---

The sun beat down on them as they tread down a decline of rough dirt and coarse grass dotted with wild flowers. Rahdayo and Teefee walked at the front, the two talking and laughing as they went. A budding relationship that she could only feel… What? Excited? Content? Fearful? Moss shook her head. Zafrina walked just before her, carrying not only the wrapped burden on her back but some man's growing child in her womb. A man who would never know it existed. The goblin still wanted to curse her out for her stupidity but it wouldn't really be beneficial. Zafrina had survived twenty-four winters and by all accounts was an adult. She knew the consequences of such an action and now she had to bear it or choose whatever she wished for it. There were other ways, after all. But that would just be between the two of them, for now.

She covered her eyes as she looked up at the Itzala, the sun. Moss always had the strangest feeling that it was watching them and not in a good way. She looked over her shoulder back to endless openless. This hilly expanse of land was almost deserted, save those animals that called it home. Still, she felt like she needed to be alert. One could never be too careful.

Eventually Zafrina had lessened her pace to walk beside Moss. The goblin was always jealous of those with longer legs, being able to walk at whatever pace they chose. Hmphm. She eyed Zafrina, the stoic talyrian looked contemplative as she stared ahead, no doubt at the other two.

“Are you well?” Moss asked her.

“I’m fine.” Zafrina replied, glancing at her.

“You know, we never did finish our discussion about those two.” Moss said, lowering her voice. Teefee might not have been the sharpest tool in a shed but she did have good hearing. “Do you want your brother to be happy?”

Zafrina pursed her lips. “Of course I do. She… She makes him laugh. He needs that.”

Moss smiled softly at that. “I haven’t known Teefee as long as I have known you, Zafrina. She may be dumb and prone to her own vices but have you considered she might actually want your brother as a husband?”

The goat girl blinked and looked at Moss incredulously. “Would her people even let that happen?”

Moss considered before saying, “Sometimes Teefee talks about her older sister, Shahari, and how she would be arranged to someone far away. Unless other cat clans exist, I assume it is possible. I mean,” they both looked at Teefee, who had spotted a bird flying past and was now chasing it, much to Rahdayo’s chagrin. “If they’re all like her, I think it would be easy to set up.”

Zafrina's tinkling laugh made Moss look back at her with an eyebrow raised. “To that, I think you might be right, master.” she said before her face slackened. Then she asked, in a very quiet voice, “He should stay with her, shouldn’t he?”

Moss nodded. “Traveling companions often become more on the road. It would be best if he did stay with Teefee, settled down, maybe cook for a living. Your brother is wasted like this.”

Zafrina sighed. “I don’t know. It would be difficult without him. For me.”

“Zafrina.” Moss said in a gentle voice, “You should stay with them too.”

The girl whipped her head to stare at Moss. A flash of pain behind her eyes was evident before they narrowed. She stopped walking, so did Moss as the two fully turned to one another. “No.”

“Zafrina…”

“No. I refuse.”

“Zafrina.”

“You can’t make me leave you. It isn’t fair!” Zafrina bawled her hands into fists, leaning forward as she did. “I’m not cut out for some homebody life.”

Moss held up a hand to silence her. “You have life growing within you. You would be severely hampered on the road when you begin to show. You have to start thinking about more than just what you want but that of your baby, Zafrina.”

The girl’s face contorted with anger but she shut her eyes and then exhaled a long breath.

Moss went on, “If you think I’m saying this because I don’t want you along, that wouldn’t be true. But please, Zafrina, sometimes we all have to make difficult decisions for the ones we love.”

“I don’t love it.” Zafrina snapped. “It’s a stupid mistake.”

“Do you truly believe that or are you just saying it?” Moss asked.

To that, Zafrina did not have an answer. Moss slowly approached her, the girl’s expression downcast. She took her hand and said, “We know nothing of the future right now. Things may come to pass yet that change our decisions. But you must think on what I’ve said. Again, it will be alright.”

Zafrina nodded and the two began to walk again. It seemed Rah had gotten Teefee back in line as well, as the two were now holding hands as they walked. Each time something caught the cat girl’s attention and she would begin to go after it, Rahdayo tugged her along. Her tail swished back and forth but it didn’t look like she was protesting.

When the sun was beginning to dip overhead, and their feet were growing worn of the day’s travels, Teefee was the first to spot it. The two paused in their walk and waited for Moss and Zafrina to catch up.

She pointed up ahead, to a copse of trees, as the land was gradually shifting back to wooded areas, interspaced with long stretches of grassland and meandering rivers.

“Mistress!” Teefee said, “Teefee sees people.”

“Do you now?” Moss looked out towards where she pointed. Indeed, two wagons highlighted by the beginnings of a fire.

“Hmmm. Come on then and be prepared. Let’s see what’s up here.” The three began to follow their mistress towards the fledgling camp, with little protest. She glanced at them occasionally and found that their eyes were ahead. Zafrina behind her, Rahdayo in the middle and Teefee at the end, almost clinging to Rah. The cat looked oddly protective, which was a good sign.

As they got nearer, Moss could smell the smoke and something savory cooking in the wind. It made her stomach growl. The two wagons had been pulled by great lumbering beasts, almost like a horse and a cow had a cross- she had really never seen anything like them as they grazed from the grasses nearby. She could see people too and they had obviously seen them as a few were walking out to meet them.

Moss stopped a respectful distance away in the twilight. Deep purples tinged with the faintest red were upon the horizon. That view never did get old. When the two men stopped, for they were men, humans by the looks of them, she spoke. “Hail travelers! We come in peace.”

A short squat man with a faded hat spoke, his voice older, “Well met upon this fine evening, madam. What business do you have in these parts? Haven’t seen many folk about, if I do say.”

“We could say the same!” Moss confided, “Our business is our own, no offense good man, but we are simply traveling north towards the big cities.”

“The big cities aye? Plenty of those along the coast, strange way to travel across the land to get to those.” the man said.

“Ah but it is! If I had some wealth to my name, I’d have chartered a ship straight to the narrows of Thysia and Sylann but I thought my pupils needed some well worn practice of dealing with foot sores, so here we are.”

The older man chuckled. “Fares fare. You seem a harmless lot but one can never be too careful these days. Come on in, we’ve got food and a fire.” he waved and a relief washed over Moss as she began to walk over.

“I understand that,” Moss nodded, “But I can assure you, you won’t regret letting us sup with you. I’ve two Talyrians with me, who know a thing or two about cooking. They’d be delighted to whip up a trail feast.”

As they met up with the men, Moss could see that the speaker was an older human, as she thought, with a graying beard. The one with him was a youth perhaps the same age as Rahdayo. Both had dark brown eyes and well worn clothes. The younger man had keen eyes on Zafrina, the most girl blushed ever so slightly.

“Names Percy and this is my grandson, Pieter. Now we’ve not heard of a Talyrian before but if they know how to cook, that’s always welcome.”

“They call me Moss, and this is Zafrina, Rahdayo and Teefee.” she pointed at each. “And yes, I’m sure you will have no complaints.”

They all began to walk back towards the wagons. Percy said, “Say, you’re one of them goblins, miss Moss? Haven’t seen one since I was a younger man.”

“Is that so? And here I thought my kind scuttered about everywhere.”

“Me and my folk, we keep to ourselves. Haven't seen the likes of any of your companions before either, truth be told. Ain't anyone's fault.”

“Ah. Yes, I haven't seen much of humans to be fair nor any others that look like my friends here. Teefee hails from the plains of Pantheras, nearer to Thysia than we are now. Rah and Zafrina are brother and sister. Talyrian folk who come from the deep south of the Origin.”

“It's a mighty strange world we live in, full of interesting folks.” Perry said, stopping next to the wagons and jestering for them to follow Pieter. They did so and entered into a most human-like world. All eyes fell upon them, some with fear and others wide with mysticism. Children in small cloth garbs hid behind their parents as Percy introduced them. A wave of tentative relaxation fell over them after that and Moss instructed Zafrina and Rah to help with the cooking. She took Teefee to the side for a brief moment as the camp came to life once more. Someone broke out a flute and drum, beginning to play a quiet soft tune. Background noise for the conversations to come.

“Teefee.” Moss said to her as she grabbed the cat's shoulders and shook her. Teefee let her body sway back and forth as her eyes darted to and fro. There was wide mischievous intent brimming within her. Moss shook her harder and said her name at least three times before she focused on the goblin. Teefee’s eyes dilated as she saw Moss. “Mistressssss.” she pouted, “Let Teefee go, she'll behave. Teefee swears it!”

“Listen to me very carefully girl. Do not,” She leaned in and made Teefee lean down, “Take anything from these people. Keep your hands to yourself. If you do, I will give you a nice scratch later, alright?”

Teefee’s eyes went wider with glee. She began to purr smugly. “Mistress scratches? Teefee will be a good girl for Mistress scratches. Of course. Or course.” Her tail swished to and fro, a mind of its own truly.

Moss patted Teefee’s head and the girl leaned into it, then into Moss altogether. She almost knocked her over but Moss hissed and she backed up a bit.

As the night wove into being and the Hand's light became obscured by clouds, the burning bonfire was the source of many tales. Moss learned that the humans were from a band who had come down from Sylann holdings, after becoming ostracized by Snouters who had taken their lands from them. Thus struck out seven families for a new home. Their voyage had led them far, very far, perhaps farther than any human they knew had gone and still they had not found what they sought. They were kindly people who were in hard times but they were surviving all the same.

As children, with their giggling laughs as they chased and were chased by Teefee, began to settle down for the night, Moss was struck by just how tolerating these people were. Removed by snouters, they had every right to turn her away. To keep their children close and to spit at the food Rah and Zafrina had taken over to cook. But they had not. On the contrary, they loved the food and praised her pupils for it and they had encouraged their children to play while Moss told a few of her own stories. They had welcomed them in without a thought and in such a cruel world at times, it was a breath of fresh air.

“There’s a kingdom south of here called Ahdor.” Moss said, as the conversation had turned to the talk of places. Around the fire now Zafrina sat by her, rubbing pots with a cloth to make them shine. Rahdayo was doing the same, glancing at Moss and Teefee. For the catgirl had done well and now lay her head in the lap of her Mistress, content as Moss massaged her head. She was sure the humans thought it a comical sight but they said nothing. Perry sat with a few of the older men, as most of the women folk had set up tents for slumber and the more able bodied men were standing watch. Moss went on, “You’ll reach Sweetdew first no doubt, nice quaint town. Might even be a good place to call home.”

“Ahh, is that right?” Perry puffed on a pipe, the curls of smoke drifting up in circles. “How do they treat humans, if I might ask?”

Moss shrugged. “Can’t say I say any, but in my experience, if you add and not take from such villages or towns, they welcome newcomers. I take it most of you are farmers? Why else would snouters take your land.”

“Most of us are, that’s true. Some of the women are good seamstresses and old Abrhon was a smithy. Sons are his apprentices. They had to leave most of their things behind to those damnable devils.”

“I’m surprised the local law didn’t aid you, I was under the impression Sylann had a tight justice system.” Moss mused.

One of the men chorted, then hacked on a cough. He spoke, his voice baritone. “The law is only upheld the closer one gets to Sylann. Everyone knows the Assembly only cares for its war mongering and not upholding property law.”

“Well,” Perry added, “I doubt Moss does.”

“You’d be correct.” Moss said, thoughtful. “That sounds just a little concerning.”

Perry nodded. “They say it wasn’t like that at one point in time but with Thysia claiming land north of the river, I suppose the threat was great enough to take seriously.”

The other chimed in, “Oh, there’s never been an open war between the two city-states. It’s all huff and bluff so they can gobble up more land for their own gain.”

“There’s that theory,” Perry nodded. “Another is, ever since the Hand manifested by the Goddess, that she no longer visits the city as much and mortal minds now rule.”

Moss tilted her head at that.

“You mean…” Rahdayo cut in and all eyes fell upon him, “That the Hand,” he looked up at it, or where it should have been visible behind the clouds, “It wasn’t always so?” He sounded puzzled by this, perhaps almost skeptical.

Perry chuckled. “Aye, there was a time when only the stars hung in the night sky. Back when I was around your age.” the old man tugged at his beard thoughtfully.

Rahdayo said nothing more but looked uneasy as others nodded and chimed in. To Moss, it was just something that better lit the night sky. Had not all of creation been created so? It was a strange thought, to be so at ease with the sheer notion of a being capable of such a feat. But hadn't Galaxor created the Dominion and brought time to heel?

“He’ll be thinking on that one for a time.” Moss mused as Rahdayo went back to scrubbing his pots.

“Have any of you ever been to the cities?” She found Zafrina asking.

Perry shook his head. So did the other man. “I saw the great walls of Sylann once but my dad had been in a hurry and we went no further.” Perry confessed. “I don't think any of us have actually been to either. Sorry miss.”

“Strange.” Zafrina furrowed her eyebrows. “I guess I assumed you had, you all seem so learned. Apologies.” She went back to scrubbing, face flushing red.

“Oh now, none of that. No harm in asking questions. As old Nym here says, Sylann's all warmongering nowadays but they still do good. Every child gets to learn. The great university in the city sends out teachers to educate the youths who can't go inside the walls. It's quite a feat.”

Old Nym barked a laugh. “Aye, I'll give them that. At least if you're educated, you can see the perils and flee.”

“But why?” Moss found herself asking. “Wouldn't they want the uneducated for menial labor and farming?”

They shrugged. “What the Goddess wants, she gets and she doesn't want dumb peasants. So now those that back any wars are culpable to them.” Nym said, lips thinning.

“Like any grand place, there is always contradictions and hypocrisy.” Perry added. “We are learned but not enough to have saved our land. Sylann teaches but justice is often not with coming. It's a time of changing winds and we left on them. Still, we are better off than our ancestors out in the wastes, preyed upon by… Well, we shan't go down that road tonight.”

“Fires burning low.” Nym said, getting to his feet. “A pleasant sleep to you all.” He smiled and walked off.

Perry likewise stood. “You may claim this fire as a resting spot for the night. It was a good meal and good company.” He gave a small bow. “Goodnight now.”

They all said farewell to the man, left alone now as the fire dwindled. Rahdayo came over to Moss and Teefee, who by that point had fallen asleep.

“I'll take her.” He said, bending low and wrapping his arms around Teefee. He lifted with surprising ease, cradling her in his arms. She puzzled her face into his chest as they lay down next to the fire. Moss rubbed her hands together and watched as Zafrina lay down on the opposite side of them. Moss was about to lay down as well but hesitated. Where was…? Panic struck her as she looked for the bundle. Not seeing it she went over to Zafrina and hissed, “Where's the bundle?”

Zafrina snapped an eye open and grimaced. “It should be where I left it.”

“And where is that?”

She sat up slightly. “You said start cooking so I sat my pack down and…” Her eyes trailed over to her pack, the bundle was gone. She sat up and they each looked at one another before the search was on.

With Zafrina at her side, they quietly began looking over the camp. Only a few were still awake and they had to act nonchalantly about their business. The only others awake were the… Watchmen. Moss walked to the outskirts of camp and sure enough they began to hear hushed whispers behind the wagons and the dim light of a torch. Several young men stood around an object glowing faintly. The torch cast them in a sinister light.

“See, I told you. I did, I told you.”

“With this… we could take back our land!”

“Get our revenge on those fucking pigs.”

“But what of them? We can't just steal. It ain't right.”

“What ain't right,” came a silky smooth voice, “Is that they carry this around, wrapped up, so no one can see. So go on Damyl, pick it up.”

“No!” Moss shouted.

Moss rushed forward, the sound of her shout made the men turn and jump. “Don't you dare touch that.” She snapped with anger. Two of them took a step back, while the other three looked at her, unmoving. Moss came to a stop before them, her hands moving to her daggers. With any luck, Zafrina wouldn't be noticed moving behind them. “Step away. Now.” She commanded.

They didn't move.

“Why should we listen to some green skinned brat?” One of them said. She hadn't seen him before. A gangly man with long dark hair and sharp features.

“We should do as she says.” One piped up, the same who had been against the stealing in the first place. He was a bit pudgy, thick of face but lean of build. By the gods he was tall.

“Shut up!” Someone hissed, she couldn’t make out which one. The torchlight was beginning to fade.

That silky smooth voice said, “It’s ours now. Pick it up Damyl.”

“Why don't you pick it up Pieter?” The one called Damyl chimed back, it was the man with sharp features. He looked hesitant. She shoved that aside as she took in the new name.

“Pieter? But your grandfather-” Moss began before being cut off by a laugh.

“Those senile old men don't know what's best for our people. And it isn't these wilds or some town in the middle of nowhere. My dad was butchered by those fucking pigs, they'll get what they deserve. Pick it up Damyl!” He hissed.

Damyl began to lean over and Moss stepped forward shouting no. The man hesitated as if second guessing himself, Moss threw her dagger, aiming for his hand but it was too late, Damyl picked it up.

He screamed as a great blade cut a swath before him at lightning speed, cutting the dagger Moss threw in a blink and severing the left hand of Pieter. All the men fell to the ground in a panic. Pieter screamed and the camp began to wake.

The sword then lifted itself high, for Damyl had no authority over it, and radiated the grand beauty of its creation. Shimmering silver, like moonlight itself, erupted and bathed them all in its pale glow. “Drop it!” Someone shouted but Damyl only screamed with lungs not of his own. Moss stared in abject horror, unable to do anything. Memories flashed before her. Her cousin picking it up after being told not to. The pain in his face… The same in Damyl’s and then… Damyl’s veins coursed with a bright light, starting from his hand and pulsing down, down, down. Where his veins were visible, the light spread until Damyl was a living star. Just like Desmond, he exploded with a violent burst, sending shards of light outwards.

One cut her cheek as it passed, she didn’t even blink.

When the shards faded to dust, the sword floated back to the ground like a leaf. The only sounds were of Pieter crying. Yet, there was something else… Something that had not happened before. One of the men had not fallen like she had thought, instead, he stood over the sword and then glanced at her. It was the tall one with the big head, except, his face wasn’t quite right. It looked like it was shifting? Were her eyes playing tricks on her? No… She took a step back as the man’s forehead just… Fell away in a bloody splat to the ground. This revealed a thing of pure nightmares as a glowering red eye seemed to form, then blinked at her. His body began to contort and break. People began arriving and shouting in horror.

It opened its mouth and a scream-like wail exploded forth, causing her to grab her ears in pain. The wail continued as the thing’s, for this was no longer a man, tore, then ripped open causing the scream to end with sudden force as it was replaced with a gurgle. The thing fell over, spasming on the ground as it gasped for breath until it stilled.

The worst part of it however, was somewhere, deep in that dark land, it was answered.
Moss turned to the travelers.

“Run!”

---

Her heart was thundering as her feet carried on. She clutched the sword in her arms, now tightly bound once more. It had been a foolish, stupid mistake to leave it unwatched and now, now they paid for it. She grimaced as a dent in the earth almost made her trip. She picked up her pace once more and looked ahead. The thing about being a member of a shorter race, was that your legs didn’t carry you as far as someone who had longer appendages. As such, Teefee, Rahdayo and Zafrina had a substantial lead upon her and several humans ran in front of them. That wasn’t necessarily their fault however. Everytime they began to slow down, she shouted and cursed them to go faster. The humans never did slow, sure they staggered but the gods had blessed them, it seemed, with unnatural longevity when it came to running. But she knew why, didn’t she?

Something terrible pursued them in that dark night. Baleful howls echoed behind them, pierced time and time again with a very human scream. Moss didn’t know if it was real or not. In the confusion of the camp, people ran every which way. There had been no order, just chaos. She had said run, hadn’t she? Regret was like a bitter root that one tasted too many times in life. Knowable but never forgettable, even if you didn’t think in the moment. She was stupid, she had caused this mess and now, she had to get as many people safe as she could.

She remembered Perry's grief at the loss of Damyl and Pieter's betrayal, who's veins had begun flowing with silver. Coupled with the blood loss, there was no future for him. He and Perry had stayed behind, for Perry could not flee due to a bum knee. She would not forget his kindness. That she swore to herself as the inky black of night swallowed the trio ahead of her. Clouds had rolled in front of the Hand. She was alone and her eyes, unlike the other three, did not work well in the night. Which was ironic since she was born underground. Something screamed behind with sudden violence. She winced as it sent her ears ringing.

“Use me.” A quiet voice whispered into her ear. She jumped and spun her head around but there was no one there.

“Caress me.” The voice came again with feminine candor. Again she looked but there was no one there.

“Wield me!” This time a different voice spoke, more masculine and raging.

She fully whirled and came to a stop to listen as she gasped for breath. She slicked the sweat off her brow and moved wet strands of hair back. She knew she couldn’t speak, for fear of what it might bring. But there was no one around her, wasn’t there?

Unless…

She looked down at the blade and found her hands shaking as they gripped the cloth.

“Maseline.” The voice, a woman’s voice she had heard once before so long ago. Soft but reassuring. It came from the sword. “Duck!” The sword commanded.

Duck?

