AngelofOctober

The Golden Brew

No one wanted you. No one ever really wanted you. Discarded like dried leaves on the forest floor. No one reached for you. No one called out your name. Because those things didn’t matter. What mattered to them was the color of your hair and the color of your skin. What mattered to them were your horns and your claws. Or your canines. Do you fear me? Do I make you afraid? Do I make you uncomfortable? How about you get closer and I show you what I really am made of?

Age: Between 15 and 16 - You think I counted?

Species: Half Deamon - Abyssal energy flows through his blood. Though Deamons have no relations with their Brood. They are often a byproduct of rape, a curse, sometimes it’s even a choice. A Deamon does not love the one who summoned it, nor do they care about the Brood that which they spawn. Though no two Half Deamons are alike, just as there is no Deamon that is alike either. A Half Deamon’s features and appearance are often based on the Deamonic lineage that spawned them. Igni, Aquarius, Grimace, Miseri, and so and so forth. Valeo’s “father” if it can even be called that was the burning Abyssal. Igni, Demi Spawn of the Oblivion.

Igni was forged from magma, or so the stories go. That churning in a volcano, was the core of Abyssal energy that birthed the lord of flames himself. They say it is Igni’s presence that called for volcanic eruptions, and that it is Igni’s presence that created wrath in mortal men. The 10ft abomination that is called a Deamon who carries a warhammer and punished sinful men by boiling them alive, that is Igni.

Igni was known for his hatred of the Celestials who banished him back from the Mortal Plane into the Oblivion. Where Igni stays, sealed away from his wrathful, destructive forces on the mortal plane. For this Igni vowed to get his vengeance on a Celestial being and break free from his Celestial bonds.

It is this heritage that flows in Valeo. Which is probably why personally he is so fiery and difficult to deal with at times. It is Igni’s heritage that gives his Brood either ashen pale skin [uncommon], reddish clay skin, or a yellow orange skin. Those who are the children of Igni often have rust colored eyes, golden, or often they are completely blacken. It also means his children have a high tolerance to heat and fire in general.

Normal fire pulls away from Valeo, he could stick his hand through a campfire, or on candlelight and like a magnet with two negative forces being put together they repel instead. The fire pulls or wraps around him and doesn’t even harm him. With elemental magical fire, Valeo takes half damage and is not as easily burned by fire that some others might. Valeo wouldn’t be able to walk in a volcano or a smoldering inferno, but he has some defenses against the heat. What Valeo doesn’t have is defenses against is the cold. Due to his hotter temperature, he has trouble staying warm in sub zero temperatures.

However, all Deamon children often share similar traits, vestigial or not. Usually horns, wings, tails, cloven feet, claws, etc. Every Half Deamon child is different and they may have one or two of these features, but they often share these commonalities.

Valeo had horns, if you pull back his bangs you will two see black, worned down spots, where his horns use to be. They have been cut, cauterized as to not grow back. Leaving black, boney spots on his forehead where his horns use to be. Valeo tends to hide these spots with long bangs. He has claws and with that a natural swipe move with his claws. He also has sharp teeth, nothing like a Vampry, but enough to break skin and leave a bruise. Which gives him a natural bite attack as well. Has dark vision as well and can see up to 60ft in night.
Some of Valeo’s personality traits are not by choice, but by nature. Common instincts for a Half Deamon child and are often traits of their father. Dominant traits are not chosen by their fathers. It is like a tiger cub knowing how to hunt at birth, but a parent still teaching them to perfect it. The dominant traits passed on by his father are wrath, a fiery tempting spirit [portrayed in his free spirited nature that doesn’t obey rules], and the will to survive.

It's The Effort that Counts

Red. Red hair. Tufts, no a mane of red hair. It blew in the wind, flickering across his face like dancing flames. He stared at you with ferocity, even if he were not angry with you, the look of annoyance on his face was enough to know you were not welcomed in entering his personal space. His eyes were bright, golden yellow only made more stark in comparison to the fact his eyes were blackened, with rusty reds. His gaze, no his scowl at you were like having a staring contest with a volcano.

Neither of you blink, well you eventually blink, but his eyes remain fixated on you with hyperfocus. He may have looked like a teenage boy, but there was a path of destruction in his eyes that seemed more like a feral beast than that of a loving, innocent child. His eyes burned through the back of your head, curiously studying you with an ocular observation that you trapped in his gaze. As sweat rolled down your forehead, he continued to study you. It was like he knew your every thought before you could say anything or that was what he was trying to figure out.

There was a pressure about him. A force. A strong force, that would not bend. He would not be made to do anything you said and the truth was you wanted to leave. Something about him made you trapped in a place, and you could easily have taken this boy down, you were sure of it when he stood at 5’5”, 165cms, and probably weighed on the extremely light side, consider how his robes hung loosely on his body. You couldn’t guess, but he seemed easy to take down physically. Yet, you felt weighed down by his presence, his stare alone. How were you afraid of such a small, fragile looking child?

His robes were black, though fading, almost gray, with patches woven into the sleeves. A pair of breeches were ballooned, gathered at the shins, underneath black riding boots, also worn down to the heel, with fur lined trimming. A sooty colored brown capellette hung on his shoulders, with tattered, worn fingerless gloves, gray, with blacken parts from being burned perhaps. Most notable were his stark features, nonhuman features. Despite his human silhouette, his skin was a light, ashen gray, hints of white the way you may see peach in someone’s skin.Bruising under his eye, gave him an unusual age to his otherwise youthful appearance. He was human, but not. He just scoffs and lifts up his hood attached to his capelette.

“Not worth my time,” he says turning his back. Yet everything about earlier exchange remained in your head, like he was still gazing at you or really through you.

His voice was smoldering, husky and smoky, with a boyish charm. It was young, not too deep, full of youthful cockiness.

Personality Strength

“Do not think you can pull a fast one on me. I am not easy to lie to. And I am not a simple child. I know more than you think. So be careful with what you say”

Intelligent and cunning Valeo is not some child to underestimate. While his appearance would give off the impression of some weak boy. His gaze and his sharp tongue would not. While he may not have read books and been educated in the schools, what he lacks in proper education, he makes up for street smarts and his quick learning capabilities. Valeo is observant and very aware of his environment around him. He picks up on things and uses those things he has picked up against those he knows it will work on. He’s not easily gullible nor is he easy to trick. You can’t slick a slick and Valeo tends to know when someone is trying to lie to him.

