, before holding out a hand.

Without needing further prompting, Amadri passed over the bottle of oil and its accompanying rag. Ishran uncapped it and dribbled some of the clear fluid onto the rag, before he rubbed it slowly over the bow.

"And where all have you taken her?"

"A beach, a forest, a city festival." Ishran's hands paused, and he looked out at the flickering bugs in the flowerbeds. "... I want to ask her to go overseas with me. For a vacation."

"To where? East Alternia?"

"Exactly."

"I think she would like that." Amadri mused.

Ishran nodded slowly, before he resumed his work. "I would take her off planet, if I could. I... wish to show her the universe itself."

Amadri had to push his mask up to hide his smile. "Oh?" He prompted simply; his guardian was so rarely open about his feelings, Amadri couldn't help but want to pry. "Why?"

"...." Ishran didn't answer right away. He finished oiling the wood, before he held out his hand again. Amadri passed him the jar of wax, and Ishran began to apply a thin coat over the oil to seal it. "I like the look in her eyes when I show her something new. If the glowing waves at the shore made them light up like that..." He sighed, shaking his head, "I only wonder how they would look seeing another planet all together."

Aamdri's own cheeks flushed at the raw, open softness in his guardian's voice. "You really love her, do you not?"

"I do." Ishran agreed, his voice quiet.

The greenbloods sat in silence a while longer, but it was a comfortable quiet. In the hive, Amadri could faintly hear the TV turn on. A glance over his shoulder, and he saw Cody's horns poking over the top of the loungeplank.

Ruthless, who was stood in the mealblock, noticed him, and waved, holding up two fingers. Amadri smiled, and held up two in return, before he turned back around.

Ishran was untying the leather grip, no doubt to adjust or replace it.

"... Do you remember the first time you took my bow away?" Amadri asked.

"Hm. Yes. You were six sweeps old."

"Yes."

"You had broken your promise to be back at the campsite at a certain time. You showed up drunk, and missing your shoes."

"You had taken me to a festival." Amadri added, chuckling fondly at the memory. "You were the one who encouraged me to drink."

"I offered you a sip of wine. That is not the same as downing several mugs of beer and running off with some pretty troll."

"He was not just some "pretty troll."" Amadri said, defensive.

Ishran looked up at him, expression deadpan. "What was his name?" He asked.

Amadri opened his mouth, then shut it again. "... It has been four hundred sweeps, I could not possibly recall-"

"You do not recall it because you were drunk, and a child, and amorous."

"... Could you blame me? I had just molted."

"I cannot fault you for what your thinkpan compelled you to do. I can fault you for not keeping your promise."

"And you did. You took my bow, and made me walk without shoes until we reached the next town." Amadri reminded him. "And you were furious with me for nights after."

Ishran actually snorted with amusement. "I recall. You told me again and again that your feet were falling off every time you stepped on a pebble or stick. Now your descendant does that every night."

"Is that your way of saying you were too soft on me?" Amadri inquired, almost teasing.

Ishran huffed, shaking his head. "No. I was soft with you, but you know better than any troll that I was not soft on you."

Amadri nodded, taking another sip of coffee. "... You bought me really nice boots, though." He said after a moment.

Ishran tied the new leather in place, and held the renewed bow out to the limeblooded man. Amadri took the bow and set it aside. Ishran sat back, rubbing at the scar on his chest idly.

"... I was not angry." He said after a moment.

"No?"

"I was scared, more than angry."

"Oh."

Ishran took a deep breath. "I regretted yelling at you. That is why I got you nice boots."

Amadri chuckled into his coffee mug. "Softie."

#luxxrays #ask #drabbles #the deadscar wanderer #the innocent #long post

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