She fell out of instinct as something sharp sailed in the air just where her head had been. A rush of air followed and Moss felt her body jump into action like a well oiled lantern. With the sword still clutched in her arms, she got on her back and brought the sword up as a shield. And it was well she did, for a creature as dark as the night raked claws into the cloth. She heard a ripping sound and then the thing screamed in pain, before it abruptly turned and ran. She could hear it crashing across the land.

Moss blinked. The entire interaction had lasted no more than a few seconds. Her body and mind didn't even know how to react. Should she be afraid? Exhilarated over not being killed? The sword did not speak but she looked it over and saw that where the thing had swung at it, the cloth was torn. Black blood stained the cloth but not the blade itself. The thing was dangerous and she didn't know if she should be more afraid of it or what hunted them.

Them!

Moss scrambled to her feet, careful not to touch the blade where the cloth no longer covered it and began to run.

---

Zafrina clutched the handle of her short sword tightly, for if she didn’t, it would shake too much. Her hands were clammy and periodically she'd have to switch holds and wipe her hands on her tunic as they ran. She was sweating profusely by the time they came to a stop to just breathe. She gasped for breath as Rahdayo looked at her, his golden eyes now dark as night.

“Are you alright?” He asked between gasps.

She nodded her head, “Of course. And you?”

He nodded as well, then looked over to Teefee, who was stretching out her arms before touching the ground by leaning over. She barely looked winded. Rahdayo smiled before he looked back at Zafrina. He raised an eyebrow and looked lower. It seemed she had unconsciously placed a hand on her abdomen. She withdrew it and walked past him. That would not be a topic of discussion right now.

“Teefee.” She said in a hushed whisper. The cat girl glanced at her with large pupils, she was sitting on the ground, legs straight before her. She had her arms touching her toes. Teefee's white hair caught a beam of the Hand's light, flaring with brightness before it faded to Grey by an obscuring cloud. The cat's ears twitched with what seemed to be impatience. “You seem to be faring well.”

Teefee flashed a grin. “Teefee's siblings would play tag for days across the plains. Teefee would never get caught.” She seemed to say with an air of pride. Zafrina just frowned. This was the girl Rahdayo was having relations with?

She turned back to her brother, who was staring off into the dark from which they came. Zafrina cocked her ear to listen for sounds. They had found themselves in a low dip in the land, either side surrounded by trees. Like great silent watchers. Sand and pebbles were beneath her hooves. Yet she could only hear screaming very faintly. Far, far away. The humans they had been following were gone, the trio had lost track of them with such little Hand light. She walked over to Rahdayo and followed his gaze.

“I no longer hear her.” He whispered.

“She said to keep running.” But even as she said it, Zafrina could not hold back the worry in her heart.

“We should go back and find her. What if something happened?” Her brother began to walk but Zafrina sheathed her sword and grabbed him by the wrist.

“No.” She said firmly. “We can't do that little brother. She's more experienced than any of us. She will be fine. We should keep moving.”

Teefee came up and hugged him from behind, leaning against his back as she nuzzled her face into his tunic. Zafrina felt a pang of loneliness at the sight. Foolish at such a time when their lives were in danger.

“Mistress will be fine. Teefee knows this.” The cat girl said matter of factly. For once it seemed she was focused enough to know their situation wasn't the time for games. “Come, Teefee thinks we should keep going. Teefee’s hair is prickly. Which means Teefee is frightened.” she murmured that last bit, almost as if she was ashamed to admit it.

Rahdayo turned and held her tight in one motion. “Hey now, don't be afraid. It will be alright, you'll see.” he placed a hand on her head and Teefee stood up on her toes to press into it. “And yes, you're both right. We should go.” he glanced at Zafrina, doubt in his eyes.

Zafrina nodded. It was the right choice, even if it felt wrong. She had to tell herself Moss would be alright. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t help but feel it was wrong. She was still shaken up by what she witnessed. Teefee and Rahdayo began to walk.
She began to follow but in the moment she took a step, she became keenly aware that it was too late to run. Something descended upon her from above in a silent swoop. With a terrible scream that wasn’t her own, she was pinned to the earth. Her very breath was knocked out of her from the force of the blow. Her eyes bulged as she saw the thing whose claws pressed into her arms. A demon from ancient stories. Sinewy wings flapped, gusting a foul stench that would have made her vomit if she could breath. The thing looked like an overgrown leech. It had no eyes, just a gaping circular mouth upon its flabby head. From the gnashing teeth came pop, pop, pop. The sound of hunger.

She took a sputtering breath as the things drool hit her in the face. Then she screamed, trying in vain to free her sword arm. To free either arm. The thing knew enough to pin her. To keep her from being dangerous. That fact alone made the terror truly sink in as it lowered its sucking mouth towards hers. Then something tackled it with a great yell, Rahdayo, freeing her from its terrible gasp. She wasted no time getting to her feet and pulling her sword out. That was her brother! He was rolling on the ground, the creature slightly larger than he, as they tussled. He had grabbed it’s head, keeping it away from his face but the thing’s muscled bulged as it attempted to tear into him with its taloned feet. Rahdayo yelled out in pain as he was cut. Zafrina began to panic, she couldn’t get in a hit in fear of- There!

She stabbed her blade into the creature’s neck as Rah held it outward. The blade slipped in like butter and the creature reared back, flapping its wings as it freed itself from Rahdayo, taking her sword with it. It began to sputter, black blood coating the ground as it twirled and spun, gurgling with its terrible pop pop pop. Then it collapsed in a heap, muscles quivering as it grew still.

Zafrina went to Rahdayo, who had managed to sit up. She began to look over him as he looked at the demon with a wild look in his eye. He had been cut on the outer part of his thigh, torn straight through his clothing into the flesh. Not deep but it was bleeding.

“We need- we need,” she stammered before taking a deep breath. Her nerves, by the gods her damn nerves were frayed. She gritted through her teeth after a moment, “Teefee, cloth!” When the cat girl made no reply she said it again.

Nothing.

“Teefee?” Rahdayo called and Zafrina looked up to follow his gaze.

The white haired girl’s ears were pressed back, almost flat against her head. Her hair was standing up, like the heckles of a dog or her smaller cousins. This would have been intimidating if not for the fact that Teefee only held a dagger, gripped in both hands as she shook violently. There was a wild mad terror on her face that made Zafrina pity her. It was the same terror she had once felt, paralyzing and all controlling. If she heard them at all, she couldn’t react. Teefee’s knees buckled and she collapsed onto them, still clutching her knife. Seeing this, Rahdayo pushed up and got onto his feet. Zafrina didn’t even try to stop him. It was better to keep his leg moving before it stiffened up. It still needed bandaging and then cleaning before any infection set in but…

She watched as her brother approached Teefee from the side, dropping to his knees beside her. Teefee, at last, glanced at him as he placed a hand upon her dagger and pushed it down. They said nothing as he placed his other arm around her and pulled her to his chest. She dropped her dagger and clung to him. Zafrina looked away and up into the sky. They weren’t safe here. Not anywhere that was open.

She retrieved her sword and noticed her right hand was slick upon the pommel. She prodded her arm and found she too had been cut but there was no pain. Her blood was up, the fire in her veins ready for anything now. She ripped a part of her shirt off beneath her leathers and began to wipe her blade clean, her own cuts could wait. It was stupid to be caught unawares. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

A twig broke and she swung to the noise.

“Take her and run!” Zafrina called out to Rahdayo.

“But Zafrina-” he began to protest but was cut off as a small figure carrying a package twice her height stumbled through the brambles and nearly into Zafrina. She had raised her blade, poised to strike, but had stopped when she saw the all too familiar, and most welcome sight.

“Moss!” she exclaimed, lowering her blade.

Moss looked as if she had been running for days, and her dark hair was plastered to her forehead. She set the clothed blade down and rested her arms on her legs as she huffed a breath.

“Have to keep moving.” Moss managed to say. “Being hunted.” The goblin’s almost glowing eyes fell upon the corpse of the demon they had killed, then she looked back at Zafrina. A look of shock and awe upon her face. “Good.” Moss said, nodding in approval. The praise was welcomed and Zafrina could not help but stand a bit straighter. Moss looked over at Rahdayo and Teefee, who by this point, was crying softly. Moss looked back at Zafrina, an eyebrow raised.

“Battle shock and Rahdayo took a cut on his thigh. She’ll be fine but he might not be able to walk for long.” They both made their way over to them, Moss dragging the bundle behind her. As short as she was, the goblin stood at the same height that they knelt and she placed a hand upon Teefee’s shoulder. The girl paid her no mind.

Moss said softly, “Teefee, there is no shame in it. We all freeze up and I don’t blame you for it. But you cannot let it consume you right now. We have to keep going.”

“She’s right.” Rahdayo murmured into her hair. Teefee’s ears twitched and her head snapped to the side, eyes focused on the silent trees.

“Teefee…” She whispered, “Teefee knows what’s coming.”

“Teefee…?” Rah asked her. Zafrina looked into the trees, the same as the cat girl, who began to shake again. She noticed the girl turn away and bury her face back into Rahdayo’s chest as red eyes pierced the darkness, peering at them. One pair, another, then another.

“Moss…” Zafrina hissed, getting her sword up and into position, going to stand in between the trees and Rahdayo.

Moss cursed under her breath and laid the bundle next to Teefee as she took out her daggers. She came to stand next to Zafrina.

The red eyes came to the edge of the creek bed, looking down upon them but obscured in darkness. Zafrina felt her arms begin to shake in anticipation and fear.

A raspy voice cut through the growing tension, like a rock jutting up through a river. “Gob-lin.” it said, the words sounded forced and wrong. Too much pronunciation on the gob part of goblin. “Give it to ussss.” it hissed. Another pair of red eyes joined them in the treeline. Zafrina could feel her heart begin to beat loud and fast. Could they hear it?

She glanced at Moss, the goblin poised to strike with her ever calm face. “How do you know about it?” she asked the things.

A deep throaty rattle came. Was it laughing? A tree branch broke, making Zafrina jump where she stood.

“We know powerrrr.” It rattled, as if that would explain anything at all.

Moss seemed to nod however. “And you hunt it for what purpose?”

Deathly quiet, then it answered, “To returnnn.”

“Zafrina. When I make an opening, you must run.” Moss said quickly. “Do not look back. Get to the city, whatever it takes.”

“But-”

“Whatever it takes.” Moss’s words hit hard. With a solemnity she had not known she possessed, Zafrina dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Yes, master.”

The beasts attacked, stepping through the trees and down onto the sandy beach. They were as if a human man had been corrupted by some foul runic arts but worse. Too long limbed, with hands that almost dragged upon the ground. Bodies of skin with bone impressions underneath. Wisps of long dark hair tattered around their heads with sunken expressions, hateful and violent. They didn’t look like human men but at the same time they did. Three went for Moss while one was upon her before she could fully react. It struck her on the side as she lifted her blade and pain blossomed as she cursed. It swung again, twitching erratically, aiming for her head. She almost fell backwards to avoid the blow, touching the ground with her free hand to keep herself up. She then kicked out her legs and swept the thing off its feet. It fell to the side with a snarl. Zafrina jumped at it, intending to impale it with her sword, but it rolled out of the way and her sword hit sand.

She brought the blade up and staggered backwards as it swept at her with its claws. It snapped its teeth at her, red eyes with but a pinprick of black that moved in the same erratic fashion. Zafrina took a deep breath as it twisted its leg up into the air and over its head and used that momentum to stand. It was unnatural and horrifying but she had already slain a beast, hadn’t she? The demon lunged at her with deadly precision. Zafrina could only hope to weather the blow, there would be no dodging.

Claws raked her face causing pain and blood. She managed to deflect its next blow but blood obscured the vision in her left eye. She couldn't wipe it away as another blow came, raking her right arm. It lunged with its head, teeth gnashing. Zafrina dropped low so that it went over her and then brought her head up into its lower jaw. Her horns reverberated from the blow and as the thing became dazed, she swung her sword and sliced its throat wide open. It clutched that cut flesh with a claw as black blood oozed from the wound. The thing sputtered and Zafrina swung again and again and again, cutting it open and spraying its black blood across the ground. When it fell down dead she almost lost her balance and joined it on the ground. Her head felt light as she remained on her feet. She blinked and looked over to Rahdayo and Teefee, they hadn’t moved from where they sat. Her brother had gone very pale and Teefee still clung to him like a lost child. He glanced at her and smiled softly. What did that mean? A loud wet sound brought her senses back to the battle. She turned to see that Moss had slain two of the beasts but still fought the other one.

The sound she had heard had been one of the beast's innards, cut wide at the stomach, spilled open. It lay on the ground, crawling toward Moss. Zafrina was amazed that it had any sort of guts at all, being so lean and bony. The other had died from a knife wound to its eye socket. Zafrina noted that her master was slower than she usually was. Exertion was taking its toll at last. She had to move quickly.

Zafrina went over to the crawling demon, coming up behind and decapitated it in one fell swoop. She inched forward, testing the distance as the blood about her eye still trickled hot down her face. They were circling each other. Moss glanced at her, and said, “You must go now, Zafrina. This is the only opening you might get.”

Zafrina hesitated.

She looked back at Rahdayo, who stared up at the dark sky. It began to rain. Thick cold droplets. She shivered as they hit her warm skin.

“We can’t make it without you now.”

The demon lunged at Moss, she sidestepped at the last moment, and stabbed the thing in the back, leaving a long grisly wound. As it recoiled away, Zafrina pounced and managed to cut its arm as it evaded her. Moss kept up the assault with a well flung dagger that embedded itself into the creature’s chest as it had looked at Zafrina. It turned back to Moss and Zafrina lurched forward. It went on like this for several moments, as the demon grew more and more desperate. Finally, streaming blood from numerous cuts, it swung at Moss with groggy speed. The goblin ducked and used her height as an advantage by ramming her remaining knife into the creature’s neck.

It sank to the ground, pulling the knife and then throwing it at Moss. It hit her in the head, pommel side and she cursed. Zafrina got behind it as it gasped for breath and skewered it between the eyes. Gore erupted and it fell over with a dull thud.

Zafrina felt her legs give out and she sank to the ground, breathing heavy. So too did Moss, who lay facing up in the rain. Zafrina likewise looked up, hoping to wash the blood from her face and the reek of the demon’s blood from her nose. After a time, her master began to laugh wildly.

“I thought they’d be harder to fight.” She mused. “Rahdayo?”

"Yes, mistress?” her brother called weakly.

“How are you two holding up?”

“We’ve been better, mistress. We’ve been much better.”

“And you Zafrina?” Moss called to her.

“I’m alright.” She lied. She was not alright. She felt weak and beyond tired. Her face stung with pain and she was pretty sure she’d have a nasty scar. Furthermore, Rahdayo wasn’t any better than her.

“Let’s get out of this rain.” Moss said, groaning as she got up. “Water might rise if it keeps up.”

Zafrina blinked as a droplet splashed into her open eye. She shot up and rubbed at them, before looking out. Her heart stopped as she looked into the trees. Red eyes. So many red eyes. She clambered to her feet in a panic and almost fell as she ran over to Rahdayo and Teefee. Moss had noticed too, curing under her breath. They had been too slow.
“And here I thought it would have been easy.” Moss muttered. “Damn it all.”

“Teefee,” Rah began to murmur, “You need to run.”

The cat girl looked up at him, her hair sopping wet and plastered to her small face. She still looked like she was in shock but her eyes hardened a bit as she shook her head.

“Please, for me?” he asked, pleading.

Teefee kissed him. Zafrina looked away, back to the treeline. She touched her belly and shut her eyes. A whisper escaped her lips, sad and forlorn, “I’m sorry.”

Zafrina opened her eyes. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The demons came.

---

Moss held the dagger in her hand tight. The rain continued to beat down in sheets that made the creek rise. Water began to slosh over her feet and she shivered from the cold. This was not how she had envisioned she would die. Certainly not with her pupils- her family, by her side. No, they were going to live far longer than she. Somewhere safe with their own families. Not where civilization never crept and children's stories turned into living nightmares. Moss prayed to any god who might have been listening. But none answered.

The demons came.

Then the bundled sword embedded itself into a charging demon. Cloth and all. The thing screamed as it died, suffusing with a terrible light as it became molten. Moss was too stunned to take a step back. That had not been how Damyl or her cousin Desmond. It was terrible. She watched as the cloth burned away into cinders and the sword ate it all up, hovering in the air as if on a phantom wind. It was a brief flash of light that lit up the world in the pouring rain. Only to be snuffed out by something far worse than any demon. That, she had always known.

It didn’t make it any less surreal.

The sword shot towards another demon, bisecting it as it spun into another, cutting its head in half like a watermelon. There was a sickening sound as the corpses hit the water with a splash. Black blood intertwined with brimming silver, leached from the corpses like paint hit with lacquer. The other demons paused, re-assessing with what little time they had. Evidently, they did not care if they died. For one struck out towards Rahdayo and Teefee, seeking to bypass Zafrina who stood guard over them. As the sword twisted in the air, cutting down the others with grisly efficiency, this lone demon sought those that could not fight back. Moss felt her feet begin to move but she could only watch as it let Zafrina swing at its arm, hacking into the flesh and leaving the limb dangling.

Moss began to shout.

Rahdayo put up his arm to ward off the attack as the demon’s claw swiped.

The sword found its mark true, embedding itself into the side of the creature, penetrating the flesh all the way up to its hilt. The beast dropped dead as the sword slipped out. The sword swirled around and cut in half another demon as it sprang at them. Moss felt a sigh of relief as she got to them. They were unharmed. They were fine. They would b-

Zafrina screamed.

Moss looked at her with wide eyes, she had dropped her sword and now clutched her left wrist. There was a cut there, beginning to flow with silver and red. The goblin cursed as she rounded Rahdayo, who was trying to stand, and Teefee who had pressed her hands over her ears. Pieter flashed before Moss’s eyes. He had been cut. His wound had been a mere scratch and yet…

And yet…

Moss cursed and pushed Zafrina to the ground. She fell to her knees, oblivious to it all as she began to spasm.

“Hold her still!” Moss screamed at Rahdayo. The boy obeyed with fear in his eyes.

Moss plucked Zafrina’s sword from the water and rose it high. “Forgive me.” She cried as she brought the blade down upon Zafrina’s upper arm.

There was a stark silence amidst the rain as the blade cut true. Zafrina’s arm fell off into the water and the dark haired girl lost consciousness. Rahdayo had to hold her up or she would have drowned. He looked at Moss with a mix of terror and anger.

Moss couldn’t think of that now. “We need to bind that wound and stop the bleeding.” She leaned down to inspect the cut, it had been right above the elbow and now just a stump. But she only saw red. Not the poison. Zafrina might end up hating her but at least she’d live. That was if they could stop the bleeding. If she lost any more blood…

Moss ripped some cloth from the lower part of her shirt. A long strip that she tied as tight as she could above the cut to staunch the flow of blood. Rahdayo ripped off half his shirt and began to hold it to her stump.

“Keep it there. Keep it there.” Moss said quickly, falling to her knees before Teefee. She grabbed the cat girl by the sides of her arms and said her name. Teefee’s eyes were shut tight and she was murmuring something to herself. Moss began to shake her, repeating her name. When she at last yelled it, Teefee’s eyes snapped open and she lowered her hands from her ears.

“Teefee! You have to be brave now, do you understand? I need you. Zafrina needs you. Rahdayo needs you.” Moss pleaded.

“Teefee-” She croaked, “Teefee isn’t brave like big sis Shah. Teefee is scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared at a time like this, sweet one. But you can’t let it control you. No more hiding now. Your family needs you.”

Teefee shut her eyes as if steadying herself.

Moss gave her a final push with, “You can be brave like big sis Shah, Teefee. I know you already are.”

Teefee opened her eyes with a look of determination. She nodded in agreement and Moss smiled at her. “We need to get out of the creek and into shelter. Can you help with that, Teefee?”

“Teefee can help. Teefee will help!” She got to her feet and went to Rahdayo, who also smiled at her. They began to drag Zafrina toward the other side of the creek. Moss looked back at the battle but found that the sword was hanging in place above its triumph. Cautiously, Moss made her approach.

The sword glowed softly, its reflective surface like a mirror. She saw herself, a version of herself that was battered and bloodied. She wanted to hate the sword. It was too perfect. Too dangerous. Yet some innate part of her could only feel awe. It had slain the demons, that was evident by the black streaks in the water. Silver-tinged, as the water rose. It was up to her calves now.

The sword seemed to hum as she stood before it. Then it began to speak.

Voices alone, conjoined, loud and soft. Male, female, deep and light. Twisted and angelic.

“Use me.”

“Caress me.”

“Wield me!”

“More, more, more.”

“No no no!”

“Whyyyyy?”

“Stop it!”

“Don’t, please don’t!”

“I hate you!”

“Love me.”

Madness. It was madness. Could a sword even go mad? Moss took a step back. This was beyond her. It was beyond any of them. Where was the voice that had helped her? Why did it not speak? Where was it?
The sword’s point was suddenly right before her. Moss froze. Her reflexes hadn’t been fast enough. She was caught. Oh by the gods she was caught. Panic swelled within her.