Despite what it may seem Valeo has a strong sense of self. Some people might see him hiding his injured horns as some kind of insecurity, though Valeo makes up for it in pompous arrogance and high self esteem. So much so you could say that self esteem is a flaw in Valeo, we will get there in time. Valeo won’t and doesn’t accept others disrespect, though how he handles it could be considered over the top to others. Valeo doesn’t necessarily care.

A free spirit, who does want he wants and doesn’t obey the rules of others could also be considered a flaw in Valeo’s personality. Though it is this free living that inspires others to take risk. Valeo is bold, candid, and very clear in what he thinks of a person. While he may not be very emotional, and is more analytical, observant about the things around him Valeo may let others in at a comfortable distance. It will never be an emotional relationship. The lack of a nurturing figure in his life or a loving embrace leaves Valeo’s affectionate side very dull.

That doesn’t mean Valeo won’t show gratitude or be grateful. Even if it doesn’t read that way. He’ll always come off sharp tongued, mean spirited, and a bit of an asshole. Though somewhere that asshole probably has a heart of gold. Valeo is patience with others, despite what it seems. He has a long fuse, for someone who abominable blood gives him wrath as a natural trait. Usually when Valeo explodes in the way he does it is because he has given someone so much rope that it eventually all burns away and he can’t take their stupidity.

Valeo personality is a Do or Don’t kind of personality. In truth he’d probably never expose him going to get the Golden Set with the other kids because he wants to say Thank You to Gertrude, not out of love, but respect. Which Valeo has an abundance of for those who take action and don’t idly sit on their hands. His wrath and anger usually pushes Valeo to action, and he’ll take things in his own hands if he has to do just to get something done.

Loyal to those who earn it. Trusting to those he deems deserve the truth. These strengths are all layered under the disguise that most of his strengths could be painted nearly all off as flaws to others who do not understand his complicated nature.

Personality Flaws

“You don’t really think you can compare yourself to me. I won’t let you undermine me in such a way.”

Valeo is not the type of child who accepts consoling words from those who hear his story. In fact the truth of the matter might be he looking more for validation than he is looking for consoling words. This is what makes Valeo personality hard for others to understand. Not easy to bend and not easy to tell what to do, most give up on Valeo at this point due to his nature. They see a person who disregards others, who thinks highly of himself, and is selfish.

Without understanding that everything about Valeo is earning things. You earn the right to get close to him. You earn the truth from him. You earn your respect. Otherwise you’re a waste of time and not worth the effort. Life is about survival and those you let into your inner circle cannot be ones who betray you.

His true flaw is more likely the walls Valeo puts up. All the walls that make Valeo a maze to deal with. He’s self centered and cocky, but then he tells you a truth, or does something for you that would be considered kind though refuses to show any affection afterward. He’s violent and aggressive, but then he’ll give you a smile your way and tell you he is just joking.

Which is it Valeo? Harder to put up with his do what he wants attitude. He has no respect for laws. He has no respect to follow rules. Most of his life has been in the forest, where choices were his own choices and living in a city rules be damned. He has certainly gotten Gertrude and some of the orphans in trouble because he doesn’t follows rules.

And while most of his flaws seem like innocent folly. There are two types of anger Valeo can show. A “I’m annoyed with you” anger which is probably the side of his angry you want to be on. At least he can get over that. Or you can smooth things over by trying to get on his good side without further annoying him. And then there is Valeo’s wrath. Though hard to spike, he can be vengeance seeking and quite cruel, malicious to those who have pushed him too far.

This side is malicious and demonic. It is the side that has pushed Valeo to do terrible things in his past. None of which he feels ashamed for or regret. Rather pride. He’ll even boast about it without recognizing why others might find it wrong.

Valeo is also sharp tongued, and can be quite rude to others because of his candid bold personality. Sometimes he doesn’t care what he says to others. Other times he will beat himself up for allowing himself to say such a stupid thing. And for those who do not earn the truth from him. He is a sharp liar and manipulator. With little to no remorse for doing so. To survive is his will.

Neutral

Poetry, despite lacking education and probably the neatest handwriting, however, he likes to sit down and write his thoughts. They aren’t necessarily good pieces either;

Babbling brook
Honestly why are you called
A babbling brook
More like peeing brook
Because you make travelers
Feel the need to pee
Isn’t that how that works?

Coffee not because it taste any good, honestly it was his favorite part of Cosmo City was the coffee because it made him feel more adult. And there is nothing more important than looking more adult in front of the other orphans. Had to understand the difference between him and them.

People watching there is nothing more fun in the world than watching other people make a mistake. Watching other people a mistake is probably one of the greatest joys in the world. Because they tried so hard to cover them up, not self aware enough to realize when someone else has witnessed them making a slight.

Dislikes babies. First off they look weird, anyone who thinks a baby looks normal is just been tricked by their baby magic. Second off they drool. Seriously I have seen Alpine Lions cubs more sophisticated than how much actual mucus comes out of a human baby. Also they are loud.

Dislikes compliments. I seen enough people to know why they compliment each other. To feel less insecure about themselves. It is rare to see a genuine compliment, so just don’t compliment me. Show me gratitude with something. Don’t try to kiss my arse.

Skills:

Forest Navigation -

Growing up in the woods of Aeflstan has made Valeo adapt to their changing paths and corridors. He understands the nature of the forest is fickle and thus he understands the nature of how to travel through it without becoming dead, dinner or lost for all eternity till you die. His knowledge of the forest seems uncanny to the elves, but that’s merely because he’s passed through the forest with knowledge bestowed to him by the creatures of the forest.

Identifying Flora and Fauna -

What Valeo may lack from actual textbooks, he learned living in the forest. For the most part Valleo can tell you what you can eat, what you shouldn’t eat, and what you could try to eat. He can identify what a beast is and the nature they present.