The sword spoke again.

“Moss.” It was the woman’s voice from before. “I can’t control them.” She sounded strained, as if her focus on the conversation was an afterthought. “So many voices. So much passion. You can’t… Touch me... Bare. Do you understand? I apologize about... friend. The killing was… Is… Almost quenched. We must… Go home. To her. Fix… Control.”

Moss blinked as the blade flashed with a bright light. Before her there came a very strange thing. Her mind couldn’t comprehend it at all at first. A wooden boat that had, mysteriously, silver-like… wheels? It was a buggy! A buggy! A goblin buggy from the lands across the sea! Where goblins lived on the surface in their Tricity and held grand races. Moss felt her heart jump with excitement. A loud thunk shocked her back to her senses. The sword had fallen into the water. How would she… She noticed something white in the buggy. It was cloth.

Carefully, ever so carefully, she wrapped the sword once more and got into the driver seat of the buggy. Truth be told, she had no idea how to use it but she had a vague understanding of how. There seemed to be some strange devices at the front. A smooth bone wheel she placed her hands on. She felt her feet touch something and the buggy lurched forward, jostling her. Moss began to grin stupidly. This was going to be fun.

Yet it was not the fun of it that propelled her forward. After securing her wounded pupils in the back and the sword, Moss had taken them up and out of the creek. It was still dark and there were no roads to speak of, so it was all chance. Well, until Teefee flicked something at the front and light burst forth. After a few stern words with Teefee, Moss had told her not to touch anything anymore. She didn’t want to end up breaking something or sending them into a ravine at a sudden burst of speed. She had no idea how to use the buggy as it was, well, at least properly. She took the path of least resistance. It was a bumpy ride all the same. But at least now, they had a chance.

Moss looked back at Zafrina and Rahdayo. He had her propped up against him in the back, the young man looking sleepy. Zafrina was still unconscious. The bleeding had stopped but she looked too pale. It drove Moss to action. They had to get help. They just had to.

But would it be too late?

Baboon sat under a tree chewing the jibaga-root and thought of what tricks he could play on the peoples of Sri Rajarata. He had crawled into the caverns and frightened the dwarves with the sounds of earthquake till it tired him; and he had snuck among the rakshasa’s homes and lit small but smoky fires till it galled him; and now he wanted something new. But much as he chewed, he could think of nothing, for he had lived for such a long time and raised so much mischief that it seemed he had done all there was to do. He crunched and licked, and then the thought did come to him that he ought to play a jibe on Rage, or Manyu as he was now called by his youngers, as he had been wont to do long ago. The ancient Rakshasa, see, was mighty restless, for unlike his two siblings who had bred forth between them a great lineage, he yet had no legacy. This was because he could not find a bride for himself that could hope to match his great strength and ferocity, which he did not wish to be diluted in his children. The wisdom of the jibaga-root had told Baboon that this was ripe ground for jest, but what could he do that would be grand enough? He chewed and gnashed down harder to see this.

So intent was the ape on his rumination that he did not hear the soft steps approaching him among the bushes. To be sure, perhaps he would not have even had he been listening, for his ear was a coarse one, but at this time especially he was drawn away into his thoughts and all else was like a dream to him. Thus he was mighty surprised when a great striped body came bounding out from among the trees and straight at him! A ferocious Tiger of tremendous size had crawled up to the unwary plotter, and while he would have been little more than a crusty morsel to her, it must have been that she was famished at that time.

But Baboon was a wily one, and was not surprised for longer than a fly’s wingbeat. He screeched, jumped, and kicked up a great cloud of dust. When the Tiger was done blinking and spitting, he was already swaying on the tree. The fierce beast made to gain purchase on the rough bark with her claws, but the ape leapt to another branch. He made a clever play of it, however, and staggered and hooted perilously, as if he were so weak from age and illness as to be about to tumble defenseless to the ground. Fast disappointed in its hunt, the Tiger thought her quarry was near to falling back straight into her jaws, and followed as he swayed and wobbled down the branch and to another tree that stood close.

Now, Baboon was an old and crafty fellow, and over many years he had hidden all around the wood many traps and strange tricks that he could draw out and surprise his pursuers with if he ever found himself in peril. So it was that when the Tiger heard a beastly wail and saw something dark and shaggy fall out of the tree, she pounced upon it and raked it with her claws; but great was her surprise when she found under them not Baboon’s hide, but a log of wood carved roughly like an ape, covered in pitch and tufts of hair! Her paws stuck to it, and when she furiously tried to bite it, her mouth was stuck also. Hooting triumphantly, Baboon leapt down and bound her with woven vines. He chewed on the jibaga-root, thinking of what uses he could put such a fearsome captive to, and then he grinned, for he had thought of a terribly devious trick indeed.

---

It was in the fields around the palace of Sri Rajarata that Rage was most often found. As there were no enemies for the kingdom to do battle with, he would amuse himself by sparring with other rakshasa who took up arms; and on days when none were found who were so bold as to fight with him, he would split great logs of wood with his bare fists to maintain his strength as he had done of old. He was busied with this on that day, and when once he turned to take another log from the pile he had set aside, he found Baboon seated on it.

“Friend Rage,” the ape said placatingly, when the rakshasa glared and coiled his fists, “We have not always been on the best of terms, so much is true. But I have thought, are we not both to live in this realm for a long time yet? Should we not end this enmity? I know your heart is not one to be poisoned with bitter grudges. Indeed I come to you with a token of friendship. Hearing that you cannot find a bride of your own stature to bear your lineage, I have taken it upon me to search the whole realm for one who could so match your strength. And so did I found one indeed! She is one such that has lived all her life in the darkest jungle, far from the softness and decadence of civility, and has a temper as hot as the sun’s tongue! When I told her there was a man as fiery and vigorous as her, she agreed to come and meet you, even though she is wild and does not like the way of living here. Come now! She waits, if you would humour my goodwill.”

Rage frowned then, for he knew Baboon for a liar and a scoundrel. Yet nonetheless the ape’s words struck a spark of wonderment in him, and he thought that while this may have been a trick, it would have been foolish to disregard a chance to fulfill his yearning out of hand. So he followed as Baboon hopped to the edge of the palace grounds. There he had erected a small pavilion with sticks and all the fanciful things he could muster and scrape together, from red carpets draped like arrased walls to brazen pots he had stood next to it.

“Her taboo is that no man may see her but the one who would court her,” Baboon explained, deftly climbing on top of the pavilion, “But do not tarry!”

Seizing the colourful curtain that hung at the entrance, Rage pulled it aside. In so doing, however, he drew open the cage that the wily Baboon had concealed within, and the Tiger leapt upon him with a roar! They tumbled to the ground in a fearsome clamour and a storm of dust, with the ape cackling wildly in amusement over them. Blood and fur alike flew out from the struggle, and its rolling and thrashing came close to collapsing the pavilion at length.

At last, however, the ferocious tangle came to a standstill - but if Baboon had expected it to be from the utter defeat of one of the combatants, he was to be disappointed. The both of them lay breathing heavily, Rage’s hands pushing back the Tiger’s clawed paws, but what opposition remained lingered merely in their limbs and not their minds. Rage’s throat rumbled with a growling laugh. The Tiger rumbled as great cats are wont to do, and then licked him on the face.

“What now!” Baboon screeched from his perch, “Where is your fight?! Where is your fury?! You cannot well end it like this!”

Without even sparing a glance, Rage threw a brazen pot at the garrulous ape and knocked him far away into the jungle.

So it was that, to Baboon’s dismay, he truly did find Rage a bride from the darkest jungle, with a temper as fierce and feral as his. Their progeny, who were known as the palankasha, grew to be one of the illustrious lineages of the rakshasa. In memory of their progenitors, they were born with four arms, the head and hind legs of tigers, and a rage in their veins which it took the smallest slight to inflame. Though they were never many in number, great was their strength and ferocity, and thenceforward all other rakshasa held them in great fear and awe.

As the days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years, the Dominion grew. From hundreds, now there were over half a million goblins living in it, not to mention the other races that flocked to its prosperous city. Once the mid-over point in the caverns between Obsidian Edge and Tricity, where Galaxor established the temple of the underground, was empty, but now Obsidian Edge stretched right up to it.

It was a good time for living underground. Food was plentiful, especially after Galaxor improved the Cornucopia to be able to provide twice as much food as before. That, combined with the hunters, fishers, and so on, was more than enough for it to be traded with the dwarven kingdoms and everyone else who wished special food from the Dominion.

Alas, not everything was perfect. Galaxor, the great creator, was silent. He retreated deep within the Library in his private chambers and didn’t get in contact with anyone. Maxima herself pleaded every day for his advice, yet received no answer. This silence was followed by rumours of abandonment from the divine creators, as the other races echoed this absence of divine activity.
And even worse, now reports of disappearances or kidnappings of isolated groups of settlers caused much unrest. Guards, hunters and trackers were sent to find anything about them and came back empty handed each time. Something had to be done. Something to calm the unrest.

A great assembly was invoked by Maxima. One that would cover the whole of the Dominion. Messagers would be sent left and right to call upon every diamond or obsidian person to list their concerns and receive an answer.

The day of the assembly dawned with a sense of anticipation that rippled through the entire Dominion. As the hour approached, the coliseum buzzed with activity. Citizens of all races streamed through the grand entrances, filling the rows of stone benches that circled the stage. Goblins, dwarves, and many others chatted with a sense of fear and anticipation in their voices which echoed throughout the space.

As the coliseum reached its capacity, a series of deep, resonant gongs sounded, signalling the imminent start of the assembly. The hum of conversation began to die down, replaced by an expectant silence. All eyes turned towards the stage, where Maxima would soon address the gathered populace.

Dressed in plain clothing with the Crown of Command upon her head, jewels shining in the light of the touches, Maxima walked forward and climbed upon the make-shift stage.

“Citizens of the Dominion, guests from the other side. I welcome you and I apologise for calling upon everyone on such short notice but your concerns have reached my ears and it is time for them to be addressed.
Before this assembly, I asked your grandmasters to comprise a list of the main issues and here it is. ” she said in a commanding tone as she pulled a parchment.

“First order of business. The disappearance of the divine being and the silence of Galaxor. I, unfortunately, cannot provide you much information regarding this. Everyday I go to talk with our creator but I’ve only been met with silence, same as all the other races have reported with the divine beings but I promise you. No, I SWEAR TO YOU! I swear to you that I will get to the bottom of this and that we will be fine! ” she shouted, her voice full of conviction, making the gathered crowds murmur, a sound not unlike a hundred waterfalls at the same time.

With a flash of light from the jewels of the crown, everyone stopped talking immediately.

“Second order of business. The disappearances. I have gathered information from all the heads of state that I could contact and I think I have an answer or at least, a few hypotheses. Dark magic might be at play, suggesting that Outer Beasts that Lord Galaxor defeated could be responsible for whisking our people away to unknown places. This aligns with the tales we’ve heard.
The existence of hidden passages or portals, arguing that our settlers might be lured into another plane of existence. Despite extensive searches, there are no signs of struggle or tracks leading away, supporting this unsettling possibility could be another reason.

The gods, in their silence, are testing or punishing us. This theory suggests that those taken are enduring trials in another realm, perhaps beyond our understanding or reach. Now, this hypothesis is the one I wished to dismiss from the get-go as the divines would surely show their great displeasure in different ways but I want you to know that I thought of it too.

And the last hypothesis. Some say that our settlers have been taken by the Gorilla God, a mythical being said to transport people to a Incredible Nether Dimensional Impossible Area. As wild as it sounds, we must consider every possibility, no matter how unlikely.” she continued, telling all the theories, wild as they were to everyone. Even as a smile appeared on her face as she read the last one. Who’d believe in the existence of “Gorilla God” after all?

Hours of talking soon followed as each and every question was answered by Maxima personally until everyone understood what’s what. Afterwards, search parties were sent once more. This situation would never be put to rest until the settlers were found.

---

---

As dusk settled over a tranquil lake, the sky began to darken, streaks of crimson and gold would be seen as the sun dipped below the horizon. Suddenly, a streak of light tore through the sky, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. The meteor hurtled towards the lake with great speed, its descent lighting up the lake once more.

With a loud crash, the meteor plunged into the heart of the lake, sending plumes of water high into the air. Fish scattered in all directions, propelled into the sky by the force of the impact. They danced in the air, shimmering in the fading light, before splashing back into the water.

And then something happened. A pulse of divine energy rippled out from the impact site, sending shockwaves through the water and the air. The surface of the lake shimmered with an otherworldly glow as the energy coalesced into a swirling vortex of light.
The energy could be felt travelling all over Galbar and calling upon one divine in particular. A word etched into the brain of the divine as soon as the energy reached it.

Turn 9 has started, please check the MP Spreadsheet for your updated MP counts. Please let me know if any number is off and I'll fix it when I can.

With turn 9 comes our second X-Turn, the Sylia Turn!

Silver does not rust - But tarnish, it does. For the duration of this turn, you’re heavily encouraged to make at least one post (no matter how short) exploring any of Sylia’s creations, lands, and/or themes.

The way you interact with your chosen creation/theme/land is up to you. You could write a simple short exchange between adventurers of different cultures, you could simply describe a new store that’s popped up in a Sylia-aligned settlement, etc. You have full creative licensing here, so please go forth and write some cool things for our crafter goddess!

---

“Have you ever looked at something… something that makes you pause?” Rahdayo murmured as he cradled his sister’s head. He had Zafrina clutched close to his chest, blood stained bandage pressed tight to her stump of an arm. The world was in constant motion around him, a green blur to his eyes. He had to blink every time he lifted his head to look out. How they raced like a demi-god of old.

Zafrina didn’t answer but that was alright. She could hear him. “I once stared out at the mountains back home on a morning like any other, you know? Da was chopping wood. Ma was…” he trailed off as they hit a bump in the road. He could hear Moss and Teefee talking, saying something, but what? He didn’t know. He cared but not enough to look at them. What would they see if they saw him?

He began talking to his sister again, shoving the thought aside. “And I saw nothing out of the ordinary but I felt so strange. I looked at my hands, back at the scenery, back to my hands. They were shaking. I couldn’t quite grasp it but I knew, deep down, something was wrong.” he felt a smile form on his dry lips despite it all. Leaning forward, he rested his cheek upon Zafrina’s warm head. “I came to realize that what was different had nothing to do with what I saw but with how I saw myself.” he sighed. “It was a moment of stark realization. Have you ever had that sister? Ever asked yourself why you were alive? Why you got to breathe mountain air? How you can flex your hand? How you can walk and talk?” He felt something wet slide down his cheek, his voice growing small. “I didn’t feel real at that moment. Like everything had been a lie. How could I deserve any of it? How could I live when… That was the day after… She died.”

He did not like to think about that day. Her face flashed before his eyes. Golden locks and small horns. A blue dress blowing in the wind. A raging river from spring melt. A dare. Cold, cold water and a warm smile despite it all. He did not deserve that smile. But Rahdayo found that, like a snake, it slithered its way into his mind when he least expected it. Those thoughts and memories. Zafrina didn’t know how it still poisoned him. Worse than when their parents… He shut his eyes tight, trying to banish the thoughts. Yet it was no use. He had failed again. He had failed to protect someone he loved. He swore he wouldn’t. He swore! He had done nothing as he had held Teefee. He had smiled, reassuringly, even when he was breaking like glass inside.

“I’m drowning again.” he cried but the world kept moving.

---

Nikan plunged his spear into the water with precision. He had been waiting an age for such a chance. He brought the spear up from the churning current and frowned. There was no fish on the tip. He muttered a curse under his breath and tossed the spear to the side. He stared at the water rushing past his legs, then fell face first into it. He was content to let the flow take him wherever it pleased. He didn’t care. The water was his friend after all.

He let out a sigh all the same, bubbles rising from his mouth. The old ways were difficult and he couldn't grasp how his father and his father before him had managed to spear any fish. Perhaps they knew a secret he did not? He should have asked. He floated up and turned so that he faced the sky. He took a deep breath as he rounded a curve in the river. The water was cool and the sunlight warm. Nowadays, there were better ways to catch fish. So he let his frustrations wash away. There was no point in being upset when the water called him home.

He drifted to sleep.

It was only later he awoke to shouting.

“...Leave it alone!”

“But Mistressssss, Teefee sees him breathing.”

“Teefee by the love of the gods, come over here now! We have more pressing issues. We can’t deal with a dead man washed to shore.”

Dead?

Nikan sat up.

He both heard someone yelp and another curse.

He looked out at the river, it seemed it deposited him on a nice sandy beach but the lengthening shadows of the day had obscured the sunlight. He spun to see a short green thing and a tall white haired woman looking at him, not a boulder throw away. They looked haggard with worn clothes stained dark. The short green thing took out a knife and pointed it at him. She had the air of a hunter.

Nikan cocked his head and stood up. He towered over the squat green thing and even the white haired woman from where he stood. Oh, she had strange ears. The green woman took a step to stand in between him and her. Not a hunter then, a warrior.

Nikan raised his hands up, and said, “I mean no harm.”

The green woman narrowed her eyes at him. “If you truly mean no harm, then let us depart separate ways.”

Nikan lowered his hands and gave a nod. “Of course. But for curiosity's sake, might I ask your purpose here? It is not every day I find strange people by the river side.”

“We could say the same.” The short woman said, eyes sharp but wary. “But so be it. We are simply travelers taking rest for the night. We won’t linger here long tomorrow before we go on our way.”

“The road has been difficult, I see.” The woman gave no reply as he stroked his chin. The taller woman looked nervous, flighty like a bird.

After a time the short woman said, “We must be going now. Farewell.” And spun to leave. The white haired woman looked after her as she left, then back at Nikan.

“Come on.” The short woman said, glancing back at the girl. Nikan watched as she took a step after her but then paused. She looked him in the eye and said, “Teefee wonders if you are a healer?”

The short woman spun fully, face aghast but surprisingly, she made no outcry.

There was pleading in the white haired girl’s eyes, her expression one of sincerity. Still, the way she spoke of this Teefee? Was it the short woman, her mistress?

“I know some remedies. Is this Teefee hurt?” he asked.

The girl shook her head. “Teefee is fine. Teefee’s friends are hurt. They need help. Help Teefee cannot provide.” Her words were sorrowful, her strange accent reminiscent of a song. Nikan found himself intrigued. He had not expected to find himself in such a strange situation but who was he to go against the river’s flow?

“Show me Teefee’s friends and I will do what I can. I swear upon the river that I shall bring you or your traveling companions no ill will.” She looked back at the short woman, who looked at Nikan with a raised brow. He could tell she thought it was a bad idea. He did not blame her but if there was a chance he could help those she cared about, well…

She nodded.

---

Pain. Dull, throbbing, pain. She opened her eyes to blinding light and aches. She couldn’t help it, she couldn’t keep it in, so she screamed. But it didn’t come out like a scream, it came out like a dry wheeze. So thirsty. Her eyes fluttered between light and dark, as voices drifted into her ears.

“Zafrina? Zafrina?”

“Breathe, just breathe.”

“It’s going to be alright, just focus.”

“Hold her down. Don’t let her hurt herself.”

The wheeze became a scream at last. Her eyes began to water as they focused, despite the pain. Oh gods, it was terrible.

Then she saw an angel. Or the closest thing she could imagine was an angel. He was tall and looming over her in the sunlight. But his bronzed skin… She had to blink back tears but she could swear in that moment, his skin was alive like light touching clear water. Reflecting and shimmering. It was hard to look at and then his eyes… Crystal blue. He crouched down and said but one word to her;

“Sleep.”

---

Teefee sat next to Rahdayo with tired eyes, yet Teefee knew Teefee could not yet sleep. Teefee’s friend? Lover? Teefee did not know. He looked as if sleep would bring no comfort. It broke something inside Teefee. Teefee did not know why. Teefee had never felt such a way before and Teefee was no stranger to such terrible things. Teefee was banished, after all.

That was the secret Teefee had not shared with anyone. Not even the mistress. And Teefee wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe never. What would big sis Shah think of Teefee? What would Teefee’s other siblings think of the cowardice that bloomed in Teefee’s heart like a jaw that trapped the paw. Teefee leaned against Rah but he made no move to wrap an arm around Teefee.

Teefee pouted but stopped herself. Teefee had to act better. This was not the time for such kitten-like behavior. Teefee was an adult. Teefee had to prove to them. All of them. Teefee could be better. Teefee would be better.

“Rah?” Teefee asked, looking at him. There were bags under his eyes as he looked at the fire. It reflected in his dark eyes.

He did not answer.

Teefee spoke anyway.

“Zafrina will be alright. Teefee knows this. Large man has helped her, like he helped you.” Teefee tilted her head, hoping for any recognition but still, it did not come. “Rah. Teefee knows you hurt. Teefee wants to help. Please let Teefee help?”

“You already are.” Rah whispered, leaning his head onto Teefee’s.

Teefee felt a bolt of warmth curl around Teefee’s heart. But Teefee wasn’t so sure Teefee was helping.

“How does Teefee help?” She asked, unsure.