Intimidation -

So some fuckhole won’t let you into the gate or someone is giving you a hard time. Don’t worry I know how to deal with these types. Despite being a teenager Valeo has the skill to intimidate others quite well. Probably something he picked up in the look of animals of the forest. Imitating the most fearsome. He also picked up words bandits say and rogues say to intimidate others. Coupled with his look of a beast he can surely make another person wee themselves a little.

Forest Friends -

Not every beast of the forest is tameable, but not every beast is ferocious. Being raised by the forest Valeo has few friends in the woods and has an uncanny knack of knowing what animals mean. He can “talk” to them or engage with them. As well as smooth over any mistakes the idiots create. Though not every situation can be fixed and even if he is friends with an Owl Bear doesn’t mean that if you done something to royally piss it off he’s not going to sit there talking to it in a soothing voice. He’s running and you better run too. His alliance with them is fickle as fickle as the nature of the forest.

Manipulation -

Valeo is a pretty good liar. Since he’s observant and aware of the world around him, he picks up on things others do not. He knows how to subtle pick up on how to make others bend to do what he wants them to do. Shit he’ll go as far as blackmailing someone important if he has in order to get his way. It is a good technique to have when you’re trying to survive the city.

Perceptive -

Valeo can read the air very well. Since he has a natural observant personality and he is smart, able to pick up on subtle things. He also notices when someone is trying to pull a fast one over him or someone trying to lie to him. I mean he’s not foolproof there is always someone out there smarter, faster or stronger than you or all three. He also quick to notice things around him. Snapping twigs, surprise attacks. He’s often the one who feels the mood before everyone else picks up on it.

Focal Crystal: A what? All I have is this piece of stone. Found it near a spell stone that was crumbling and thought it looked cool so I picked it up. I don’t need some fancy glitter rock to cast magic. Rest of the magical people are just showing off. I wonder if there is a competition on who has the shiniest focal crystal.

Special Equipment:

Pointy Compass

I don't know what it is really called. Some guy dropped it out of his bag into the mud, finder’s keepers. Seems it changes different colors depending on the direction someone goes, blue for north, green for west, yellow for south, orange for east, then a blend of those colors for northwest, southeast, etc. Also a really neat feature is if I think of where I’d like to go, I can put the pen part on a map and it draws the safest path to get there on said map.

Pointy Compass

Mimic Bag - Muris

So it isn’t cuddly and some of my stuff is dripping in saliva afterward. But it is great robber deterrent. And it has a great personality. Sometimes if you pet my bag just in the right way it starts to pur like a cat and it’s kind of great. It’s the companion that you’ll never tire of and it doesn’t annoy you. Unless it decides that it’s going to put your poetry in its actual stomach. You think it’s trying to tell me something.

Muris

Equipment:

Magnar [Mugn-ar]

Perks of being raised by a tiger mom is that one day the tiger cub you played with decides to follow you. The second perk of said tiger cub is that you can ride him and he doesn’t put up much fuss. Simon fixed the armor. Don’t ask me where it came from. Don’t ask me how I afforded it. It was a gift, okay, from a friend.

Ring of my Animal Friends

Don’t ask an old woman gave it to me for some reason. It’s not important.

Not important

Poetry

Haha. You actually thought this was a spellbook. No it is my poetry holder. All my poetry goes in this little binder.

Maybe I am truly meant to be a bard

Weapon: One handed axe - cause sometimes an asshole is brandishing a sword at you, or a knife, and you have to get in close.

Something Simple - Not a show off

Special Attack: Blessing of Falsehood - so it may not be an explosive spell or even one that is fiery and eternal doom for all. But it can be fairly useful in a lot of scenarios. While Valeo is a gifted liar, naturally, it is enhanced due to his Deamonic heritage. Igni being the Father of Falsehoods, grants Valeo the ability to make most people believe his lies. Exceptions being those with high willpower, those who are highly perceptive, and even then some might simply feel something isn’t entirely right, but can’t spot the lie.

Magic Lv: 5

Spellbook: My brain, don't need a dumb book to keep them in my head, read the stones.

School of Focus: Primordial Magic - before there were schools of focus, there was simply the magic that existed in the forest. It is the magic that makes the forest alive, the animals and creatures somehow connected to it’s life, and it is the secret behind the Spell Stones. Valeo had no teacher, he had the stones and met many creatures in the forest. Many whom magic was not bound and chain by a mere study of focus. The concept is alien and is what makes wizards in the city weak.

Sedation

The next action the target will take is slow down by a few seconds. A spell that might take a caster 5 seconds to cast, make take up to 15 seconds. A nice way to get in and take an advantage. And any physical action may take longer as well, unsheathing a sword may take up to 1 second, but with this spell it take upwards to 5 seconds. The spell is not permanent, it is temporary and is considered a counterspell. So the target must be making some kind of action before he can actually cast this spell on his target and he can only target one individual at time or really counter one individual at a time. It works one one action, one target, they must be making an action before he can cast the action and can miss the timing of countering their action.


Rupture

Causes whatever is targeted to break. That is non magical items like glass windows, even non enchanted weapons, non enchanted equipment to shatter or break by merely pointing at it. Any living creatures targeted by the spell will not be affected at the surface, instead this spell affects living creatures at different levels of defense. Ordinary people will have their bones give way without much resistance. Has to be a specifically targeted bone, it’s not all the bones. Spell affects what the user is pointing at specifically. Can’t target the same object or person after breaking something or the object in question.

{Demonic Inherited}

Inside Valeo is a storm of Abyssal energy, being half Deamon makes him close to his nature, or perhaps that is because he was never shackled down to a single school of focus. This Abyssal energy comes out as crackling, red lighting, surrounded by a pitch black flame that has no shape or silhouette beside look like a black shadow that flickers like flames. It crackles, it sizzles. While one who is touched by this energy feels heat like burning fire, it also eats away at their flesh like some super form of gangrene dealing necrotic burning damage. Valeo can use this energy in various forms, and it is the main use in combat or an effective killing blow.

This spell can be used in various ways;

- small baseball shaped fireballs that can be lobbed upwards to 30ft, the cinges the ground or its target, blackening the earth or eating away at their flesh.

- with swiping motions it can come as crescent shaped strikes, slicing it’s target with burning, and melting effects. Can be thrown upwards of 15ft.

- he can channel the energy into a small focus, i.e. being his claws and can come up close and personal with a nasty scratch. Or he can channel the energy into his hands to hold onto his targets and give them a nice surprising grip.

Imitator

Valeo can target one individual at a time and mark them with a symbol. Unbeknownst to the target marked with this spell, when they cast their next spell Valeo can cast exactly the same spell they are casting as a clone version of the spell. This spell affects one person at a time, requires the original owner of the spell to cast a spell first, and dissipates after use. He cannot target the same target again for 60 seconds.

Misc Battle Info: Valeo is not your traditional caster, not only does he not have a spellbook, but he also gets up close and personal. His main use is in the utility of his abyssal energy, which means he is more free to move than most casters. Butterfly kicks, and acrobatic gymnastics, mixed with casting abyssal energy to wreak havoc on his foes. And if the fancy footwork doesn’t catch you off guard, he always has the brutality of his axe. In truth he moves freely like an animal, with a “combat training” he otherwise should not have be able to perform. Valeo's magic is more primal and more tied his mental and emotional being and state of mind. Spell strength is determined by emotion, connection, and the mental focus of an individual. Versus the tailor that a school of focus gives. It should be noted that Rupture is affected by various things as well. Large massive creatures may not feel near the same affect as an ordinary human being with low defenses. Rupture cannot break through enchanted armor or break natural magical defenses magical creatures have. Size can also affect the Rupture spell, a broken leg for a human, might just be a hairline fracture for a giant.

"A child never wanted, a child never loved. Passed on by the next and the next. Feared by many, scorned by everyone. The only acceptance was with the ones already scorned and not loved."

Abyssal Union

“She’s beautiful, but I heard her womb is cursed,” there they went whispering again, the woman would smile to her face, but they would talk behind her back. Everyone knew in Redfort it seemed like. Not only did it seem like everyone knew it also seemed that Sigfrid was tired of waiting. Grabbing her laundry, Ereda grabbed her laundry quickly trying to get away from the rumors that surrounded her. It hurt to lose another child. Was it her? Well everyone blamed her. Entering the cottage her and Sigfrid shared she hoped it would be a refuge to get away from the scrutiny.

Instead Sigfrid was sitting on a chair, that he himself had carved. He looks at her, he’s handsome to look at, lean features, and a square jaw. Except that as of late it felt like their love was dying. There were so in love a long time ago. Now it seemed like every child lost was some kind of spite against hers. His emerald colored irises just watched her, his brown hair the color of the mud, though that never bothered her.

“I cleaned some linens,” she announces, hoping he was in a good mood today.

“I can see that,” he says bitterly looking at her basket.

“How was field work?” she asked.

“Fine,” he replies.

“Are you mad at me?” she ask him.

He slams his hands down on the table and looks at her angrily. She takes a step back. Her heart racing. His rage boiling over. She had never felt more like a fool then losing her third child. What was wrong with her? Did she have a cursed womb? What had she done to the goddess of fertility to upset her?

“No I am fooking furious, you’ll never bear a child,” Sigfrid tells her, “Should have never chosen to marry you over your sister. She at least has kids.”

Her vision becoming a watery mess, as a tear rolled down her cheek. She didn’t know how to mend his heart. She knew he was angry and lashing out, she knew he had to hear the rumors and gossip too.

“I’m sorry,” she says trying to fight the tears and the shaking of her body, “I’m sorry. I can….pray to the fertility goddess.”

“She probably has gotten fed up with you as well,” Sigfrid scoffs, “You and your sister look alike, that’s an option.”

She promised herself she would not grieve any longer, but she couldn’t fight the current of emotions. As she broke down into tears. Sigfrid watched her with a callous cold that was not usually like him. He got up and said nothing walking towards the door, she grabbed him by the sleeve of his tunic.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“For a walk and see if I want to deal with tradition or not,” he curls his lip when he says so. He’s disgusted by her. Repulsed by her. How does she fix it? How does she bring happiness back to his face? Is he going to take further shame and break their bond.

“Ple-ease...Sig,” she utters breathily.

He pushes her arm off of his. She swears she sees him fighting tears, but he has to be angry at somebody. It is her. She stares at the door for a long time. Will he come back? She wonders if he’ll come back. She lies on the floor curling up in fetal position. Her tears plopping gently onto the wood of the cottage home.

It goes from day to night when she wakes up. Is he home? Has he decided to stay? Every night and every day since they got married she would always run back to the cottage, as if they had fallen in love just yesterday and now there is this void. He’s drifting from her. Was it the lack of children or did he simply hate her?

“Sigfrid,” she calls out.

There is no answer. She waits.

“Sigfrid,” she stands up now. Please tell her heart he has come back. She could not have lost this third child to lose him as well. She wanders the house in the dark. It’s empty, like a ghost home. She can’t, she can’t lose him either. She runs towards her talisman. Getting on her hands and knees, she can’t produce tears anymore.

“Please, I am begging,” she weeps, “Please. I cannot lose him. What have I done? Have I not been charitable enough? Have I upset you somehow? Please. Please!” her voice is loud and cracking, “Please tell me. Please help me. I need him to come home. Someone hear my prayer.”

She sits in silence. Is she worth existing? Is she worth living if she cannot pass her life on? Is she worth loving if she can’t make them happy? There is a pain in her chest. There is a tightening feeling and the sense of nausea. She’s better off dead. Is she not? Suddenly the door swings open. A forceful, unnatural wind.

“Who--who is there?” she whimpers in a small voice that is not her. Her feeling of guilt being replaced immediately with fear.

A candle on the table begins to burn. She’s paralyzed in one spot.

“You asked for someone to hear your prayer,” a deep, bellowing voice echoed around her. Disembodied, she could not see anyone.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I am the one who will perform a miracle,” the voice says.

“Are you a Celestial?” she ask.

“More or less,” the voice replies.

She feels a sense of relief. Where was this individual?

“May I see you?” she ask.

She only gets a brief vision of a handsome man standing before her. He was very Celestial looking with golden hair that reminded her of chainmail. His eyes were the purest color of glowing light. He was beautiful to grace her eyes upon him.

“Do you know why the Gods have cursed me?” she ask him.

“I don’t work for any God, thus I have no answer to the question,” he tells her, and brushes her hair back, “But feel your pain. I have no children of my own. How will my legacy live on?”