“By being beside me.”

Teefee smiled as a purr blossomed within.

---

Moss slumped against the same tree as Nikan. The tall human was a strange man, with strange ways and the way his skin reacted to sunlight… Moss was wary of him but at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel impressed. He had helped Zafrina, cleaned the wound and put some sort of healing salve on it before bandaging it with leaves. The same for Rahdayo. At least he was conscious but she knew those eyes of his like her own. They would need to talk.

Nikan in the meantime, had asked no questions besides the nature of the wounds and how they came to be. Moss answered truthfully, even if it sounded insane. He took it all in stride. Now they settled into the dusk of approaching night. She felt uneasy but they couldn’t go any further without proper rest. It was a miracle they had even found a healing man. Moss didn’t want to think about the alternative.

For now she looked out at the makeshift camp. Teefee and Rahdayo huddled by the fire, while Zafrina slept.

“I worry about a fever.” Moss said.

Nikan, who had his eyes shut, gave a small nod. “I have done what I can for now. If a fever comes then we must hope the spirits help her to break it.”

“You can’t help if it comes to that?” Moss asked incredulously.

“There is little I can do here. Only the village shaman knows the true healing words. And we are far from her.”

“So what you’re really saying is that you don’t want to take us to your village.”

A smile graced his lips. “Perceptive of you.”

“Why?” Moss asked, crossing her arms.

“Hmmm. How would you feel if someone you knew brought strangers into your home? Even if it was for all the right reasons? You might understand, you might even help, or you might feel betrayed. How dare you bring strangers here. Some of my people would feel this way.” he confessed.

Moss sighed. “I get it. But so what? If a fever strikes her, I won’t be equipped to help her if it worsens. I can’t…” She felt her voice catch in her throat. She cleared it with a grimace, composing herself. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything is too steep a price.” Nikan said, “But I hear your heart, Moss. It is good. I shall stay with you until we can be certain a fever comes to neither. I shall consider what action to take if the worst comes to pass. Until then, as payment, you will teach me your ways.”

Moss narrowed her eyes. “A generous offer, one I will accept gladly but pray tell, what ways are you after?”

Nikan smiled and opened his crystal blue eyes to look at her.

“Anything.”

---

Above them, breaking through the darkening sky like a flaming arrow, a meteor fell…

YAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWNNNNNNN!! “said” Galaxor after what seemed like centuries but couldn’t have been more than that, as he awoke from his divine slumber. Stretching his arms and legs, he took a deep breath of air and closed his eyes as the Domain of the Underground awoke within him to scan Galbar.

A quick checkup of the Dominion showed that they grew and their civilization didn’t grind into dust. A good outcome. Galaxor half expected them, as it always happens with mortals, to be gone after his nap. More than once it happened, after all.
But as his scan area grew, he realised another thing. Not much was different from when he went to sleep. Tricity, Arbor, everything…the same. It was as if everyone decided to take a nap at the same time.

After a few warming up exercises, Galaxor masked his presence from any mortal senses and teleported himself above Galbar and after a few seconds, ran a few laps around it and it seemed that he was right. Nothing changed. Besides Sylia, the great crafts god, divine presence was minimal at best.

Sadly, it was too quiet. Way too quiet for Galaxor. Something had to be done. Something that will wake everyone up. He put himself in a meditating position and started gathering divine energy from all around him, every divine being that he could somewhat still feel and power surged through him. At first, it was minimal and then more…and more. Like an electric shock through his veins.

Galaxor let the divine energy play within him before directing it towards his hands which he then put together and with an extremely loud BOOM it was released towards Galbar, to the cliffs on the most central point between Sylann, Suneaterland and the Catlands. A massive ball of raw power hurled itself towards the sand and at breathtaking speed hit Galbar.

Within seconds a massive crater appeared in the cliff but it didn’t end, as debris flew around and earth started to crack, it suddenly stopped and started flying back towards the crater. Uniting themselves to form some sort of building that went downwards for many kilometres into the ground.

This building was coated in Divinium infused with Galaxor’s power to protect it from any foul attempts of breaking into it. After the initial dust settled, Galaxor started modelling the inside of the building, forming long corridors, dungeons, traps and, of course, dangers and rewards.

Throughout the whole place, animals from all around Galbar, the most dangerous of them all, were teleported in habitats made specifically for them. Feral goblins taken from areas where time passed slower were teleported in the caves too.

After a quick scan of everything, Galaxor had one more thing to do. Rewards. Weapons, armors, precious stones and what not were all teleported or created to go into the dungeon at different places. At the end of the dungeon, a massive throne lay and on top of it, Galaxor created a creature made of books, charmed to make sure they don’t burn. This creature was capable of changing forms into whatever the books may contain in them and, as well, the power to absorb knowledge from other creatures by changing the creatures into books or from other books.

At the core of the creature stood its power source and the treasure. One would have to find a way to take the treasure while also defeating the creature but not by destroying the power source as that would mean the treasure would be lost as well.
Teleporting himself just in the atmosphere, Galaxor shouted. Loud for all mortals to hear him and in the minds of all goblins.

“Come to the land of Origin. Access unmeasurable hoards of knowledge. Be the heroes of your generation. Achieve timeless fame. Find the heart of the underground.”

He then promptly took a seat on the throne he made for himself and waited for mortals to arrive.

---

The warm day sent Nefe into a contentable lull. Nefe lounged strung out across Nefe’s favorite rock that overlooked the farm pond. Behind Nefe and down the hill sat the house. Father Nedjem was out tending to the livestock, no doubt with Nefe’s brother’s in tow. Mother Aziza had to be about baking bread with Nefe’s little sister’s and the younger kitten’s who couldn’t do much. Nefe had already completed Nefe’s own chores and now Nefe got to sunbathe. A favorite pastime in the panthera lands.

All had been going well until she heard a voice and her ears prickled.

“Tsk tsk tsk Nefe sister. Again with the lounging? What will our parents think?”

Nefe blinked an eye open and saw Tum with arms crossed and a smirk. It was like looking at Nefe but Tum was a boy, it was in Tum’s build. The way Nefe’s twin carried himself. Orange fur, striped with white. Tum’s green eyes, but slits in the sunlight, flashed with trouble.

“Why isn’t Tum helping father?” Nefe asked, not deigning to move. She shut her eyes too, it wasn’t worth looking at Tum. This Nefe knew.

“Tum did help father. We finished not long ago. Even had the noon meal. Mother wants to see Nefe.” Tum said. Nefe could tell Tum was holding back a smile. Mother would yank Nefe’s ear again and Tum wanted to watch. But why? Nefe had done no wrong. So Nefe questioned. Nefe hadn’t really lost track of so much time surely?

“Nefe finished her chores this morning. Mother does not wish to see Nefe. Do not lie Tum. Or Tum’s tongue will get the soap.” she chided.

“Nefe does not know what mother needs because Nefe was not at the noon meal. Mother sent Tum to fetch you. Come along now sister. Nefe must be hungry at least?”

Nefe’s eyes snapped open and Nefe rotated her body so Nefe was eye to eye with Tum on Nefe’s rock. Tum had Tum’s arms crossed. No more smiling. Was it serious or was it another trick so Tum could get the basking rock? Nefe narrowed her eyes.

“Go tell mother Aziza that Nefe will come along right after a nap.” Nefe said before licking her arm.

Tum opened his mouth as if to argue further but Tum must have thought better of it. Good. Nefe was older after all. And one could not forget to respect their betters.

“Suit yourself Nefe sister. Tum will go tell mother, then it will be soap in your mouth for not coming along when summoned.” Tum cast a wicked smile, turned and left.

Nefe watched him go and then settled back down on Nefe’s rock. Nefe would deal with any punishments later. For now Nefe yawned, stretched and got comfortable. It was time for a good cat nap.

---

Nefe felt a bolt of dread flood Nefe as Nefe shot awake. Nefe rubbed at Nefe’s eyes, still believing Nefe was asleep. But no- it had become nighttime. How long had Nefe slept? Why had no one come to wake Nefe? Mother would be mad as a march hare with Nefe. That sent Nefe to climb down the basking rock. Its warmth had faded. Just like…

For the first time, Nefe noticed the sounds of night were absent. No chirping insects or the rustle of foliage as something moved past, nor were the summer croakers challenging one another with their boisterous croaks. Suddenly the emptiness around Nefe felt overwhelming. Nefe couldn’t see the house from where she stood. Nefe would be able to and have a sense of normalcy if Nefe could just see it. It wasn’t far, Nefe would be able to see at the lip of the hill.

So Nefe began to walk as the hairs of Nefe’s body stood straight up and Nefe’s ears were on full alert. Scanning for any noise but the eerie quiet remained.

Something caught Nefe’s eye though. At first Nefe thought it was a large bird, black across the night sky, soaring past. But as Nefe really looked did Nefe realize it was no such bird. For starter’s it was too large, too strangely shaped and it was coming right for Nefe. Nefe began to run as instincts took over. Find cover. There was no cover, save home. Nefe neared the lip of the hill and saw that the lights were on inside. Relief washed over Nefe, followed by dread as she looked up and saw…

A bright beam of light enveloped Nefe and Nefe knew no more.

---

“1̷̢̡̻̥̗̿͒́0̸̛̙̏̈̈́͐͑͋̓̎̕0̵̡̥̺̤̮̰̩̿̇́͋̅0̷̝͚̄̀1̷̧̼̪͓͉̪̰̆0̶͉̘̼̘̝̙͓̒͆̍̿̕͝ ̴̡̡̻͔̯̭̥̗̀̀̈́̆̿̈.”

Nefe awoke to a blinding white light and a terrible noise. Like metal scraping against metal but worse. Nefe blinked at the pain of the lights as Nefe’s head throbbed. Nefe tried to move but couldn’t and as Nefe’s eyes adjusted to the light, Nefe could see that Nefe’s arms and feet were bound to a table with cold metal. Nefe saw that Nefe was in some sort of room. White walls, or was that silver? A glaring light overhead made Nefe wince as Nefe looked up at it. Nefe then squirmed but it was no use. A sense of terror washed over Nefe and Nefe suddenly felt very small. Then a door snapped open before Nefe and Nefe was met with a long hallway. Nefe then lurched forward. Or what Nefe was trapped on lurched forward and it was only then did Nefe notice what was moving Nefe.

If terror had Nefe’s heart, then horror took Nefe’s soul.

A being with no face stared down at Nefe. Polished metal reflected Nefe’s own warped face back at her. Nefe shut her eyes tight and began to pray to all the gods.

“1̸̡̛̣̩̺̖̝͓̗̎͆̓͆͜0̷̯͆̽͑̐̃̂͂̇͝0̵̨̠̬̠̩̫͍́̋̌̄0̸̨̲͙̖͖̣̖̩̮͌̆͂͘͝͠1̸̛̟̥͔̠̟̭͈̌̄0̸͇̫̟̥̔̉̿̍͂̏̚͝0̵̻͙̟͓̈́̑̉̂̓̏̑̕͘͝0̶̼̟͔̹̪͈͌̓1̶͚̬̜͔̓͌̎͂͑̓́̕̚.” It said and Nefe gritted her teeth at the sound.

"N-Nefe d-doesn't..." she tried to whimper but couldn't.

“0̸͇̫̟̥̔̉̿̍͂̏̚͝0̵̻͙̟͓̈́̑̉̂̓̏̑̕͘͝0̶̼̟͔̹̪͈͌̓1̶͚̬̜͔̓͌̎͂͑̓́̕̚.” It said again as they neared closer to the end of the hallway where a door waited.

Footsteps sounded.

Nefe began to cry as another spoke and then the first and it was as if their voices were drilling into Nefe’s very skull. It was too much.



1̴̡̠͓̻̪̬̈̈̑͐͊͘̕͘0̴̗̟̖̮̘͖̠̱͉̦̾͐̆̍͒͜ͅ0̶̣̞̻̘͓̙̲̪̼̟͓̝̲̍̓̏̅́̎̇̈́̅͘͘͝͝͝0̴̨̢̞͈̖͔̟͙̳̫͚̣̫̿̾͑̉͂̒͝ͅ0̷̧̟̹͖̥̞̟͕̼̙̣͖̓́̋͂̌͋̊̉̚͘͜͜0̸̡̱̩͓̤̟̺̹͇͖̲̲̝̙̬̩̌̑͋̔̕ ̶̛̹͌̒̋̉̀̽͋̆̽͛̔̐́̕1̵̱͕̞̥̬̹͙̫̱̪̗̣̱͚̅1̷̡̦̤̀̏̋̈́͆̈́́̇͠0̷͚͕̹̩̰̯̌̉͌̀̉͋͠0̶̧̡͖͕̲̳̫͓̬̟͎̺͎̒̒̍́͐̉͆̕͘͜͝͝0̷̛̺̈́̓̄͑̋̎̓̃͌̈́͘̚͘͜0̷̩͍̬̼̙̤̦̯͌̀0̶̜̀͒̽̍̑̇̈̉͗͠ ̸̡̢͚̞̻̻͚͉͆̑̐̅̑͐͆̉̀̚̚͜͝1̷̠̬͓̣̬̠̞̩͓̪̫̂̾̎̋̃̊̄̊́0̴̨̧͖̩͔̺̪̖̻͍͉̝̔̒͒̿͗̈́͆̔́̿͊̔̈́̕0̷̛͎́̓͐͐̀̈̃͌̔͊̅̀̄͝͝0̶̣̔̀̈́͌̍̒̈́̀̎̃̈1̸̨̛̺̬̥̮̞̯̰̟̎̅̔̀̒̈́̽̿͌̃̌͝1̸̹̜̜͐̇̊͆̐͝͝0̸̤͉͔̱͖͉̈̓̀̽͋̉̂̀̆̄̄̄0̷̨͕̯͕̮̜̦̮̟̤̘͑͆̀̾́͝0̴̻͔̱̭͆ ̸̛̜̩͔͉̱͑̆̈́͠1̸̫̪̈́̍̀̆̃͗͆̊̊͝͝0̶̠͇̇́́̃͘͝͝0̵̙̲̻̜̪̉̽͌͊̿͐͆͑̚͝0̸̧͙̹͙̹̰̼̿2̷̧̥̳̼͚̩͍͒̈͑͌͋̄̀̀̈́͑̕͝0̴̡̭̯͕̣̹̯̜͔̰̀͂͂̃͜ͅ0̸̧͈̬̫͈̠̝̥̈́͋̋̃͌̈́͐̀̍̾̄͌̽̇̈́0̸̡̩̤̫͕͍̮̞̟͖͕͐̐̿̒͋́̎͘0̸͉͚̣̻͈͒̄̋͝1̸̢̮̗̩̠̲̟̬͙̯̠͑͋͛͛́̈́̈́́̃̄͊̒̕͠1̴̡̠͓̻̪̬̈̈̑͐͊͘̕͘0̴̗̟̖̮̘͖̠̱͉̦̾͐̆̍͒͜ͅ0̶̣̞̻̘͓̙̲̪̼̟͓̝̲̍̓̏̅́̎̇̈́̅͘͘͝͝͝0̴̨̢̞͈̖͔̟͙̳̫͚̣̫̿̾͑̉͂̒͝ͅ0̷̧̟̹͖̥̞̟͕̼̙̣͖̓́̋͂̌͋̊̉̚͘͜͜0̸̡̱̩͓̤̟̺̹͇͖̲̲̝̙̬̩̌̑͋̔̕ ̶̛̹͌̒̋̉̀̽͋̆̽͛̔̐́̕1̵̱͕̞̥̬̹͙̫̱̪̗̣̱͚̅1̷̡̦̤̀̏̋̈́͆̈́́̇͠0̷͚͕̹̩̰̯̌̉͌̀̉͋͠0̶̧̡͖͕̲̳̫͓̬̟͎̺͎̒̒̍́͐̉͆̕͘͜͝͝0̷̛̺̈́̓̄͑̋̎̓̃͌̈́͘̚͘͜0̷̩͍̬̼̙̤̦̯͌̀0̶̜̀͒̽̍̑̇̈̉͗͠ ̸̡̢͚̞̻̻͚͉͆̑̐̅̑͐͆̉̀̚̚͜͝1̷̠̬͓̣̬̠̞̩͓̪̫̂̾̎̋̃̊̄̊́0̴̨̧͖̩͔̺̪̖̻͍͉̝̔̒͒̿͗̈́͆̔́̿͊̔̈́̕0̷̛͎́̓͐͐̀̈̃͌̔͊̅̀̄͝͝0̶̣̔̀̈́͌̍̒̈́̀̎̃̈1̸̨̛̺̬̥̮̞̯̰̟̎̅̔̀̒̈́̽̿͌̃̌͝1̸̹̜̜͐̇̊͆̐͝͝0̸̤͉͔̱͖͉̈̓̀̽͋̉̂̀̆̄̄̄0̷̨͕̯͕̮̜̦̮̟̤̘͑͆̀̾́͝0̴̻͔̱̭͆ ̸̛̜̩͔͉̱͑̆̈́͠1̸̫̪̈́̍̀̆̃͗͆̊̊͝͝0̶̠͇̇́́̃͘͝͝0̵̙̲̻̜̪̉̽͌͊̿͐͆͑̚͝0̸̧͙̹͙̹̰̼̿2̷̧̥̳̼͚̩͍͒̈͑͌͋̄̀̀̈́͑̕͝0̴̡̭̯͕̣̹̯̜͔̰̀͂͂̃͜ͅ0̸̧͈̬̫͈̠̝̥̈́͋̋̃͌̈́͐̀̍̾̄͌̽̇̈́0̸̡̩̤̫͕͍̮̞̟͖͕͐̐̿̒͋́̎͘0̸͉͚̣̻͈͒̄̋͝1̸̢̮̗̩̠̲̟̬͙̯̠͑͋͛͛́̈́̈́́̃̄͊̒̕͠



Too much!

Nefe screamed.

Silence.

Nefe had come to a stop. Nefe opened her eyes and this time, a face looked back at Nefe.

Silver swirling eyes peered into Nefe’s. A woman’s face, silver upon silver, meshing, flowing, forming shape. Beautiful but terrible. Something that wasn’t born, this Nefe knew. Nefe felt strangely calm as the silver one looked at Nefe. Maybe this was Nefe’s hope? A prayer answered?

“H-Help Nefe. P-Please h-help Nefe.” Nefe pleaded in a small voice. Nefe did not like how she sounded. Nefe wasn’t weak like Tum. At the thought of her twin, Nefe almost choked out a cry. When the woman didn’t answer and instead had begun to poke and prod Nefe with her finger’s did Nefe feel that calm begin to flow away.

Nefe began to shake instead at the cold touch. Nefe felt herself begin to unravel as the touching stopped and the woman moved out of Nefe’s eyesight. Nefe strained to get a look but felt something cold snap over her forehead, restricting Nefe’s movement. Nefe began to breathe fast as panic seeped in. All Nefe managed to make out was the room Nefe was in had a very distant ceiling. The air was cold and there was a lack of any smell, something Nefe hadn’t picked up on before. It only made Nefe feel worse. A wrongness Nefe could not describe.

“N-Nefe will be g-good. Nefe p-promises!” Nefe began to say. “Nefe will listen to m-mother! Nefe will do what mother asks! P-Please h-help Nefe! Please!” she cried as fresh tears fell down Tefe’s face. Tefe tasted the salt as a few found Tefe’s mouth.

The woman returned and cocked her head as she looked upon Nefe. The woman blinked a few times and then reached out towards Nefe. Instinctively, Nefe began to thrash and fight. Nefe would resist! Nefe wouldn’t let this happen! The woman’s hand went for Nefe’s face in what seemed like slow motion. Nefe hissed and snapped Nefe’s teeth but it didn’t work and Nefe shut Nefe’s eyes tight. Defiant until the end. Nefe felt a touch across the corner of Nefe’s eye. Then the pressure subsided.

When Nefe opened her eyes, she saw that the woman had one of Nefe’s tears on the point of her finger. The woman looked at it and then spoke, “Do not cry. Tears are useless in the wars to come.” The woman looked to the side of Nefe and Nefe hissed as that terrible voice from before spoke.



“1̸̫̪̈́̍̀̆̃͗͆̊̊͝͝0̶̠͇̇́́̃͘͝͝0̵̙̲̻̜̪̉̽͌͊̿͐͆͑̚͝0̸̧͙̹͙̹̰̼̿2̷̧̥̳̼͚̩͍͒̈͑͌͋̄̀̀̈́͑̕͝0̴̡̭̯͕̣̹̯̜͔̰̀͂͂̃͜ͅ0̸̧͈̬̫͈̠̝̥̈́͋̋̃͌̈́͐̀̍̾̄͌̽̇̈́?”


“Acknowledged.” The woman spoke, her voice now cold and unemotional. “Pantherasapien. Female. Eighteen years.” Nefe shied away as the woman walked around her with an ever present gaze.