He understood her pain. Is that why he came to her in person? She felt afraid, but at the same time comforted by his presence. She let her guard down.

“Can you help me?” she ask.

“Yes,”

Doing The Right Thing

That evening was behind her these days, she seemed to have forgotten it with all the preparations. Ingrid her midwife watched her as she grimaced from another contraction. Perhaps it was nerves, but she was slowly growing worried and nervous. A part of her said something wasn’t right, though another of her felt blessed. Why was she so scared of her own miracle? That’s what the whole village called it a miracle.

“Did you ever tell your husband?” Ingrid asked her.

“About the angel, yes,” she replies, she thinks Ingrid is trying to take her mind off the pain.

“Was he,” Ingrid blushed, “Sexy?”

Why would she ask her that? Except that she felt a little childish swelling in her heart. She slightly giggled.

“Insanely,” she told her.

“Your baby is going to be half angel,” Ingrid tells her.

She wondered if he have golden hair that shimmered in the way his did. She wondered what kind of features a Celestial baby might have. That’s right Ingrid is right this isn’t the time to worry. Soon she would be blessed with a miracle child. Then she would no longer be the woman of this village with some fertility curse.

“Sigfrid will be so jealous,” she says wincing a little.

“He’s going to have wings, and start making the charities affluent,” Ingrid giggle, “What is it like carry an angel’s child?”
“Tiring, but I never been pregnant, don’t know if nine months of exhaustion is normal,” she tells the older woman.

“It is tiring,” Ingrid tells her.

Well she knew that. In the technical sense. He was almost here. In this world. She would meet face to face with him. Her life would change from misfortune to miracles. Now she was weeping from joy, not sadness. She couldn’t wait for Sigfrid to hold onto their baby with pride and see him smile.

**

She woke up to a blood curdling scream. Ingrid! She was exhausted. Soaking in her own sweat. That seemed to take hours. Staring at the setting sun Sigfrid should be home soon.

“Ingrid!” she calls out tiredly.

“Wh-what have you done Ereda?” Ingrid ask her. She sounds scared. She tries to lift herself up. Her body is sore and she’s so tired. Ingrid is holding her son in a blanket, she’s trembling, she’s averting her gaze. What’s wrong with him? Ereda begins to feel a sinking panicking.

“What is it?” Ereda ask.

“See for yourself, I can’t be with you,” Ingrid says leaving the baby swaddled in blankets next to her and quickly running out of the home. What could she be so afraid? Sigfrid should be home soon. No. What’s wrong. No. Is it a stillborn? Is he deformed? Disabled? She grabs the baby and gasp in her own shock. Ashen skin and blacken eyes staring at her. They were gold and red, and black like the pictures of Deamons. He had small horns beginning to grow. He was warm to the touch, much warmer than any normal baby. And tufts of red hair were beginning to grow from a gray scalp. She couldn’t. If Sigfrid saw him.

Tiredly Ereda picked herself up and the baby. She had to kill him and flee Redfort. It was the only way to save Sigfrid from ridicule. It was the only way to save her from humiliation, utter humiliation. She was so exhausted, but she had to rid the world of this abomination. An abomination her own womb fashioned. A miracle. No it truly was a curse. She tried to run out of the cottage. More like a light jog. She hadn’t the energy to run, and yet she did.

Sigfrid was coming back from the fields, she could see him talking to other men and women who worked him. She made sure he did not see her. She carried on. Running towards the woods. Towards the woods. Holding the baby at a distant. The abomination that it was she ran into the forest. There was a different atmosphere here. She was scared. She must smell of food. She tripped over a root, cutting open the top of her foot.

The abomination began to cry. How does she kill him?

Lying him down in a bed of leaves. He began to look at her with teary eyes. She looked around, grabbing a rock she could smash him. He was so tiny, it should be easy, simple in fact. But she was no killer. That sounded barbaric. Even if he were some infernal baby she couldn’t stone him. Maybe she could drown him. There was a brook close by. She hesitated picking him up. He’s just a baby. One night in the cold, without food likely kill him as easily as any of these barbaric methods. She gets up from the bed of leaves and brushes them off of her.

She was in too much shock to cry right now. How had this happened to her? Why her? Why was she so unfortunate? She looked at him one more time. He stared back. They were like strangers without a bond right now. She turned her back, she had to do what she had to do right?

Sweet Dreams

Abyssal eyes stared at the canopy above. The woman’s voice that he had heard in embryonic fluid has not been heard for quite some time. He tries to move to his side. An animal runs across the tree branch to another tree branch. The very first lullaby sung to him is the sound of the birds, the cracking of twigs. And another voice. A voice that sings to him. It is the first song he has heard, is it instinct, or the voice of nature herself. Hush little baby. It says. Hush little one. Hush little babe. Survive this. And continue to live. You must live. But the baby wasn’t apt to listening to a voice from nowhere. He closed his eyes. To rest for an eternity in Oblivion.

Tiger Boy and a Crone

Seven years a miracle was bestowed to Metrodora and her cubs. She was strolling along the forest floor when her and her cubs came across a strange sight indeed. A dying and cold baby. Normally Metrodora would have let the baby die. Yet, something compelled her that day to take the baby in. He drank her milk and learned her skills. Leaving her care, but sticking close to his brother Magnar. Who saw him nothing, but another tiger.

“I never seen a boy with a tiger before,” a voice says from the brush. He has heard man’s voice before. But he has no man’s voice. Magnar begins to growl and so does he. He stands on all fours and imitates Magnar.

“Nor have I seen a boy behave like a cat, get off that log that won’t intimidate anyone,” she barks. An old woman comes out from the brush. Magnar stays on guard.

He had heard man’s voice before that did not mean he understood it. What he understood was an old woman hitting them both with a wooden spoon. What stopped Magnar from ripping out her throat? Magnar seemed to understand who she is. His tail curled in, he seemed afraid of her. Though Valeo was not so sure he was afraid of her.

“You obviously have no manners,” she tells him. For an old woman she was quite strong. She picked him up from the collar of a shirt he had found in the mud when man left it at their campsite. She begins to drag him off, Magnar following close by.

Brother, who is she.

A scary woman.

I am not scared.

You should be.

He didn’t like the being dragged off part. He could feel the earth between the tips of his claws, digging into the soil as he tried to anchor or slow down the old woman. She was old, but strong. How? He did not understand. Magnar watched close, yet slunk off in the forest. Yeah go away then, huh. Won’t help him slay this old lady. How tough could she be? He struggled to take his shirt off. She looked back when he slipped out.

“Did Metrodora not teach you better,” she says, “I am going to have a talk with her.”

Metrodora? His mother tiger? It is the only word he understood because it is the word he felt when he would put his claws through her fur. He cocks his head to the side.

“Now you are listening,” she continues.

It all sounds all scrambled when she talks.

“Rrr,” Valeo growls at her.

She doesn’t care much grabbing for his wrist and continues to drag him off that way. Either he used his legs now or fall to the ground and be dragged that way. Who was she? How did she know Mother Tiger? Her grip hurt. It was very strong. There they finally came to a small, swampy looking cottage in the middle of the forest. With a walkway used to divert visitors from walking in the mud.

Entering the cottage, herbs hung from every part of the ceiling, it smelled earthy, and minty. There was something cooking in a cauldron. Empty flask and bottles sat on a shelf, and some of them glew with magical liquids. The woman let go of his wrist and walked off to a little lever. Where she began to pump out some clear looking water. Taking a small piece of cloth she walked over to him again and handed him the cloth.

He stared at it for a while, before she finally grabbed his ankle, which startled him and made him fall on his rear. Ow. The hardwood floor surely broke something in his bum. She put the cold towel to his feet and began to scrub them. Turning the cloth black.

“I do not like visitors tracking mud, shoes or not,” she tells him. When finished she throws in the cloth in a basket.

What was this place?

“You look confused doubt you would understand if I told you the story now,” she tells him, “I am Orphelia a druid of these woods. I know the animals, I speak to them in a similar fashion than you do. And I eat little boys and girls who get lost in the forest.”

She takes a eating utensil towards his face. He does not know why she is shoving an eating utensil at him, till she forces it in his hands. She laughs. He does not know why she is laughing. Taking out two wooden bowls with a crack, she begins to put something from the cauldron into the bowls and drops them on the table. Food then? He had only ever hunted and ate what Magnar ate. He gets up from the floor. Bum is still sore.

Sitting on a wobbly chair he watches her and puts the utensil in the food. The food runs away and is always slipping off the utensil. Few minutes being fed up with the utensil being ineffective, he goes and dives in using his hands. She looks at him with disapproval, but does not scold him.

Purpose and Reason

A year of trouble, is what Orphelia calls him. He throws some mint into one of her alchemical potions. She gets visitors who ask her for miracle brews. Orphelia is standing over the boiling cauldron. He watches her. He’s not like Magnar, nor is he like her. His skin is ashen, like undead. Stand him next to a zombie and the resemblance would be uncanny. Actually he did that and got smacked by Orphelia’s spoon. Except he had horns too, they were getting thicker and slowly beginning to curl. Only thing he had in common with Magnar were claws, except they weren’t retractable no matter how much he tried, and his teeth. Except they were not as sharp.

“I did it,” he tells her. He understands better what she says. His words are still simple sometimes.

“So you did,” Orphelia tells him, “This recipe aids the ill to get better. It does not cure diseases. Many people come in here thinking I can fix anything.”

“You said I am not a tiger,” he tells her, “And I am not a one of you.”

He gives her a very funny look. Even to this day he did not know who she was. Or what she was. A witch, a druid. Yet, her spoon was enchanted somehow to make the feral and untamed at peace or at least less likely to fight her. And she was strong enough to lift him with one arm.

“Both very true statements, my species is only female and you’re not,” she tells him, “But Metrodora was only a supplemental mother.”

“Then, how do I figure what I am?” he ask her.

“Visit the Lady in the Lake, she lives in waters crystal clear, she will reveal what you want to know,” Orphelia tells him.

Lady in the Lake, crystal clear waters? She is already grabbing a patched knapsack and putting bread, dried meats, nuts, and dried fruit into the bag. She grabs a waterskin and begins to fill it with water. She looks at her shelf, at the glowing liquids. She grabs a yellow green one and pours it into a smaller vial.

“This is for venom,” she tells him putting it in the bag.

She grabs a blue one you could have mistaken for actual water, however, it was a little thicker, shimmered with very small fragments of silver. She also begins to put it in a smaller vial.

“This is fairy ointment, it is meant for your wounds or burns, spread it on do not drink it,” she tells him.

She grabs a ladle of the brew they currently were cooking now. A deep violet shade, with a blue glittering hue to it.

“This is for diseases, if you are to get sick, add this to tea,” she said and she grabs a few leaves, she begins to break them down into a mortar and pestle, she then places it in a small cloth bag, “This is the tea.”

“Got it,” he tells her.

“And one more thing trouble,” Orphelia tells him

He looks to her. She hands him a carved wooden ring. Someone has carved faces of the forest. There is a rabbit, a deer, a mouse, pig, and a bird. He looks to her.

“This is a ring of your animal friends, you have a rare and natural talent, this is your guide to use when you need help from the forest,” Orphelia tells him.

“Why can you not just tell?” he asked her.

Not that he was reluctant to leave. He always felt more comfortable in the forest, but he knew she knew a lot. Orphelia looks at him.

“Because if I tell you then you will never find your purpose,” she tells him, “You cannot become complacent here. This is not your home. And I am not your reason.”

He nods. He understood.

“When do I go?” he ask her and she hands him his bag. Now, then. She had always been more like a teacher or a mentor. A guide. Though the only reason he spoke now was because of her knowledge and wisdom.She taught him of the animals and the plant life when they gathered them for her brews. He looks at her.

“Good luck,” Orphelia tells him.

“Thank you for your guidance,” he bows and walks out the door.

Magnar is lounging on a rock. He whistles to get his attention. Magnar’s ears twitch and he picks up his head. He can already smell the food, he recognizes the bag as well. He cocks his head to the side.

Where we going?

To find a Lady in the Lake.

Why are we going there?

Orphelia says I need a purpose and a reason

Could lying on a rock be a purpose and a reason?

No.

Come on let’s lie on a rock for a little while.