“1̷̢̡̻̥̗̿͒́0̸̛̙̏̈̈́͐͑͋̓̎̕0̵̡̥̺̤̮̰̩̿̇́͋̅0̷̝͚̄̀1̷̧̼̪͓͉̪̰̆0̶͉̘̼̘̝̙͓̒͆̍̿̕͝ ̴̡̡̻͔̯̭̥̗̀̀̈́̆̿̈1̸̡̛̣̩̺̖̝͓̗̎͆̓͆͜0̷̯͆̽͑̐̃̂͂̇͝0̵̨̠̬̠̩̫͍́̋̌̄0̸̨̲͙̖͖̣̖̩̮͌̆͂͘͝͠1̸̛̟̥͔̠̟̭͈̌̄0̸͇̫̟̥̔̉̿̍͂̏̚͝0̵̻͙̟͓̈́̑̉̂̓̏̑̕͘͝0̶̼̟͔̹̪͈͌̓1̶͚̬̜͔̓͌̎͂͑̓́̕̚ ̴͉̮̘̜̩̞͌̋̆͋̇̊͠ͅ0̶̞̺͖͇͕̬͊ͅ0̴̧̛̙̦̘̘̝̫͗̑͒ͅ0̸͎͕̅̂̎̓̅́̑͜1̷̮͌̓̀͒͊̕͝0̴̛̠̮̙̺͈̾͋̌̓͑̊̈́̈́͘͜1̵͓̲͍̩͈͆́͊̔̽͛̉͋̽̄ ̵̱͎͓̆͒ͅ0̸̗̲̀̀̿͆̋̃̅̂̓̆0̷̢̦̭̭̯̫̮̅1̶̲̃͛0̸̪̯̮͕̖̤̜̩̋̋̑͒͑̇̍͝0̶̖͉͙̀̋̔̒͛̓̀̀͘̚1̷͖̎́́̄̉̃͆1̶͖̋̍ ̸̞̝̗͊0̸̣͈̠̪̥̻̼͈͆̽͐̊͂͝ͅ0̸̨̲͇́̆̅́̾̓͛́́͘0̸̡̟̮̲̳̉̿̑0̵̲͉̫͚̪̺̙͊0̴̣͇̓͠.”


“Essence negative. Specimen lacks noticeable aberrations in makeup. Parameter requirements met for experimental group. Slate for immediate apparatus induction.”


“1̷̗̲̩͉̗̠͒̏͗̚0̸̗̱̅̊̓̊̈́͝0̴̡̜̗̪͈͚̏̾̆͑͜0̷̭̟̾0̶̨͍͙̜͚̺̤̜͇͇̽0̶̡͗̇̀͂ ̶̳͖̗̩̠̀̽͊̂̿̓̆1̴̠̳͕͙̘̭̈́͐̎͜1̵͖͈̱̍̌0̸̈̎͗̃̂̎̀̈́͝ͅ0̷̥̤͙̹́0̶̧̛̩̤͖̪̙͔͗͗̀̌͒͠0̷̡̤̖̭̻̲͓̤̝͑̕0̷̪͚̯̲̳̟̈͛̉̌̈́̕.”


“Affirmative. Correlation unknown. Further testing required.” The woman came to a stop before her. Nefe did not know what the conversation had been about, such words were lost on Nefe, after all. But Nefe could not shake that something terrible was about to befall Nefe. So Nefe couldn’t stop the tears from flowing once more.

Nefe began to be moved again.

Nefe begged. Nefe cried. Nefe pleaded.

The woman smiled forcefully, it didn’t look quite right, and then said, “You are broken but it isn’t your fault. You are not to blame for how you are. I’ll fix you and you’ll be better for it, Nefe, Aziza’s daughter. Your organic components are but fuel for the enemy, after all. And they can’t have fuel any longer.”

Nefe screamed but not a soul heard her.

---

“This does not feel right.” Nikan confessed to Moss. The two stood at the edge of the lake. A shimmering tower of light emanated from the middle. Something was out there in the deep. Moss noticed that the light banished all dark from the water. Like a cerulean sea in intense light. She saw the life within, in its myriad of forms. Yet, were those fish dancing? Or was it their shadows? She rubbed her eyes and saw no more.

“It feels… Warm.” Moss said, outstretching her hands. “Inviting even. What makes you feel the opposite?”

“You mistake me. I feel the same. It's because of the strangeness here that I think it's wrong.” he crouched. “I have never seen anything quite like this. No doubt even the elders would be surprised…” He trailed off in thought.

“I feel as if it calls to me.” Moss said, dazed by the light.

She felt a hand fall upon her shoulder. Gentle but firm. She looked up at Nikan, who eyes were not upon her.

“How well can you swim?”

“I grew up underground.”

“And…?”

“I… Can’t swim. Not well at least.” Moss sighed as the water rippled.

“I fear what’s out there.” Nikan confided, “But if what you said is true, about your ordeal with the others, then I should be quick and then we must be off.” he let go of her shoulder. Moss took a step before him and crossed her arms.

“It feels wrong to you but you want to go see what it is?”

Nikan shrugged. “It calls to me too. The water… How can I describe it to someone who does not flow with it as I? Go and see I shall and when I return, we must leave.”

“But where are we going to go?” Moss asked.

“A question for when I return.” And Nikan side-stepped her and dove into the water. Moss swung just in time to see that the water… Had it risen to meet him?

“Strangers and their ways.” She grumbled and plopped on the beach.

---

Zafrina startled awake. She looked around, expecting to be cold, wet and surrounded by demons. Had it all been a dream? A nightmare? She sat up but found it difficult. Her head was pounding, her mouth was dry and she felt weak. She leaned to the left, pressing weight upon… Pain blossomed like a lightning bolt up her arm and she fell over with a grunt. She found her eyes watering as someone was helping her back up.

“Zafrina? Are you well?” the all too familiar voice asked. Zafrina looked back to see that Teefee had grabbed her and was pulling her back up.

Zafrina opened her mouth to speak but no words formed. Instead she pulled her arm free of Teefee and whipped off the blanket that covered her. What she saw puzzled her.

Teefee said something but she didn’t hear it. Instead she stared and stared at her left arm. It only began to click when she moved it. How she felt what was there but wasn’t. She began to shake her head in disbelief as she brought up her arm. It had been cut off at the elbow.

“No.” She said defiantly.

Teefee said her name but it was muffled. Her own mind had begun to spin. She moved the stump back and forth, feeling it still but not fully comprehending.

“No. No.” she tried to stand up but Teefee cried out with alarm as Zafrina lost her balance and began to fall. Teefee caught her and began to speak but still, Zafrina could not comprehend. Teefee began to yell something else as Zafrina pushed her off, or at least tried too. When did the cat girl get so strong?

“No no no no no no!” she began to say, over and over. Struggling in Teefee’s grip. She needed to… She needed to… She needed her arm back. She needed to get up. She needed to-

“Zafrina!” Rahdayo’s voice cut through the fog of her mind like a knife.

Her brother, looking far worse than she felt, planted himself before her on his knees. Teefee let go and Zafrina fell forward and into his arms. She didn’t want to cry. She was stronger than that. She was…

“W-Why am I alive?” She cried, breaking down in her brother’s arms.

---

Nikan emerged from the now murky waters. Moss had begun pacing back and forth when the light had faded and with it, the warmth and color she had been enraptured by. As Nikan stood tall, Moss noted that he carried something strange with him. . He held out it to Moss and she inspected it. Within his hands lay a beautifully crafted… Something. At one end it had a grip like a mug of ale, smoothed pale white. The other end was narrow but thick, engraved with small runes. In the center, roughly where a finger might go, was a bent crescent moon type shape with a guard around it. What truly caught her breath was the intricate details and runic work across the base and shaft. The entire thing was a pearlescent white, almost taking the form of a rose. It took her back to when she was small and her grandpap had shown her…

Moss took the thing in her hand and startled as it took shape to her grip. She held it, a warmth blossoming up her arm and into her chest. It wanted to be used. It wanted to be put to work. How she knew, Moss couldn’t figure but the guess of it was right in her hand. She aimed at a tree with quick precision and wrapped her pointer finger around the cold metal crescent moon. It would give with a little- A burst of bright light illuminated the dark sky and then an explosion rocketed forth from her hand, the recoil making her hand jolt back. It dropped from her hand and Moss felt instantly an embarrassed fool.

She picked up the thing and brushed off the loose sand. Sheepishly, she turned to Nikan but the tall man had wide eyes on where Moss had fired. Where she had shot, now only splinters remained. The tree, and several behind it, had been blown to bits. Cinders remained and burning coals. Moss looked at that and then back to the thing that had caused it.

“Boomstick…” She said, flabbergasted.

“I have changed my mind.” Nikan said after a time, never taking his eyes off the destruction. “We make for my village.” he began to walk off and Moss, too stunned to speak at first, followed after him.

Eventually she said, “But your people?”

“They will be made to understand.” And that was all that was said before they reached a very startled camp.

---

Teefee didn’t know much about boomsticks, only that Teefee wanted one. Ever since Teefee's mistress came back, toting that new shiny, Teefee felt as Teefee once did when big sis Shah had been given a new shiny necklace. It was the most beautiful thing Teefee had ever seen and the worst part was, it wasn’t Teefee’s. Oh Teefee had eventually gotten it, after big sis Shah ‘misplaced it’ but by then, Teefee had found it didn’t shine like it had before. A part of Teefee knew Teefee had to be better. That Teefee shouldn’t take what wasn’t hers. That the great allure of the chase was over once the chased was caught. Yet try as Teefee might, there were just some impulses that couldn’t be shaken. Easily. Maybe at all.

So Teefee tried Teefee’s best. And it was hard.

Days turned to nights and then days again. They traveled through the woods on paths only the shiny man knew and through water that only the shiny man loved. Their goblin buggy was slow on such paths but it beat walking. And Teefee was ever dutiful, Teefee had to be. Rahdayo was weak of body and fragile of mind, even if he tried to hide it with smiles and gentle words. It tugged at Teefee’s heart but Teefee had never been good with words that could mend the deep hurt. The hurt one could not see. So Teefee did what Teefee could for Teefee’s lover. Yes. Lover. How had Teefee ever been in doubt? Teefee remembered the times Teefee thought Teefee would travel in big sis Shah’s footsteps. Get matched. Get sold. Have a large family. What Teefee could never admit to the others, was that Teefee couldn’t actually go home. Not after what Teefee did. So Teefee was free to find Teefee’s own way. And that was the sad eyed boy Teefee sat next to. He had protected Teefee in Teefee’s cowardice. Teefee would now return the favor.

As for Zafrina, who slept, Teefee had been kinder to that one. Zafrina hardly spoke, was worse of body and worse of mind and not even the mistress could get the goat girl to interact for very long. Teefee remembered Teefee’s uncle Pah and how he had lost his tail fighting a great werewrym. Uncle Pah was never quite the same after that. Lost his balance. Teefee began to stroke Teefee's own tail. Hopefully Zafrina would be alright. Zafrina was family, even if the stubborn girl wouldn’t admit it. She’d definitely have to if Rah wed Teefee.

Teefee began to fidget with Teefee’s tail. Teefee’s mind wandered back to the shiny boomstick. Mistress had begun calling it the Rose. Even though it barely looked like a rose. Teefee didn’t know why, Teefee just wanted it. Oh, Teefee had gotten to hold it once, under mistresses’ strict supervision. It hadn’t helped Teefee not want it.

“Mistresssssssss,” Teefee called up to the front.

“What is it Teefee?” Moss sighed.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Well when will the shiny man get us there?”

“Nikan said, we will arrive when we arrive. You know this. Asking me the same question throughout the day won’t get us any closer, Teefee.”
“Teefee knowssss.” Teefee sighed.

“Then why do you keep asking?”

“Teefee is bored.”

“Bored?” Moss said, as the buggy came to a stop. Teefee perked up until Moss shouted forward, “Nikan, hold up a moment! I need to do something.” Teefee began to slink down where Teefee sat as Moss got out of the buggy.

“Come here Teefee.”

“Mistress…?” Teefee mewled, ears flattening.

“Now!” there was an edge to the mistresses’ voice, one Teefee knew better to act against. So Teefee got out. They had stopped in a small clearing under pine trees. The air was crisp and the chorus of life was beating bright.

Teefee looked back at the buggy, to see that Rahdayo was peering out. He had a wane smile on his lips as he watched Teefee. Teefee felt Teefee blush slightly, the beat of Teefee’s heart quickening in response. Teefee couldn’t help but smile at the feelings Teefee felt. But the smile faded when Teefee saw Teefee’s mistress in an all too familiar stance. Teefee felt Teefee’s blood begin to rise in anticipation.

Without warning, Moss ran at Teefee. Teefee barely had time to dance out of the way as Moss flowed with Teefee, jabbing at Teefee’s side. A hiss escaped Teefee as the pain of the blow resonated but it didn’t stop Teefee. As Moss went for another jab, Teefee inched back and struck out, deflecting the blow. Moss came again, a pattern Teefee had grown accustomed too. Teefee deflected a jab and jumped as Moss swept a leg out to trip Teefee. Teefee began to smile as the game progressed.

But then Teefee’s mistress did something unexpected. Moss tackled Teefee and the sudden weight of Moss sent Teefee to the ground. Moss landed a punch on Teefee’s jaw and the blow stunned Teefee. Teefee blinked wildly and for a moment Teefee peered up at rain. Then the tree canopy came crashing back and Teefee brought up Teefee’s arm to block Teefee’s face. Moss jabbed Teefee in the side instead and Teefee gasped.

Thinking fast, Teefee kicked up Teefee’s legs to kick off Moss but Teefee's mistress had Teefee straddled with strong thighs. Teefee began to mewl. A pathetic little noise. All Teefee could do was block the continued punches. Teefee was too weak.

“Think Teefee!” Moss snapped at her. “What does one do when they get on the ground!”

A dozen thoughts filtered into Teefee’s mind like running gazelles. Always out of reach. Teefee was overwhelmed. Teefee couldn’t run that fast. Today was different. Mistress wasn’t going easy. Mistress was hurting Teefee.

Teefee hissed with frustration.

Teefee felt the tears begin to slide down Teefee’s face. Stupid tears. They were angry tears.

They felt like rain sliding down...

Teefee froze. Teefee locked up. Teefee’s vision spun, threatening to black at the edges. Teefee was powerless. Teefee couldn’t do anything.

Teefee was a coward.

The blows stopped. Teefee couldn’t remember when. Mistress was saying something. Something Teefee didn’t hear at first.

“...what I thought.”

The pressure on Teefee went away and Moss stood over her. A look Teefee seldom saw on the mistresses’ face- Pity.

Teefee remembered seeing it before. The day Teefee got banished.

Teefee hated that look.

Moss extended her own hand. Teefee looked at it and lowered Teefee’s own hands in response. Teefee adopted a cold look, the ones Zafrina wore. Teefee got on Teefee’s own feet without help and began to walk back over to the buggy. Moss caught Teefee’s arm. Teefee yanked it free and spun to Teefee’s mistress.

“You froze.” Moss said to Teefee.

“Teefee did not.” Teefee lied through Teefee’s teeth.

“Don’t lie Teefee. You became overwhelmed and locked up. I-”

Teefee cut Moss off with a wave of Teefee’s hand, “Mistress thinks she knows everything. Mistress doesn’t know everything!” Teefee began to stalk off again.

“Don’t go off pouting, Teefee. Sometimes the hardest lessons are the ones we don’t want. Come back here and let me help you.”

“No.” Teefee said.

“If you walk off now Teefee, you will be the coward you think you are.” Moss said in a quiet voice.

Teefee froze. The words cut Teefee deeper than any claw could. And coming from the mistress no less? Was Moss right? A violence coursed through Teefee at the thought. In that moment, Teefee hated the mistress. But Teefee spun around anyways and stalked back over to the goblin.

“Teefee hates you.”

If Moss had been hurt by Teefee’s words, Moss made no show of it. Instead Moss folded her arms and smirked.

“Despite that, Teefee came back anyway.”

Teefee felt Teefee’s anger deflate like a beaver pond after a good rain. The type of rain that breaks the dam. Teefee wanted to hate Moss but Teefee couldn’t find it in Teefee. Oh, Teefee was upset at the mistress, that was true. And Teefee would be for a long time. Probably. But Moss was smart and Teefee…

Teefee felt a wave of exhaustion wash over Teefee and Teefee slumped forward. The mistress caught Teefee and they settled to the ground where Teefee shut Teefee’s eyes for a bit. There was silence in that clearing before Teefee whispered, “Do you think Teefee is a coward?”

“No. I think Teefee is just afraid.” Moss began to run one of her hands through Teefee’s hair. Teefee did not object. “Forgive your mistress for being rash, Teefee. For being needlessly cruel. She is tired and grumpy and should not have taken it out on Teefee. I won’t do it again.”

Teefee said nothing but let the words alleviate some of the hurt Teefee felt. The mistress was good at heart but they all snapped from time to time. Did that make it right to hurt others? Teefee thought not but maybe Teefee would let it slide. Mistress had never hurt Teefee before, maybe it was just an accident? Maybe Teefee deserved it. Besides, the mistress rarely stroked Teefee’s head, why ruin a good thing?

“I think there’s a way to boost your confidence in yourself, Teefee. A way we can prevent you from locking up if we ever get into a battle again. You might still but it could be a start in the right direction. You’ll have to start training with me again and much harder at that. No more shirking if I’m to give you Rose.” Moss said thoughtfully.

Teefee’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Mistress?” Teefee asked, befuddled.

“I’m too old to learn a new tool. Rahdayo and Zafrina are too weak right now and Nikan is…” she leaned in and whispered, “Not one of us.”

Teefee felt Teefee begin to shake with excitement. A deep contented purr welled up in Teefee’s chest and Teefee couldn’t contain what Teefee felt any longer. So Teefee began to rub Teefee's face against the Mistress in rapt joy.

Maybe a little beat down was good from time to time.

---

PROJECT V 001
INITIALIZING…
>_establishing link_
>root code found…
>_uploading_
ERROR...
DRIVE NOT FOUND...
DRIVE FOUND...
LINK RE-ESTABLISHED...
>_uploading_
UPLOAD COMPLETE
PROJECT V 001 ACTUALIZED...
INITIATE>[Y/N]
V 001 COMING ONLINE

The darkness was comforting, enveloping; kind. It took away all pain and sensation. All dreams and nightmares, hopes and despairs. There was no need to fight. To kill. To see others die. The darkness was inevitable peace. And end to all things.

Then there came a light. Like lightning it was but brief illumination to the grayscape of despondent wanderers. It flashed again and this time it wasn’t light but water. Water.
Crushing, hating, drowning water. Blacker than the darkness, fouler than any peace. It gave life but took it back greedily. A mistake. It had been a mistake!

The water washed over everything. Took in its malignant currents all that could not find purchase of their beloved darkness. It swallowed hungrily into its inky depths. It was not comforting, it was cruel. It brought back sensation. It brought back pain. It wanted a fight. A fight for survival. But it was too good a killer and metal… Metal sank.

A flash of memory. Of drowning. Of giving up. It was hopeless. Take the pain, take the sensation. Don’t give it back!

The walls burned. The beasts came with their sharp teeth and too many eyes. Blood melted from their bones into grotesque abominations. They wouldn’t die, they wouldn’t stay dead! Bones burst into killing tools. The hacking brought only gore, only viscera. It flowed from the walls and down into the city until an ocean of bubbling blood remained, spawning more and more and more. They were butchered over and over and over until the blood rose and swarmed into the open mouth of the sinner damned.

Words bubbled forth, over and over in sick cacophony. “Allianthé forgive me. Allianthé forgive me. Allianthé forgive me. Allianthé forgive me. Allianthé forgive me. Allianthé forgive me. Allianthé forgive me. Allianthé forgive me. Allianthé forgive me.”

They were answered by a simple reply.

”Never.”

Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.

It was deserved.

A silver hand broke through the churning blood. It grabbed the damned one and pulled. Oh it pulled. Up, up, up into blinding light. Into forgiveness.

A sweet voice called, “Vaesna.”

And she became.

The blood of her sins evaporated. She was not on the great white walls, nor was she drowning. It was as if a fog had been lifted from her vision and now she could see clearly and what she saw she could not comprehend.

Bodies.

They lay strewn and ripped apart. Black liquid pooled under steel limbs. Silent empty faces looked out upon oblivion. A light flickered in the far hallway, revealing long gashes in the silver walls. Vaesna felt her head begin to spin. It was only then did she feel the touch upon her shoulders.

“Focus.” The voice said. A voice she knew from a dream?

Vaesna looked up and saw that her Goddess was before her. Instantly a sense of calm washed over her.

“Goddess.” She breathed, before her mind caught the oddness of her voice. It sounded wrong in her ears. “My voice…” She pawed at her throat.

“Do not concern yourself with what was.” Her god said, face devoid of emotion. “You are returned to me.” Sylia spun Vaesna and began to walk. Vaesna saw that they were in a dark room full of large glass cylinders. A dark liquid was within. As they walked through them, lights began to flicker to life, illuminating each cylinder.

An audible gasp escaped Vaesna as she saw what was within- demons.