It will be dark if we just lounge on a rock.

We both can see in the dark.

True. Not the point though.
Magnar stretches and yawns, Fine. I am up.

Part 2

They left Orphelia’s cottage two weeks ago. Magnar’s fur was soft, some would probably find the texture coarse, except he found comfort in the feeling. Both of them pick up their heads. A strange sound in the forest. Both of them stayed still, listening. Man’s laughter. There were people close by. He slinked off of Magnar’s back. Crouching on all fours, he slinked to the left into some bushes, and Magnar slinked off to the left. They watched from the cover of the brush.

A group of men, about five of them, were sitting around a campfire. They were eating bread, some kind of porridge. One man was playing a tune on an instrument. Their bags looked too fancy to be bandits. Merchants, he could see their wagon, horses were grazing on exposed grass. One man was tall, had a bushy beard that needed to be trim, and tufts of curly, wiry black hair. He wore a leather jerkin, over a line shirt. A fancy sword sat at his hip. Must have been there guard.

Well there were going to provide them no harm. They should be on their way to the Crystal Clear Waters. He began to slowly, cautiously, crawl out of the brush. As well as Magnar. He was certain he had not made much noise, but he heard one of the men, “What is wrong Arlow?”

“Something is watching us,” Arlow replied.

Arlow begins to walk towards the brush, he’s a tall man, a big man, like a giant of a man. Bummer. Arlow, the man with the big bushy beard is looking at him. His eyes widen looking at him. He stands up looking at Arlow and growling slightly.

“Rrrr,” Valeo tries to intimidate him.

“What is going on Arlow?” asked one of the men, he’s portly, and slight chubbier than the other men. He walks over to Arlow to notice him.
The man screams. Time to go. He whistles as he begins to run, turning his back on the men. Magnar runs out of the brush as well, which really startles the man, Magnar runs after him. Once he has heeled to his side he manages to slip onto his back. They wouldn’t be able to keep up with them, even on horses.

It is clear now. He softly pats Magnar’s head.

“I wonder how that man sensed us,” he says to Magnar.

Normally men don’t. He sighs. Well that was fun. No need to worry though. They were not going to do much they were scared out of their wits. The pace they took slowed and they began to walk calmly down the path. Up ahead was the sound of a battle. Magnar and him approached quietly. Rabbit warriors? Two colored rabbits a white one and a black one swords clashing. A brown one was already dead on the forest floor, its blood spilled out onto the leaves. Rabbits. He looks at his ring. A rabbit can help him!

“Why are you fighting?!” he ask loudly.

Both of the rabbits are startled by his question. The black one stares at him. Beady red eyes. Chainmail. A decorated sword. The white one looks annoyed, black beady eyes. He just smiles. The black one runs off.

“Hey,” the white rabbit says. She looks at him.

“Why did you interrupt?” she ask him.

“Because I was not going to get in a battle that I know nothing about,” he tells her.

“Should have just let me finish it then,” she tells him.

“Well I need to find a Lady in the Lake,” he replies, “and I did not want to wait for you to finish.”

“So you too then,” she says.

“Me too what?” he ask her.

“Looking for the Lady in the Lake, I am as well,” she says, “I am Princess Rosa of the Rabbit Kingdom. Or I was. Until the Black Rabbits killed my father and took my throne. I am going to the Lady of the Lake to obtain a sword that will slay their King.”

“You tell every stranger that?” he asked her.

“Hey! You said you needed to find her and needed my help, so I need yours,” she says, “Do you have a name?”

“No,” he replies.

“Guess I am addressing you as Boy,” Rosa tells him.

“Orphelia called me Trouble, Mother Tiger called me Cub,” he tells her, “Boy works.”

“You are a very weird,” Rosa replies.

He shrugs.

Magnar looks at Rosa. He looks at Magnar.

“He’ll let you on since you are not too heavy,” he tells her.

“Glad you don’t make ladies walk on their own,” Rosa hops on over and sits on Magnar’s back. She looks at him and he looks back at her.

He looks back to the forest. Magnar begins to walk down the forest path.

“Do you know where the Lady in the Lake is?” he ask her.

“I sure do,” Rosa begins to make crinkling noises and she takes out a map, she has drawn a path toward the the crystal waters. She circles where they just were, “Shouldn’t be too far, another week.” She tells him.

Answers

The lake glittered with a blue light, that seemed ethereal. They had been sitting at the bank’s edge for a few days now, making a camp near it. Yet, no Lady in the Lake showed. Rosa made another vegetable stew for them to eat. Magnar of course would not touch it, yet he had gotten use to the taste of dandelion stew.

“Is something supposed to be happening?” he ask Rosa.

“I am not sure,” Rosa tells him, “What if the tales are untrue? What if she does not exist?”

“That is not true,” he tells her quickly. He sounds assured, not worried, or concerned, nor upset. She looks at him.

“I admire the confidence,”

“Still not sure what we are suppose to exactly do,” he frowns and skips a rock across the surface, “Is there something that triggers her?”

“Praying?” Rosa suggest.

“We tried that,” he replies.

Magnar yawns, you both are being very loud.

“Hey Lady wake up!” he shouts across the lake.

Nothing. Magnar freezes his ears pick up and rotate. No he can hear it to. Horse’s steps. Rosa is now looking around. In the distance there is fire. People are coming. He quickly grabs Rosa and puts out the fire. Magnar gets up and begins to growl. His fur standing up. Hiding in the bushes, he watches as Magnar guards the camp. Men. Men are coming. With wagons. He notices one of them, the man wit the bushy beard.

“This is it,” Arlow says, “The Clear Lake.”

“What’s that up ahead?” asked another man.

Arlow steps forward and throws his torch, illuminating Magnar. He smiles. He recognizes him then?

“Just that tiger from about a week ago,” Arlow says, “Is that boy with you then kitty?”

“They do not seem friendly, maybe we should run,” Rosa suggest.

“Then you will not get that weapon,” he says.

He steps out of the bush. Arlow looks at him.

“Ah, so you are there, hiding in the bushes again,” Arlow tells him.

“Did you follow us?” he ask him.

“Follow a kid, no, we just happen to be looking for the Lady too,” Arlow tells him.