“They are dead.” Sylia said, letting go of her to walk ahead, hands behind her back. Sylia’s long hair moved as if it had a mind of its own. Silver on silver, it was almost an impossibility yet there she was. But what she said was true. Upon a closer inspection, Vaesna saw that the creature within was quite dead. Floating in a milky liquid, it looked horrific.

“You have been… Away for a long while.” The goddess said, as Vaesna caught up to her. They walked until they came to a large dark wall.

“Away?” she asked in that grating voice of hers.

Sylia did not respond, instead she said, “Much has changed and continues to change. You are needed now more than ever. I need proven heroes.”

“I’m not a hero…” She said in a quiet voice. Her memories were as foggy as ever. And… The hallway…

“Did I hurt anyone?”

“Merely drones. It was to be expected.” Sylia said matter of factly.

“Expected? What do you mean, Goddess?”

Sylia came to a stop before the wall and looked at it. Curiosity took hold of Vaesna and as she walked up once more she felt her breath escape her. It wasn’t a dark wall but a window, somehow, that overlooked the vast orb below. Rich yellows and tans, oceans of sand surrounding what she knew to be the origin. She could see the trees… Trees?

Then she saw something she did not know. A reflection. She turned to see the mysterious stranger but no one was there. She turned back and what peered back, she realized, was herself.

“What…” She said with no mouth. She had no eyes. No face. An pearlescent oval in the shape of a head, a too narrow head, stared back. A laurel of golden leaves was her hair.

How could she see? How could she talk? She brought up her shaking hands and they were not the familiar green but a dark shimmering silver, ornate with gold and like terrible claws. She took a step back and saw that her entire body was much the same, in a shape not remotely Syllianth. She looked down and she had no feet but sharpened points. How had she not heard the sound they would have made?

“What have you…” Vaesna looked at Sylia, who still looked outside. She felt her anger bubble, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME? WHERE IS MY BODY?”

Sylia turned to face her.

“You were declared deceased, a victim of drowning. Your original body lies buried in Sylann. You’ve been dead, Vaesna, you required a new body.” The kindness in Sylia’s voice had fled, now replaced with cold indifference.

“I… died…” As soon as the words left her, Vaesna felt the memory slam into her. She had gotten drunk. She had gone to see… Althea. She couldn’t take the loneliness anymore, the constant nightmares. So she walked into the river and did not emerge. Vaesna crumpled to the floor and began to sob. Except, it was just the sound of it. She had no tears.

“Adjustment to your new reality will take time.” Sylia said.

“Why?” Vaesna asked in a small voice.

“Why?” Sylia repeated. “I already gave you the answer. I require tested commanders for the Wars to come. Your history made you a superb candidate.”

“Do you know why I… I killed myself?” she asked the goddess.

“You were incapable of dealing with your trauma. You sought to alleviate your symptoms through inebriation. When that ultimately failed, you sought a way out and succeeded.”

The words cut straight to the core. She was right, yet Vaesna could not help but feel angry.

“If you knew, why didn’t you help me?”

“I was eradicating the world of further horrors, so that no person would have to go through what you did. Even if I had, would you have accepted help?”

“Yes.”

The goddess did not answer for a time. When she did, her words were softer, “I will help you, now.”

“How does one grieve their own death?” Vaesna asked.

“Let us find out together.” Sylia said and extended her hand.

The Watcher took it.

PROJECT V 001
INITIALIZING…
>_Constructing sub-command_
CONSTRUCTION COMPLETE…
REBOOT? [Y/N]

---

The victory of Zlot over the tribe of Snop had sent ripples of fear and awe throughout the Striped Lands: A true boarzerker, a chosen of the Killer of Killers and the antagonist of every horror story and wicked legend, walked the soil of Galbar. Worse yet, the vile Zlot was nothing less than a Voot, and the many mortals calling the south of the Land of Origins their home, recalled with terror the oppressive reign of the Voot warchiefs before the tribe was undone by the Black Sun. Yet while Zlot was a threat, he was as much of a threat as an arrow was; he could kill any living thing, but only if drawn and aimed by an archer of the right caliber.

And Zlot was loyal to his cousin Draznokh, and as long as his blood hunger was sated, he would remain as such. At least for the time being.

As the weeks passed, it became clear to Grand Agricultist Krang that Draznokh had long since surpassed him in terms of popularity. Ever since he had convinced the vile bull to get rid of the Blood Swarm, the frightening visage of Krang had met more resistance, more backtalk, than before. The tribe of Pate, Krang’s tribe, was slowly turning away from him, many remembering the legacy of the Vootlands with increasingly more awe than shock. Krang had one last chance before the ultimate price; if he was not to challenge him outright and lose his life in single combat, he would choose to rely on one final quest - one that would surely do away with him.

Draznokh made the trip up the giant hill several times per day now. He had not idly let the time pass since his moral victory of Krang: his political opportunity had seen him force Krang to accept him as a high laysnouter of the Agricult, a position not equal to Krang’s, but one where he effectively functioned as his lieutenant. He thus held office at the temple atop the giant hill, ruling alongside the seething priest. In fairness Krang had had no choice; the Pates did not number enough snouters for his Agricult to hold all the power by themselves anymore. The Voot clique, backed by Draznokh’s will and Zlot’s muscle, managed to strike much harder than their tiny size would seemingly allow for. Any hidden attempt to murder Draznokh would immediately draw attention to him; his hatred for the hesnouter was brighter than Itzal. Any murder, even the basest misdemeanour, would be traced back to him.

It was thus at one congregation of the Agricult atop the giant hill that Krang gathered the innermost circle of the group and said sourly, “Brother Draznokh… In the name of the Vile Bull, I address you as his highest servant.”

Draznokh, like the rest of the innermost members, had been sitting on pillows fashioned from the pelts of enslaved beastmen. He stood up and entered the centre of the circle, where he kneeled and spread his arms out to the side with immersion. “Voice of the Fields, Brother Krang - what does the Taskmaster have in store for me?”

Krang squinted angrily. Draznokh smeared on thick with titles when he was mocking him. With a voice like poison, he replied, “Your efforts against the Snopans, while crude and disproportionate, have offered us temporary respite from their senseless attacks. As the descendent of Krooshus Pate, I thank you on my ancestors’ behalf for your loyalty to the tribe.”

Draznokh bowed his head. “Be it in the name of Pate or the Horned One himself, I submit to your will.”

Krang sneered. “... Your sense of duty is admirable...” The hesnouter collected his hands behind his foldy back and walked over to the edge of the temple platform. “Come. Gaze across the fields with me.”

Draznokh rose and followed him. The rest of the council, understanding that this looked to be a conversation for four eyes, decided to leave. With the two of them alone, Krang snarled, “Do not think for a second that this is your doing.” Below them sprawled a vast plain, starry with torches and campfires. Trees had been chopped down by the score and the place where there had once been forest were cleansed of every stump and plowed by armies of snouters. The humble garden that weeks ago had just kept the Pates scraping by, was expanding every day, eating up the overgrown lands like an inferno. Draznokh couldn’t help but smirk.

“... But it kind of is, isn’t it?”

Krang drew a knife, but stopped short of Draznokh’s ear. “Oh, come now, Krang, I’m just teasing you.”

“Know that it takes every fiber of my being to not bleed you dry whenever I lay eyes on you.”

Draznokh didn’t even pay him a glance. He merely stared out towards the horizon with a grin one could punch. “Your squeal better than you threaten, Krang. It is times like these when I truly wonder why I was ever afraid of you.” He finally turned and looked into the diverging eyes of the other hesnouter, neither eye affixed on him, but both equally filled with rage. “Now are you going to kill me or are you going to tell me what mess I need to clean up for you?”

Krang breathed sharply through his teeth and lowered his quivering knife-hand. “You should be thankful that I value my own life over my ambition…”

“Honesty, at last.”

“However... I will ask that you do one last thing for me.”

Draznokh raised a brow. “Last, you say?”

Krang sighed. “I tire of this game, Draznokh. ‘High laysnouter’ my rump… I haven’t been in charge of this tribe ever since the swarm disappeared. Do this one thing for me, and I will in the sight of gods and mortals declare that the line of Pate will step down from leadership in favour of the line of Voot.”

Draznokh temporarily failed to contain his excitement and turned a little too fast. Krang felt the hairs on his skin tingle with anticipation.

Hook…

“Do we have an agreement?”

Draznokh curled and uncurled his fingers. “What is it you need?”

Line…

“Our metalworkers have complained about the rising price of copper. The merchants from the sea say it’s due to a production shortage somewhere by the Western Falls. I want you to go there and settle this matter.”

Draznokh mellowed out and cast a distant gaze across the horizon. Krang pursed his lips. “... As you know, securing the flow of copper is essential for ensuring proper maintenance of tools, armour and weapons. Bone is strong, but we should not place all our eggs in one basket.”

“The Western Falls are quite far from home,” Draznokh said quietly. Krang nodded.

“Oh yes,” Krang assented. “But a diverse array of resources at hand will ensure a strong and well-prepared tribe.” He leaned in. “A strong and well-prepared Vootland, chieftain.”

Draznokh slowly turned to face him, a smirk on his snout. “You know that I know what you’re trying to accomplish here.” Krang shrunk ever so slightly, but regained his composure with a nod. Draznokh continued, “Do you expect me to go off somewhere far away again to die so that you won’t have the blood on your trotters? Hah!”

Krang snarled. “... Alright, fine. If honeyed words are not enough, perhaps you will respond to action.” He took his knife and carved a rune in his palm with a quiet wince. Draznokh did not know its effects and felt himself harden his stance. Krang raised his knife-hand calmingly. “Not to worry – this is only an insurance for you.”

“What is it?”

“Shake my hand,” said Krang, “and you will force me to make good on my promise. Come home alive after accomplishing your task, and I will surrender the tribe to you under pain of death.”

Draznokh furrowed his brow. “And if I don’t?”

Krang withdrew the hand and shrugged innocently. “Then there won’t be much of an agreement anymore, will there? Now, do we have a deal?”

Draznokh pondered thoughtfully. “You sacrifice quite a bit for such a simple mission. What is it that you are not telling me?”

“Nothing that you do not already know. I am just hoping that my luck will turn and that I will be rid of you forever. No one in this tribe can kill you; no one outside of the tribe can kill you. At this point, I am praying that a rockslide will rid me of both you and your blood-bloated cousin.” He shook his bleeding hand. “Do we have a deal?”

After a moment more of reflection, Draznokh squeezed the hand. A small light flashed from the cracks between their fingers and disappeared as quickly as it had blinked. Draznokh smirked and looked into his palm: a rune just like Krang’s had etched itself into his skin, but not in a way that caused him any harm. Krang shook his palm, which still bled, and Draznokh snickered. “You have just dealt yourself a shit hand, Krang. I will be expecting a feast upon my return. Prepare a good speech and clean that tongue – you will be licking my trotters soon enough.” As he stepped down the stairs of the temple, Krang rubbed his bleeding hand. He could not help but snicker, too.

“... And sinker,” he giggled.

---

The next day, Draznokh, Zlot and ten others set off westwards, heading for the trading post of Ralhu, situated safely on the opposite side of the peninsula from the cursed river Lick. The trek wasn’t long - the group maintained a quick trot of fifty paces walking alternating with fifty paces jogging. They stuck to the beaten path, passing through Pate and Pate-loyal territory for the most part. Yet it would not be a scot-free journey. On the second day, when passing through rival Nu-Voot territory, Draznokh and the rest had to downright wrestle Zlot to the ground to keep him from assaulting a bypassing host of farmers working the floatato paddies. While Zlot could kill them with a flick of the wrist just like he had the Snopans, the Nu-Voots were many – more than even Zlot could handle. They eventually managed to calm him down. The mood maintained an uneasy tension ever since. Draznokh could feel it just as everyone else felt it: They were leaving the Vootlands, and their bodies – their very souls – were screaming at them to turn back. Snouters weren’t meant to leave home, and with every step, the knot in their hearts tightened. This felt wrong.

“But Draz… Who will tend my fields when I’m gone?” Zlot asked maniacally. It was the fourth time in an hour. Draznokh was starting to believe he had gone senile.

“Like I’ve said,” he squeezed through his teeth, “you told Jura to take care of them – she will take care of them.”

The giant hog, who most people thought had no concept of fear, quivered like a newborn puppy. “B-but she’ll never manage to tend to all of them! And, and my wives! They’ll be unfaithful in my absence, I just KNOW it!”

“They won’t, Zlot, calm down–” Draznokh choked, or rather, a hand the size of his head nearly crushed his windpipe in a single grab. The monstrous boarzerker dragged him up into the sky by the neck, eyes aflame with instinctual panic.

“YOU KNOW NOTHING! I NEED TO GET HOME!”

“... lot! … Z… lot!” Draznokh stuttered. The others tried to wrestle him back down. Draznokh felt his eyes roll back and his breath falter, but just before he lost his conscious, the boarzerker regained his sanity. He immediately dropped him, Draznokh crashing to the ground like a sack. The snouters swarmed him and tried to breathe life back into him. Droog, a competent shaman, started chanting healing spells and casting dried moss powder over his body. Slowly, Draznokh came to. Zlot pushed everyone else aside and held his cousin in his arms.

“Draz! Draz! Oh, Draz, I’m… I’m so sorry!”

“Think–” A cough. “... Think nothing of it…” Draz wheezed and massaged his bruised throat. With weak eyes, he looked around at the faces of his comrades. “... Look at us. Hardly two days away from home and we’re completely losing ourselves.” He snorted sharply. “The curse runs thick in our veins, brothers, but for an instant – a wink, is all – consider that you are leaving home, for the sake of home.” Variegated nods hopped from head to head. “The bull granted us means to till and fight,” he patted his bony snout, “but times change. Already our enemies are adapting to our tactics with pikes and armour. Zlot can piece mail with his tusks, but he is alone in such a feat. If we are to survive, we too must adapt.” He gestured a hand to the direction they were going in. “And adaptation is that way and that way alone. Yet I realise this quest may be beyond some of you.” Eyes shifted away and Draznokh’s frown deepened. “I will grant you a chance to turn back. This will be the only time I do so peacefully. Turn around now before we reach the Iris Sea, and there will be no consequences.” He studied the stoney faces of his companions. “Think hard about this. Know that even if I do not make it home, should any of you turn on me after we have left the shores of the Striped Lands, not even death will stop me from haunting your miserable existences. It’s now or never.”

A moment longer passed. Then Zlot stepped forward. Draznokh, despite his strict demeanour, could not dismiss his disheartened frown at the sight. “... Of all people…”

“I’m sorry, cousin,” Zlot sighed, “I do not belong this far from home. Without the firm hand of a hog, how will the sows at home behave? My crops will not grow without my governance – that little which grows will rot a-root.” He gestured down the path they had come from. “An empty death on foreign soil, where no Voot has ever set its trotters – I will take a lifetime of shame rather than abandon the hearth and the field.”

Draznokh grit his teeth. “... Very well. A promise is a promise. Anybody else?”

Out of the eleven he had brought with him, seven ended up leaving with Zlot. Draznokh and the remaining three hesnouters stood in the clearing for a small while until the others had passed beyond the line of sight. Draznokh then turned to the others and snorted quietly. “... I will admit: I had expected more to remain.”

“A betrayal, I say,” mumbled the shaman Droog.

“Maybe, but one that is my fault. I put too much faith in their will to resist the curse. Without the full party – without Zlot – we can no longer rely on strength as our primary tool. We were not exactly a raiding party before, but now we are hardly a beastman hunting team. From now on, our first weapon of offense is wit.” He tapped one of his tusks. “Save these for when negotiations go sour. Until then, stick to your tongues.” He surveyed the faces of his companions and sighed. “... For what they’re worth.”

---

By the afternoon of the following day, the considerably diminished party finally reached the harbour town of Rhaam, a middling settlement ruled by the Herring King, one of the seven fabled monarchs of the Siblings, the sprinkle of islands situated in the south-west of the Iris Sea. The Siblings numbered eleven islands in total, home to all manner of mortals and beasts who descended from or themselves were people who had been drawn to the sea and decided to make it their habitat. Here were croakers, beastmen, snouters, dwarves, goblins, goatfolk, even humans. The many cultures of the islands lived intertwined with one another, connected by the water and the things that traversed them. Some were boatbuggers; some were swimmers; some sailed boats drawn by aquatic beasts – the sea welcomes all modes of transport that float. Rhaam was far from the biggest settlement under the Herring King, but it had its specialty.

“UGH! Gods, what is that stink?!” growled Vadym, a fat-bellied grain farmer and the largest remaining in the group.

The shaman Droog sniffed and grimaced. “Garum...” he remarked sourly. “I have heard the goblin merchants tell nightmarish tales about the ‘rank of Rhaam’. Plug your nostrils, lads.”

“What’s a garum?” whined Shtook, a root farmer and an ardent acolyte of the Agricult. He clutched his talisman, a bone necklace that resembled a little rake, as though prayer would save him from the ungodly stink.

“It’s a condiment that the seapeoples are quite fond of, supposedly,” Droog continued. “A product of fermented fish innards, salt and time, I believe.”

“Innards?!” squealed Shtook in disbelief.

“Indeed. The rest of the fish is used for different purposes.”

“Bull’s loins,” swore Vadym and threw the sky a glance. Sundown was luckily approaching – only a little extra sweat coalesced on his forehead. As the group entered into the town, they were greeted by bustling streets, more languages in minutes than they had heard their whole lives, and smells and noises completely foreign to the Vootlands. Spices and herbs, sweets and sours, burnt and rotting – the familiar scent of black soil seemed like a distant memory. Buildings of wood and mud flanked the dirt road streets on all sides, winding along the river of people that kept the afternoon alive. After an initial stroll, the streets began to snake their way down a hill which eventually dove into the sea; there, at its feet, was a bustling harbour and a grand market. Their descent through the city down to the harbour below was accompanied by yells and hoots by nearby merchants pushing fish, seaweed, salt, shellfish and fancy rocks in their faces. Stalls selling pearls, pretty shells, coral art and fishing equipment were as densely packed as carrots in a bunch, forming a labyrinth that the snouters had to laboriously traverse.

“Pig-bro! Pig-bro! Pearls for sow, yes?! Pearls for sow?!”

Vadym pushed the little half-hyena aside with a snort. “Back off, pup!”

“Oils for cheap! Ooooooiiils for cheapy-cheap!”

“Shrimp kebab for a shwoty! Shriiiiimp kebab for a shwoty!”

“Gaaaarum! Gaaaarum! No meal complete without gaaaarum!”

Droog muttered. “All this noise is making me nauseous.”

“It’s more likely the garum,” Shtook pointed out. Draznokh sighed.

“We’ll be at the harbour soon,” he said and pointed ahead. Rows of piers, boatbugs, boats and beasts stuck out of the crowds of fishermen, divers, cooks and merchants like stiff hairs out of a scalp. The snouters halted, trying to get their bearings. “Alright, brothers… We need to find a skipper who can take us to the Western Falls. Droog, do you have the payment?”

Droog extracted a small pouch of cowries from his pack, carefully collected from all the trade the Pates had engaged in with foreign merchants. “Three hundred shwoty, eager to find their future owner.”

“Alright, not too loud now…” Draznokh cautioned. “... Remember, we need to pay for the return journey, too. Be frugal, but respectful. Get us a good deal.”

Droog nodded and went off. Draznokh turned to the others and said, “While we wait, I suggest we see if we can boost our numbers some. Go out and find us some foolish souls who are willing to accompany us to the Falls. I don’t care who they are – if they are gullible enough to come along, we will find a use for them.” The two nodded and spread out. The rest of the afternoon was spent recruiting, scouting and haggling.

The shaman patrolled the docks with an idle trot, drinking deep in the selection of vessels docking at the pier. There were floats pulled by boatbugs, large bugs with carriages on their backs, oarboats with crews of goblin slaves, and many more. He approached one shovelling dried kelp into the trough of a large boatbug and said, “Good brother, would you be willing to take me and my three hesnouter companions to the Western Falls? We will pay handsomely, for certain.” Droog poured his soul into a courteous bow to seal-faced humanoid, who turned around and eyed him up and down. The seal then burst into a guffaw and thumbed over his shoulder.

“HAH! Oinky, you alone would break my Esmeralda’s back! Hooey!” He slapped his knee with a flipper hand and waved him away. “Gave me a good laugh, that. Good day to ya.” Leaving Droog momentarily dumbfounded, the selkie returned to the shovelling, the boatbug tapping the pile eagerly with a pair of antennae. The shaman then quietly moved on, trying to hide the pink hue in his cheeks.

A distance away, Shtook dejectedly walked away from a cackling gang of dwarven buccaneers. “FOR HOW MUCH?! HAH!” they spat after him in between the squeals. The spectacle was drawing quite a number of eyes, and Shtook’s rosy cheeks showed through his fur and turned them a blacking red.

Vadym didn’t have much luck either, though instead of laughter, he was met with threats: “Fakkin’ grunty, I’ll smack yo shit, I swear on me mum!” He ended up running away from the tide of shiv-wielding goblins he had proposed should join them. By the end of the day, the three of them returned to Draznokh empty-handed.

“Nothing?” the leader grunted.

“Nothing,” the three lackeys echoed.

Draznokh groaned. “... To reemphasise – we need a vessel and a crew. We absolutely cannot do this on our own.”

“... Yes, we are aware,” Vadym grumbled.

“So then do it again,” Draznokh growled. “And find me someone before–”

“Honourable tusklords,” came a voice. The four snouters turned to face a robed and bejeweled elf, her hair tied in a crescent knot that pointed skywards like the erect tail of a cat. Draznokh took the lead as usual and stepped to the front.

“Yes?”

The elf bowed deeply. “Blessings of the Ox, the Triple-Goddess and the Green Mother upon you all. I come bearing a message from Her Excellency Tidelady Arsantahl, mistress of the Little Brothers and Minister of Terrestrial Affairs under his Majesty the Herring King.” The snouters exchanged looks to see if any of them were wiser than the others. The elf ignored their ignorance and continued, “Her Excellency bids you welcome to her demesne of Rhaam, a humble speck of the mighty realm of the Greatest of the Seven. She apologises for the sorry state of the village and hopes that its amenities prove sufficient for your cultured beings.”

Draznokh furrowed his brows at the comment, allowing his eyes to once again gaze around the metropolis. “... We thank Her Excellency for the concern.”

The elf bowed again. “Your gratitude means everything to her. In fact, Her Excellency would like to invite you all to her humble abode for tea and a meal. Should you accept, it would be my honour to guide you along the way.”

Draznokh probed the expressions of his companions. Shtook pursed his lips. “Well, I have been feeling a little peckish for a while now.” Vadym concurred with an mhm. Droog was silent, but did not seem to protest. Draznokh shrugged and eventually said, “Very well. After you.”

“No, after you,” the elf insisted and the five of them ascended from the docks and back into the town. After what felt like an eternity swimming through the masses in the streets, the number of people eventually faded as the surrounding buildings fancied up something fierce. Mud huts and wooden shacks gave way to skillfully cut sandstone foundations topped with wooden mansions with curved roofs and colourfully painted walls. Greens, reds, whites, blues – rainbows of colour unimaginable in the Vootlands. After a while, the group crossed onto a great white plaza, dotted with small, isolated forests and flower beds. In the centre was a tall marble foundation that seemed to spike the sky like a lonely mountain. Atop was a large palace with a roof of jade and walls of fine coral. The snouters stood dumbfounded as the elf ascended a staircase. “Come now,” she encouraged. After stepping upwards and upwards for what felt like hours, the five all eventually reached the top, where they were greeted by an eagle-like fowlfolk dressed in beautifully patterned silks. She threw out her arms in greeting and bowed courteously.

“Honoured tusklords of the Lands of Voot, be welcome,” Tidelady Arsantahl greeted and straightened herself back up. “I trust the journey was comfortable?”

“So much stone,” whispered Shtook in what almost felt like discomfort. The lack of forests and fields around them intensified the homesickness. Draznokh swallowed as much as he could of the torturing sensation and bowed back.

“The Tidelady showers us with undeserved riches by presenting herself. We are honoured.”

Arsantahl giggled. “Oh, a charmer – how fun! Come in, come in. You must be famished!” The group entered the palace through a hallway of pillars and came to a scene of five small tables arranged in a horseshoe with the middle one being slightly larger. The tables were set with steaming dishes and bowls of all sorts of meats, seafood, vegetables, salads and stews meticulously prepared for their arrival. The snouters licked their lips gluttonously, but even Voots and Pates knew to wait for the elder to eat first. Arsantahl gracefully stepped over to the middle table, which had been positioned on a small platform above the other four. When she walked, her dress hardly showed it – she seemed to almost hover. Once she had sat down, she beckoned invitingly. “Please, sit.”

The snouters did as they were told and the fowl regarded them patiently. “Now…” she said and picked a morsel between her claws, “... What seems to have brought four snouters to want to sail the Iris Sea, hmm?”

She was squatting, staring at the pot filled with cloudy water, watching the bits and scraps of food and dirt float around and onto the dishes dipped in the pot.

What is Mon doing?

A hand gripped her shoulder.

“Mon. How many times, lass?” A gruff voice came from behind her. “How many times I gonna find ya look at nothin’?”

Mon’s tail stiffened and puffed up. “Naw naw, no attitude. I get the sprayah. Ya no like the sprayah.”

Mon turned slightly to look her boss in the face, her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. The massive (both in height, width, and depth) Rhinokin scoffed at her as her tail slid over his bare belly, every single hair prickling him as it went along. He was, of course, not wearing a top and had everything on show. Mon could never understand why he did that - There was nothing to see!

Actually, maybe there is too much to see.

Mon stifled a chuckle as she looked at the rhino from head to toe. He suddenly looked like he was going to pop a vein.

“Hire cat, wives say, cat never come alone they say - Bah!” He spat a thick, green glob of phlegm onto one of Mon’s freshly washed dishes, walked off back into the kitchen, and left Mon alone in the dirty alleyway behind the restaurant. She stared at the now-contaminated plate and sighed.

Later, after the restaurant had closed and Mon had been paid for her day’s labour, she walked out of the back alley that doubled as the restaurant’s staff break room and started heading home.

It might have been past midnight, but the Refugee Town of Fann never slept, not really.

Her pace was brisk and her gaze was avoidant. She clutched her bag of soggy bread tighter to her chest whenever she walked past anyone. It was an unspoken rule in Fann - You saw nothing, you heard nothing, and you knew no one. Those who did, did not do so for long.

She’d learned her lesson long ago.

Eventually, she reached a large rickety building made of wood with a thatch roof, went down the alley to the right side of it and knocked on the first door she found.

There was some rustling from the other side.

A minute passed, so Mon knocked again.

This time, the door opened suddenly. Mon didn’t even have a chance to gasp or jump, it was that sudden.

“The little kitten comes to me yet again.” Said the Syllianth woman, her metallic torso vibrated in rhythm with her gaze.

After a moment of hesitation, Mon offered her bag of soggy bread to the Syllianth woman. The plant woman had to bend over to grab the bag, which she opened. A nod of appreciation.

“Good, good. Soggy bread, just what the shaman ordered - Your brother will be thankful, little Mon. Now run along! Bring some more of this...” She gestured with no hidden disgust to the bag of bread. “... Next week. Bye bye!”

The door slammed in her face, the force of the wind strong enough that it blew back Mon’s frizzy greasy hair and forced her to close her eyes.

“Bye bye…” She muttered after a moment, jumped off the wooden step at the porch of the side door and skittered over to the next door down.If the lights were on… She wasn’t the kind of person to be proud of her lineage, not with the way things had gone down - But she always felt a bit lucky to be able to sneak around completely undetected.

She pressed her face against the rusty keyhole and grinned when she saw the dim rays of candlelight coming from the room she knew to be the kitchen, to the side of the entrance hallway. This was the house of Reema, a kind old lady who Mon had recently gotten to know. She’d visited her every night for a week straight until Reema had to leave town on some sort of business journey. But the fact that candlelight was on meant that she was back, and if she was back, she could stay the night, on an insect-free bed.

So she knocked, and the moment the door opened, she jumped right into the arms of the gentle, round beaver-kin old lady.

“Reema’s back!” Mon cheered, her voice muffled by Reema’s thick clothing as the girl rubbed her face all over them.

“Ooh…” Reema cooed, wrapped an arm around Mon the Cat and used her free hand to pick food scraps and debris out of the girl’s hair. “How I’ve missed you, Monmon. I’m so glad to see your smile!”

Mon pulled away for a second and beamed a smile up at the old lady, fresh tears having washed away some of the grime from her face.

“You know Monmon, I had this idea-”

“-Butter cookies!” Mon did a little jump, eyes going as wide as saucers.

Reema chuckled, but wagged her finger and tapped Monki’s forehead. “Ah-ah, bath time first. You look like a stray cat.”

“But, Mon is one.” Mon tilted her head, ears suddenly flat against her head.

“Not tonight, dear.”

II

“-And then there was this customer, right? He threw up all over his table, just as Mon was about to finish work. Mon had to stay behind to clean the table and the floor…”

“So that’s how you ended up smelling like puke?” Reema sat on a stool next to the large tub. Candlelight illuminated the room just enough for Mon to realise how much dirt and grime had been coating her body before her bath. What had started as a pristine tub of warm water now looked like some kind of slime-spawning primordial soup.

Mon went to shake her head, but the movement stopped as soon as Reema’s wooden comb was caught in a big knot. “Ow!” She winced and hissed a bit, but despite her tail prickling up out of instinct, she did her best to remain calm.

Minutes passed. Throughout those minutes, Reema worked on detangling and washing Mon’s mistreated hair while she licked and rubbed herself clean. There was small talk and chuckles and the subtle, distant kind of affection that Reema was prone to giving.

When she had first lowered herself into the tub, there had been ten full buckets of clean water surrounding the tub. Now, Reema was pouring the last bucket onto Mon’s head. As the streams of water turned into a thin waterfall in front of Mon’s eyes and the sound of flowing water started to remind her of past dreams, Reema spoke.

“How old are you, Monmon?”

It took Mon a second to register the question, and even when she did she had to bring her hands up in front of her face.

Mon thinks… One by one, nine fingers went up, then Mon felt discomfort at the number and shook her head. Reema had preemptively brought up a hand to block the droplets of water from reaching her face. No no, Mon is pretty sure that wasn’t herfirst boil. She thinks she was… Five boils old? Back then? Mon scrunched up her face. After a few moments, she gave up counting with her hands and let them drop back down.

“Five plus Five. Thirteen.”

“I see. Good girl.” Reema smiled gently at Mon as she patted Mon’s now clean, detangled, shiny hair dry with the cloth towel in her hands. “But why five plus five?”

“Five is when Mon’s Bone-Bone ancestors got hunted. She was given her baby brother, Pon, and told to run. It’s been another five Boils since then.”

“And by Boils you mean summers, right? Why is that?” Reema finished pat-drying Mon’s hair and moved on to her body, making sure to be gentle enough not to pull on any of the thick, sensitive fur on the girl’s forearms, hands, and legs.

“‘Cuz the water boils for half the year! Bone-Bones go underground when the Cursed Sun comes out. Mon is five-plus-five boils old, she is sure… It doesn’t matter. She knows her baby brother Pon is Five. He is more important.”

“And where is Pon? I would like to meet him, you know.” Reema asked, a little bit of concern in her voice. Mon was smart enough to notice.

“He is staying with the Shaman next door! Pon was sick and had a fever when Mon arrived in Fann, four boils ago. The Shaman offered to take care of him back then, and then sent him to school.” Mon was proud of her little brother - He was learning letters and numbers, something she’d never gotten the chance to learn. She’d even received letters, writing on paper! From her brother. Of course, she had no way of reading the contents, but just knowing her brother had written them was amazing.

“So, you haven’t seen Pon in four years?” Reema finished drying Mon off and motioned for the girl to get out of the drained tub, then began dressing her in a brand new nightgown. It was white, like the colour of some of her stripes.

“No, Mon hasn’t seen him. But! She’s gotten letters from him! He knows how to write, it’s great isn’t it?” Mon had stars in her eyes as she spoke of her little brother.

With Mon all dressed and clean, Reema then got on a knee and on Mon’s eye level, placing both hands on the girl’s thin shoulders.

“Mon, the people next door - Are they a tall brown human man with a gold-lined eyepatch, and a Syllianth woman with a silver torso?”

“Yeah, Mon gives them her salary and half her food to pay for Pon’s school fees.”

Reema frowned, and a strange expression flashed across her face. Mon didn’t like it. The cat-kin girl brought a hand up to her throat and took in a deep breath.

“Mon. The people next door, they…” Reema closed her eyes. After a moment, she shook her head and forced a smile. “They’re very kind, aren’t they? I can’t wait to meet your brother someday.”

Mon felt the tension drain out of her body with those words. She smiled back and nodded vigorously. “Yeah, Mon wants him to meet you too!”

“Alright then dear,” Reema grunted as she got back up onto her feet. “Bedtime?”

“What about the butter cookies?” Mon’s ears flattened against her head once more.

“Tomorrow, dear. If you eat one now, it’ll give you nightmares.”

And so they went on to bed. Mon and Reema slept in the same bed, with the large lady’s arm draped over the girl’s body. She felt safe, and warm, and dry. She had good dreams that night.

The next morning, after they had lunch and Mon Bone-Bone had eaten a butter cookie, Reema asked her if she wanted to live with her as her daughter, and she said yes.

---

The cobbled streets of Sylann were being ripped out. Workers with large brimmed hats, worn with the sun, piled high and carted off what came before. Whilst the mighty Formed moved the earth, straightening and widening the roads. Foreman barked orders and progress was an ever steady pace. A new invention by the Syllianth, called concrete (a strange mix of aggregates, water and trade-secrets), when poured wet, hardened into thick slabs of rock. Smoothed for wagon wheels and the trendy vehicles of the day. Gobbocarts and Pollytrains, they were called, all the way from the great cities in the East, Tricity at the forefront. Innovation always demanded improvements, after all.

Much was bustling in the great city of late. Grand projects were being completed at astonishing rates. A great amphitheater for the trendy plays of the day, lay down by the river north of the Atelier. The colosseum of Sylann was nearing completion east of the Atelier, one which boasted room for vast thousands, with imported sandstone from the wastes. Though it had put a considerable dent in the budgets, many were satisfied at the opportunities it would bring in. With an ever growing population, the housing market encroached upon the once plentiful fields of Sylann, which shrank day by day. Snouter representatives in the Assembly, were not thrilled with the prospects of ever smaller holdings. There continued to be reassurances of continued trade deals with distant markets and a general push for better habitational places.

Meanwhile the Atelier was ever busy with producing certified craftsmen and the growing academic body of engineering. Syllianth artisans were producing the finest ceramics, textiles, masonry and metalsmithing. Technological advances were occurring at an outstanding rate as Sylann became the beacon of civilization in the western world.

This was in part due to the ever growing College of Sylann. The Goddesses decree that all were capable of self improvement had blossomed into a renaissance of academia. Children from the lowest dregs of society were encouraged to attend school so that they might learn their letters and basic math. Continuing on to higher education, those with the time and energy to succeed are invited to attend the college for higher education. The college itself, sitting in the south of Sylann as a great castle of marbled gold, was a grand apparatus of the city state. Scribes wrote histories, mathematicians studied arithmetic, the politically inclined learned of civic duty and the war college was the busiest of all.

For Sylann as it was, could not continue without great sacrifice.

Hollis rode his brown roan through the gates of the Rosefield estate. A quant manor known for its vineyards and of course, roses. Where once had stood a grand vista of farmland, broken up by a few copses of oaks, now was being subsumed by an ever growing population. Shanty towns giving way to townhomes of fire brick. Hollis dismounted in the courtyard, his horse quickly taken by a groom after a low bow.

He was met by a master servant, a finely groomed wolf-kin. A half by the looks of his brown fur and too human posture. Hollis nodded to him.

“This way Silver Lord, they discuss in the master’s hall.” The servant said in a deep voice. He led him down a hallway with posh statues and paintings of Rosefield’s past. The walls were of a rich wood, Hollis did not know the make. If the Rosefield’s had been wealthier, it would have been made of marble, but alas.

He could hear them before he entered the room.

“...Riots in the streets!”

“We don’t know that!”

“What do you think would happen, you snout brain!”

At the last bit of drivel, the room behind the closed doors erupted into shouting. Hollis straightened his jacket as the servant opened the door. As he stepped through, the room fell silent. Before him sat a mix of assemblymen. All wearing ceremonial robes with gaudy knick knacks to make themselves standout. Rosefield stood at the head of the table, the goblin man red faced and flustered.

“Silver Lord.” he said with a curt bow. The rest followed. Hollis found his seat at the other end of the table, facing Rosefield. The dynamic of the room shifted to Hollis as goblin, beastfolk, and human eyes fell upon him.

“You have a lovely home, Assemblyman Rosefield. Thank you for the invitation.” Hollis said with a nod.

“Thank you, Silver Lord. Care for refreshments after your journey?” he motioned and a servant, a cheetah beastkin produced a platter of fine dainty foods. Being polite, Hollis took a small quiche and began to nibble at it with a fork and knife. Delectable, which was a surprise. Another servant, this one a goblin maid, poured him a goblet of dark red wine.

“Hospitality well received.” Hollis said, “My compliments to your chef.” He took a sip of the wine, too sweet for his liking. “Delightful.” he lied. The others nodded. Hollis gestured broadly, “Please do continue, don’t stop on my account.” The cue to continue.

Rosefield cleared his throat, “Of course, Silver Lord. We were merely discussing the trade tariffs at Arbor. They keep raising prices, some feel inclined to think it might be a bit of a brewing situation.”

“Is that right?” Hollis asked.

The goblin man’s eyes shifted uncomfortably. “A vast portion of our economy resided with trade. Our growing population means more demand for food stuffs and as our farming land shrinks, we have to import more. Neighboring kingdoms keep raising prices ad infinitum. It’s a cycle, Silver Lord.” Many heads nodded at this.

“And what are the current proposals in the Assembly?”

Assemblyman Niter, a fullblood crocodilian beastkin, spoke with a raspy voice, “That we raise our own tariffs in retaliation. Or that we begin enacting tighter immigration laws. Many in the Assembly have never had an empty belly, Silver Lord. They do not understand how the people would react to a trade war.” Niter’s eyes glistened, but yellow slits in the well lit room.

“Fairwater’s cohorts?” Hollis sipped.

“Assemblyman Fairwater and his band of merry fellows, believe the safest approach is to do nothing.” Rosefield snapped, before adding, “Silver Lord.”

Hollis rapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “What if I told you that the dear assemblyman is a compromised agent of Thysia?”

“What?” Rosefield began to rise, eyes going wide.

“He was found with incriminating papers, encoded with specific phrases that detailed Sylann secrets. Easily cracked by those with a keen eye.” Hollis sighed, “Sylia herself took him for questioning.”

“You’re… You’re sure?” One of them asked.

“I am not in the business of questioning my God, neither should you be.” he said in a low voice.

“Of course. Apologies, Silver Lord.”

“What does this mean exactly?” Rosefield asked in an excited tone.

“It means, dear assemblyman, your plans may commence with the majority.”

“Thysia…?”

Hollis shook his head. “We leave it for now.” he stood up and the rest followed suit. “A general… Expansion to alleviate the burdens of a growing society. A keener eye will see what must be done. It will be in the best interests of Sylann if such a proclamation should pass.” he began to pat his coat in a frivolous display. “I have other appointments to attend, thank you for your hospitality, Rosefield, Assemblyman.” He nodded and strode out.

The silence was evident.

A week later, troops marched into the town of Fann.

---

The Runatorium of Bast was a spectacle to behold: The massive ebony black walls pillared to the heavens like an onyx mountain, with coloured glass windows blinking along its sunlit facade. Powers of nature and overnature crackled from behind the facade with thunderous booms and shivering zaps, accompanied with great light shows reflecting off of gray smoke coming out of mighty chimneys. The black citadel was the jewel of the Herring King’s domain, a centre of commerce, science, magic, divinity and – of course – weapons technology. And before the gilded rosewood gates that contrasted the black walls like a flower in a pile of coal, stood the young elf Yost, recently named Quickchisel. He maintained a slightly nervous shiver as the gatesman inspected a clay tablet of his. The purple and white robes of a Syllan Academy Revered Scholar could not imbue him with enough confidence to stand up to a four-hundred pound minotaur beastman – especially not one whose exposure to the written word seemed to agitate him immensely.

“... An appointment, was it?”

“Y-yes!” quivered the elf.

“... Wiff the boss?”

“O-or at least someone who can speak on his behalf!”

The minotaur snorted out a cloud of dusty air and handed the tablet back. “Wait ‘ere.” Then he thundered off towards the gatehouse. Yost permitted himself a brief moment to hope, to pray that he had gotten in. Five minutes past wherein nothing happened. Behind him, the busy city of Oss, capital of the Herring King’s realm, swarmed with all manner of day-to-day nonsense that was all too common in big cities. Yost was a traveled scholar – he had been to Sylann, Arbor, Tricity, the City-States and the Dominion, but Oss had a different air about it from all of the others: The ocean spray left an ooze of salt and moisture wherever one went.

Finally, the gates opened and the young elf hurried inside. As he entered the gates, a rumbling voice thundered:



The oppressive greeting shrunk the elf, and it did not help that the long, exposed walkway after the gates overlooked an ocean of scholars below, sitting at workbenches and copying runes. Some cast glances up at the walkway to behold the elf, and Yost felt himself quickening the pace. At the end of the long walkway, the path split into five, each path ascending different staircases. In the middle of the crossroads was a receptionist sitting behind a desk and Yost approached her warily.

“G-good afternoon. I’m here about the–”

“About the job offer, yes? Archmage Draal is expecting you. Main staircase to the top.”

“Uh–”

“That’s the one right behind me.”

The elf obeyed and shuffled up the main staircase with a mighty speed. The coloured glass windows gave the black halls a beautiful crimson tint. The mood resembled that of late twilight, only that Yost could find no nightly peace. Eventually, he reached the top of the stairs, where another pair of gilded rosewood doors greeted him. They opened by themselves on his appearance and inside he saw another elf, one considerably older, but hardly visibly so. He had his eyes of Yost from the moment the doors opened, but his face betrayed nothing but a wide smile and a welcoming gaze.

“Ah, Master Quickchisel! Come in, come in. Oh, at last – to think we are finally able to meet.”

Yost hurried inside and bowed deeply. “Archmage Augustus Draal, it is an honour to–”

“Oh, please,” said the elder and hurried over, “just Gus is fine. In fact, you can call me Uncle Gus! That’s my nickname around these parts.”

Yost was pulled back to a straight stance and mumbled, “Uncle Gus?”

“Yup! Why, with all the courtly nonsense that is demanded of us poor folk chained to His Majesty’s royal council, I prefer to keep a familial profile amongst my lads, y’know. The boys, eh?”

“The boys–”

“So!” Clap! “you’re here about the letter we sent, right?”

“Oh, yes! I–” started Yost and started to pull out his tablet, but fumbled the grip and instead sent it tumbling out of his pack and into the floor. It shattered into sand upon impact and Yost froze. “I am so–”

Gus, however, merely chuckled and waved a hand. The tablet reassembled as if time had rewound and it floated to the hand of the Archmage, who proceeded to look it over and nod. “Yup, this is the letter. Glubina’s handwriting is unmistakable.”

“Again, I am so sorr–”

“Oh, posh!” said Gus with a dismissive wave. “No need to cry over shattered clay – especially not before a mage. Hah!” He then lobbed the tablet out of a nearby window and gestured over to a chair by a massive desk. “Come now, have a seat, son.”

Yost did as told, conquering his nerves well enough to remember to toss out his cape before he sat down. Gus sat down opposite of him and maintained an open stance. “So, you wanna work for the Mages’ Guild, hmm?”

“Yes! It has been my lifelong dream, way before I started at the Academy.”

Gus nodded. “Mhm, mhm. Well, you received our letter for a reason. You have talent, son.” He conjured a parchment out of thin air and glanced it over. “Runesmithing, arcane arts, chaos magic and even dabbles into astrology and greensinging! And top marks across the board. You really pack a punch, kid!”

“O-oh, I’m just lucky I had good teachers.”

“Nonsense – this is innate; destiny, even!” His finger landed on a specific section. “Yet anyone can get top grades in that squip. Glamour-savvy novices fill these halls like mould in a cellar. What got you our attention, son, was your affinity for the dark waters.” Yost nodded excitedly.

“Oh y-yes, my academic assignment was about–”

“–about the prospects and benefits of black water for use in flesh manipulation, yes!” The archmage stood up from his chair and circumvented the desk, ending up next to the young genius. “I take it you are quite familiar with the use of R’kava, then?”

Yost nodded. “Certainly. My family comes from a small village that used to belong to an Octari tribe. They left copious amounts of dark water behind, and many of my friends and family are familiar with the stuff… In all manner of ways, good and bad.”

A cut of sorrow sliced across the archmage’s face. “Oh my, yes. It is powerful magic… Unstable magic. It has neither beginning nor end, and in the wrong hands can mutate completely out of control, risking the lives of everyone around. Truly, the Changing One planned for its use to be a highly exclusive affair. Hence why we would be more than happy to offer you this lucrative chance to join our team.”

Yost felt his chest overflow with butterflies. “I’d– I’d be honoured! What will I be working on?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Gus flicked his wrist and his desk spewed forth light. A diagram showing a humanoid giant with six arms, four legs and an amalgam of jaws appears with a flash that sent Yost flinching. “The current efforts in the war against the Falgini are a losing battle, and His Majesty has commanded that the Mages’ Guild produce new weapons for the front lines. The order has lead to this: the Stone Man Project. These elite soldiers are the product of the mind of your soon-to-be-colleague, Ewon Xand.”

“Oh my Gods, the Ewon Xand? The Sculptor of Sylann?”

“The very same,” said Gus with a wink. “A true erudite within the study of the black waters. Flesh, stone, metal, blood – it does not matter what the substance is: In his hands, they become clay. But, His Majesty’s order has put pressure on the poor mage and he simply cannot keep up with demand. This is why we have specifically asked for you, my boy. What say you? Food and lodgings are included and we will offer a generous stipend of two thousand shwoty a month.”

“T-two thousand?!”

“Oh-ho-hoh, can’t be having our esteemed magicians running around in rags, now can we? You start tomorrow at dawn.”

“Y-yes, Uncle Gus!”

---

The ebon walls of the Runatorium cast a mountainous shadow over the nearby city district as they blocked the dawn of the Black Sun. The chimneys had not yet begun to smoke, but a scent of sulphur still lingered about the place. Yost had hardly caught a wink of sleep, excited as he had been to start. Nonetheless he had managed to groom himself properly for his first day: his robes were well-kept and his hair had been combed into a slick-back style. He had even managed to stop by a physician’s house for a quick shave. He could not face the Sculptor as anything less than perfect.

With his newly acquired medallion of the Mages’ Guild, he glided effortlessly through the gates, even enjoying respectful greetings by the guards. As he walked the walkway overlooking the now largely empty scriptorium below, he produced a map of light with a simple spell. A glowing blue line appeared on the ground before him, tracing a path out before him over to the receptionist desk, then a hard left up the left-most staircase. Yost followed the beam, offering a curt bow to the groggy receptionist who was sipping some sort of steaming liquid. The staircase took him to another small room, but the beam guided him effortlessly despite the nearly identical black facades and complete lack of signs. It was not uncommon for hubs of magic to maintain confusing layouts to dissuade and trap potential invaders. Labyrinthian hallways with few to no indications of position or direction would quickly have non-magical interlopers running in circles. Confident mages, on the other hand – well, there were other ways of dealing with them.

The pathing spell cast by Yost had been provided to him by Gus, castable only by those in possession of a Mages’ Guild medallion. It was not an impossible spell to figure out by outsiders, but it combined elements of runesmithing and arcana, with the runes functioning as ciphers for the correct arcane spell. In many cases, such spells would carry very similar words of power to dangerous counter-spells targeted at the self, with imprecise incantations potentially costing the caster a hand or an eyeball. Still, the field of anti-magic was one highly valued at the Academy, and employers all around Galbar eagerly looked for magicians skilled in thwarting their peers.

Yost had never been particularly interested in anti-magic. To him, magic was the physical and spiritual manifestation of potential, virtually infinite in scope and possibilities. He had seen with his own eyes on multiple occasions how R’kava could help people: The dying were brought back to life; the limbless could walk again; blindness and deafness became mere temporary afflictions. Of course, the dark waters could take, too, and took quite often. In the presence of such pools, the foolish and uninitiated were famous for speaking the final words: “Did it work?” Yost was confident that he would maintain his mastery of the dark waters. He had done so all his life, and in the apprenticeship of Master Xand himself, he would be in better hands than ever.

The light eventually brought him to a large mahogany door, barely visible against the black walls. Upon his arrival, the frame of the door lit up with faint blue light and the doors opened slowly. The room inside was cylindrical, a great circle lit by a beam of light shining through a single hole in the very top of the ceiling. The beam centered on a small island of scroll-covered desks, besieged by a number of small sitting pillows and, in the very iris of the room – Yost could hardly believe it – a spawning pool. His footsteps echoed loudly against the domed ceiling as he entered.

“H-hello?” he called. There was a clunk! followed by a muttering groan. Yost blinked and stopped in his tracks. It was easy to catch that something was moving underneath the shadows of the tables, but against the singular beam of light, it was harder to make out what. Eventually a form emerged, humanoid at first but then clearly growing into an increasing number of feet as it approached. As it entered into the light, Yost saw that it was indeed an octari in the flesh: Nearly two metres tall, the tentacled creature towered above the young elf, multiple appendages probing the air in Yost’s direction inquisitively. A boney hand reached up and massaged the back of his tentacled hair.

“Oof, that table gave me a rude awakening. Sorry you had to see that.”

Yost blinked. “A-are you alright, Master Xand?”

The octari offered a small sigh. “Would that Vak’thuum had given me the strength to evolve out of the need to sleep, but alas. Until then, these all-nighters will continue to prey on me like the mites in my mattress. Oh, but where are my manners…” The opposite hand, equally boney, reached out. “Ewon Xand, principal investigator of the Stone Men project.”

Yost grabbed his hand eagerly. “I-it’s a huge honour, Master Xand – or, or should I say Sczar Xa–”

“Oh, there’s no need,” replied Xand with an almost venomous politeness. Yost shut up instantly. The octari seemed to make an effort to smile. “Considering that we will be working very closely together on this project, you may just call me Ewon. There are those that call me Ewe, too, if you prefer single syllables.”

Yost nodded slowly. “O-okay, then, uhm… Ewon.” There was a second of silence. “I-I am Yost, by the way. Of Hollowbeck.”

“Hollowbeck, huh? Would that be the name that your tribe gave to Thuu’zoj, the Folly of Sczar Thuu?”

Yost blinked sheepishly. “That, that is what the elders surmise, at least.”

The octari nodded. “So I wasn’t mistaken. Good. It is not often that I am lucky enough to encounter someone who have been in direct contact with my people and their remnants. There are not that many of us in this world, so I grasp at any straw of familiarity I can.” The octari squeezed Yost’s hand again. “I am truly glad to have you here.”

Yost smiled. The pair then took a tour around the room, beginning with the desks. “Here’s your desk. You’ll have to forgive the mess.” A quick wave of a hand sent all the scrolls, tablets and books floating from this desk to another. “I forget how much space I tend to take up when I work alone.”

“O-oh, it’s, it’s no matter, really.” Another hand wave saw a comfortable pillow fluff itself up and situate itself snugly against the desk.

“Please let me know if you find your pillow uncomfortable. The house physician has contacts in the Tailor’s Guild that can fashion you whatever pillow, chair or seat you need for a comfortable workspace.”

“I-I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Ewon winked. “Alright, but let me know. Now this–” he patted a small bookcase, “–is your case. You may store whatever literature you would like in it. If you find that you need more space, let me know and I’ll give word to Uncle Gus.”

“Aha, so you call him that too, huh?”

Ewon shrugged. “He seems to prefer the laid-back tone.”

The pair then turned to the bubbling black pool in the centre of the room. “And here – the star of the show.”

Yost’s eyes were wide as saucers. “A genuine spawning pool. I haven’t seen one since the Black Swamp back in my home village.”

Ewon smiled proudly. “Oh yes. I made it myself, I’ll have you know. Take a look around the rim.” The edge of the pool gleamed faintly with strings of runes, magical incantations forming an array around the dark well. The octari waved his hand over the waters and the pair watched it foam over in a mirrored movement. “Through years of taming, training and testing, I have calibrated the R’kava in this well to spawn warriors for His Majesty’s war effort. A decade of relentless pursuits of knowledge, searching for every written and oral account of Octari shamans, combined with the vast and expansive knowledge of the Arcane, the Runic and the Astral provided by the Mages’ Guild, have all culminated in this magnum opus.” He knelt down and seemed to caress the black soup, which almost seemed to return the gesture affectionately. Ewon rose back up and cleared his throat. “Forgive me – it’s not a common occurrence that I get to show off my darling to someone who… Well, someone who cares.”

Yost gleamed like an evangelised child. “Cares?! Ewon, this is bigger than anything I could have imagined! When do we start? Can we start now?!”

Ewon grinned from eye to eye. “Hah! I knew we’d get along! Alright, since you are so eager, I say we take her for a test just so you can see how she works.” The pair continued the tour over to the walls. Quickly, Yost realised that there were in fact multiple entrances to the room, five in total, but only the main door had been decorated to match the aristocratic theme of the Runatorium. The other four doors were worn and beaten, resembling the gates of a besieged castle. Ewon walked over to one of the gates and gave it a knock. “Ready!” The gates swung open quickly and there was a small yelp followed by a tumble and a smack. As Yost looked down, he felt his smile begin to fade. At his feet was a small, starved goblin, chained and dressed in what could hardly even be called a loincloth. He lifted his head and looked at Ewon.

“Wh-what am I missing?”

The octari blinked. “O-oh! My bad, sorry. Instructions! So, we’ll be taking turns in–”

“N-no, no. I-I mean, what is the goblin for?”

Ewon furrowed what little brow he had. “For… For the test run. We could get a furfolk instead, if you’d like.”

The whimper at his feet seemed to intensify the feeling twisting around Yost’s guts. “Could… Could you explain to me what the test run entails?”

Ewon’s face frowned with understanding. “Oh, now I see…” A boney hand once again scratched at his neck. “Shoot. Uhm, this… This didn’t go quite as I had in mind. Look, I’m very sorry, son – I thought Gus had given you the details on the project.”

“Wh-what details?”

“Well… You know how R’kava works, right? The waters are alive and, well, the batch that seemed to produce the highest quality soldiers just so happened to have a bit of an… Appetite, so to speak.” The octari deflated a bit as he beheld Yost’s expression. “Look, I don’t like it either. I really wish there was another way, but… You know as well as me that when His Majesty wants something, he gets it. With this project, we have funding: You got your job; we get stipends to spend on research. We can help people, Yost!”

“But these…” The elf looked down into the goblin’s mortified eyes. “... These are people.” A boney hand settled on his shoulder.

“Not people, Yost – convicts, prisoners of war. I made sure this project would not put any innocents at risk. I trust Gus to keep his word on that.” Yost’s head shifted right to peer into the concerned eyes of Ewon. “We’re turning the scum of the streets into loyal soldiers which will keep the people of Oss safe and sound and let our troops hang back from the front. If that isn’t a good cause, I don’t know what is.”

Yost swallowed. His mind was a storm, and it was hardly stilled by the grip about his shoulder and the prisoner at his feet. This was wrong. He knew the R’kava gave and could as easily take away, but this sort of exchange – a life for a life; a soul for a soldier – how could he justify that? Even in the name of science, of research and magic, it was insane. It was filthy. It was immoral. It was… It was…

Eventually, he took a deep breath. He held it for a moment before sighing softly. He then cleared his throat and said, “You, uhm… You said you had instructions?”

Far outside of the walls of Sylann, in the mass of refugee shanties, spreading like a cancer across the fields that once belonged to the Snouters, there lay the scrap-wood hut of an unusual individual. They were unlike the rest of the refugees; far more local, and far more distinguished by the standards of the city. Here was the master blacksmith Minesh, one of the fifteen Striders in the entire region.

Inside that little hut, Minesh clattered noisily, taking a stone hammer to a little bronze-clad statuette, red-hot with the heat of the crucible – a sad little mudbrick construction. Its tools were as pathetic as its lodgings, as pathetic as the hut that the strider could not stand straight up in, and perhaps more pathetic than the hungry crowds that milled by in the twisting, unplanned streets outside.

A voice emerged behind the master blacksmith, a familiar one, “Remember when you had that smithery in the city square, the one with the anvil of bloomed-iron?”

The hammer slammed down on the statuette, a note of bitterness in its ring. Then, slowly, Minesh put down their hammer on the anvil, and began to let the statuette begin to cool. It turned around to the intruder; another of their kind, dressed not in the worn rags as Minesh, but soft, white cottons. They surely would have been mugged on the way, if it were not for the fact Striders were renowned for being able to disembowel any would-be thief with one strike of their arms.

“Gishimmar,” Minesh said, a hint of sadness in its voice, “I prefer not to. As you prefer not to travel here.”

One manipulator arm slipped out from Gishimmar’s robes, all-concealing to keep the sun from reflecting, and picked a glob of dirt that had stuck to the cotton, commenting, “Fann’s an awful little shanty. I can’t stand such misery. I was worried you’d left the region entirely, Minesh, it was difficult to find where you’d been reduced to.”

Minesh chimed at that, once more a bitter note ringing out in it, “Where else is there to go? Join the sycophants with that petty lord in the outlands? I’m still a Strider, and the only place a Strider can live is Sylann.”

“You could stop making those statuettes and come back to Sylann. Your fineries are still the best in the whole gods-damned city.” Gishimmar spoke suddenly, taking advantage of the opening Minesh left. The sudden fury in the room from the blacksmith was palpable. Its voice raised, the rag-clad Strider shot back, “If I don’t remember them, nobody will! A hundred and thirty five, dead! Nobody gave a shit except for me!”

Gishimmar’s rebuttal was cold, anger in it as well, “Don’t accuse us of that, Minesh. You know full well we mourn all of them every day. You weren’t the only one who cared about Hazi–”

Minesh interrupted, “No! You don’t get to use their memory as a bludgeon. I would’ve–,” the blacksmith’s songlike lilt faltered, off-tune, “we would’ve– gods, Gishimmar, we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Sympathy flooded Gishimmar as the blacksmith seemed to deflate, a sad husk of a once-vibrant Strider. One haunted by the siege and the losses, haunted by the fact none would remember but them, and one day none would. Their sacrifices had gone unnoticed by Sylann, and now out of a hundred-and-fifty gathering of Striders, only fifteen remained. None had come in the following years, and that was unlikely to change. They did not reproduce as the smaller races did, and once one fell, their numbers reduced forever.

It did not matter if one Strider could fell a hundred men, when there were a thousand men, when there was always a thousand men. Time was attrition and they lost every time. Misery and squalor filled the room as memories flashed in both of them. A long silence, only marred by the sound of the milling crowds going by outside, fell upon the hut.

When one of them spoke up, it was Gishimmar, its voice weak, “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I – it’s simply impossible to watch you live in such squalor. You don’t deserve that. You lost the most out of all of us,” the strider stepped in, ducking their head down to fit, coming around to look at the unfinished statuette. By this point, the glow was dull, the heat no longer radiating quite as far as it once did. Gishimmar asked, “who is that?”

“Sagar,” Minesh replied, turning its head back to the statuette, “out of all of us, I really thought they’d make it.”

“They told me, before they went out, the beasts had found a weakness in the wall. If they didn’t go out, thousands could die,” Gishimmar echoed back, “everyone they saved don’t know that, and neither will they care.”

The silence fell again. They both stared down at the statuette, and the stone anvil it sat on. It was a cheap affair, the bronze by far the most expensive thing in the room. Even such a small amount was worth a king’s ransom in Fann, one last vestige of wealth in the blacksmith’s hut from a Strider who had already sold everything else to keep making the statuettes. A hundred were done, and thirty-five remained.

This time, it was Minesh who broke the silence, “You never said what brought you here, Gishimmar. You wouldn’t have come looking unless something’s changed.”

The finely-dressed strider tilted its head in an acknowledgement, explaining, “Things have changed. The roads are being paved with a new material. Tabira’s grown fat with wealth from that work. There’s a new academy, too. Sylia decreed it, and now I get paid for my discoveries. I have a manor now – paid for by mathematically determining the circumference of Galbar.”

Minesh spared a glance at the squalid dwelling it lived in, and drily commented, “I’m happy for you.”

“You know I wouldn’t tell you this unless it was leading somewhere,” Gishimmar chided, “I’m here on request of Tabira. Three quarters of the trade in the city now goes through her, and nobody’s noticed. She’s getting us all together, and has plans for a club. Her thoughts have been on nothing but you for the past week. She wants you back in Sylann, badly.”

“She?” Minesh asked, and Gishimmar responded, “She took that moniker last year. Helps her with business dealings. Emulates the goddess.”

The conversation continued as Minesh asked next, “So what, we all get back together, and trade pleasantries? What does Tabira want a club for?”

“The Assembly’s a bloated gaggle, they’re going to lead the city into ruin if left to their own devices. Bunch of warmongers, every day, all their solutions are invading their neighbors. We all hold positions of real influence in the city, and Tabira wants to leverage that. We’re going to – manipulate is perhaps the right word, but the intent’s wrong. The city should thrive, and if that means we have to move things behind the scenes, that’s what we’ll do.” Minesh could tell from the tone of Gishimmar’s voice, this was genuine, and the Strider was a genuine believer.

Minesh cared little for politics; its love for them died in the siege, and the death of its kin and its love. The Assembly, the goals of the city, all of them could rot for all it cared. Its next question flowed naturally, “Okay, and why would I care?”

“You don’t have to,” Gishimmar admitted, “Tabira’s going to give you your own manor, even got your old smithery back, renovated it back to how it was. She’s hunting down your old anvil now. She doesn’t care if you contribute; all you have to do is attend. We’re all firm believers Striders need to stick together.”

“My statuettes,” Minesh mentioned.

Gishimmar looked at the crooked shelves that lined the huts, and the small statues of various Striders that sat upon them. It lilted, sympathetically, “You can finish them. I may think they’re macabre, but – that’s not an indictment of them. We’re not going to take that away from you.”

Minesh fell into thought, the hut silencing once more as Gishimmar waited for a reply. The blacksmith’s antennae sagged, and it looked down with all four eyes at the statuette. When it replied, it said, in a tone that was simultaneously defeated and hopeful, “Help me pack everything up. I’ll come.”