“So, then we have the same goal?” he ask, “We could work together. Because I cannot get the lady to wake up.”

Arlow begins to laugh. Why is he laughing at him?

“Work together, with a kid, a feral deamon,” Arlow smirks, “Why would I work with a child?”

Deamon. It is the first time he heard that word. That is not entirely true. One time a long long time ago, so long ago he cannot even remember if it happened that word was used.

“Deamon-

“-I will fill you in,” Arlow cuts him off unsheathing his sword, “we might not even need the lady of the lake, you would make us a pretty good fortune too. Ain’t that right boys.”

Now the men following behind him were unsheathing their weapons. The large man ran off to hide behind the wagons.

Arlow charges in. Magnar steps in front and grabs his leg, biting down hard on it. The leg bends, and twist like a tree branch. While Arlow and Magnar are busy two men are trying to pinch him and Rosa in. Rosa takes out her blade and blocks an attack with her sword. The other man charges in. He quickly steps aside from the man. The man loses his balance, which he takes as an advantage to trip him. The man falls flat on his face and he quickly pounces on top of the man. The man stares at him, his eyes are wide and he looks afraid. His horns and his ashen skin are reflected in this man’s brown eyes. He just smiles.

“P...lea….ease mercy. Deamon…..pl...ease I beg for your mer….mercy I was doin….doing what I was told,” the man sputters.

“Oh yeah, well I am doing what I was told then,” he tells the man and raises his hand, he feels the heat from his hands. An energy comes forward. It crackles.

He soothingly strokes the man’s cheek in a comforting manner Orphelia had done before, except as he did so, the man’s skin began to sizzle and crackled. The man began to scream out in pain. His flesh is beginning to blacken like burn wounds, though it is slowly beginning to boil, bubble and crack. As muscle is beginning expose. It too is beginning to boil and blacken, being eaten away that the energy was beginning to merely boil a hole through the man’s right cheek.

Getting off the man he pushes back his mane of long red hair and looks at the group of men who just witnessed the scene. He smiles at them.

“Who else wants some?” he ask.

Some of them drop their weapons and begin to run off. Arlow is still struggling with Magnar, he is getting exhausted. Rosa is still clashing blades with the other man, though both of them had stopped. Rosa seemed in shock and horror.

“You….evil…” the man sputters at him, he ignores Rosa and goes after him with his blade. Why did he not just run off like the other guy?

He moves out of the way. The man wasn’t even fighting with true spirit. Just grief. His footwork was all sloppy.

“Do not kill him!” Rosa calls out.

Except that he had sent a swiping motion of his energy at the man. It crackled and began to eat away at the skin, boiling, the smell of burnt skin, as the man two halves, his lower and upper body split into half. Entrails spilled out onto the grass, blood soaked into the mud. Each end had singing, blacken skinned were the invisible blade struck.

There is a quiet that settles. No one says anything. The men have vanished. The ones who valued their life. Arlow has given to his exhaustion, Magnar is chewing on his remains. Rosa is staring between him and Magnar.

“What are you? I thought you were a strange boy,” Rosa told him, “But this was not….the way to do it.”

He shrugs.

“That is why I came here,” he tells her, “To know what I am.”

“A monster,” Rosa tells him.

“What did you want me to do? Let them stab us?” he ask her.

“No, but,” Rosa turns away tears in her eyes.

She had too soft of a heart. It was survive or don’t.

“Do not be someone who goes against their word, you are the one who came here for a magical weapon to kill some King who killed your father,” he tells her, “Or what were you going to do, slightly maim him?”

“I would not have done it like this,” she tells him.

“Okay I do not know how you nicely murder someone, but good luck on that,” he tells her.

He looks to Magnar.

This human not very tasty.

Then stop eating him.

Magnar spits Arlow out. He looks at Rosa.

No. We are not taking her.

Magnar looks at the lake and his tail swishes.

I got my answer.

A Name is Born

The concept of years never really applied to Valeo. He knew when his hair was getting longer or his horns were growing firmer. Age and years were more a foreign concept to a boy with wild red hair, that shined in the sun like flames, and cascaded down to his tailbone. A pointed tip and the way it flowed like a mane rather than hair. His feet were calloused so were his hands and they picked up things that his ethereal eyes spotted as interesting to him. Out of a man's backpack he found a pointed compass, it changed colors depending on where he was going. He did not feel like giving it back. Magnar walked at his side, as he always did. Older than him, but that did not change the relationship. Sometimes men came into the woods to hunt Magnar, sometimes they came to hunt him. Sometimes they hunted them both. The forest changed, and the paths were not always the same. But that was the fun of crossing it, was that one day the corridor might be this way and another day it would be different.

Magnar ears twitched. They were in the clearer part of the forest, to see what men might have dropped along the path. Somebody is burning something. Campfire and burning smell entirely different from each other. Magnar grumbled, but he placed a hand in front of Magnar and walked through the less dense brush entering a clearing.
Someone set up a pit and is burning a large pile of leaves. He looks around, to see two men bundling leaves together. One was a young man, more or less his age, wearing a tunic with pantyhose. His father wearing riding pants, with riding boots, and a tunic. They pause looking at him. He looks back.

“We mean no harm,” the man speaks like an idiot, or maybe he assumes he is an idiot.

“Why are you burning leaves?” he ask.

“So that way our village will not burn,” the man replies.

So they were just idiots.

“The forest burns at the ground, by removing the leaves the trees burn and your village burns,” he told them.

The man looks like he has made a stunning realization.

“Is that so? Is that the tree people knowledge?” the man ask him.

He is no tree person. He scowls and crosses his arms across his chest.

“I guess, just seemed like common knowledge,” he replies.

“How old are you?” the man ask.

He shrugs.

“I don’t know, I don’t bother myself with frivolous knowledge,”

“Guess time is different for different folk like you, mind if you tell our Lord that, about the leaves, bestow him with your common knowledge, is what you call it,”

Does this man not know who he is? It might be an opportunity to learn about where men come from and how they live.

“I mean I love bestowing common knowledge to Lords who should know not to remove leaves from the forest, but apparently do not,” he replies.

“What’s all that mean?” the man ask him.

“More common knowledge stuff,” he replies.

“You have a name?” the man ask.

Right he’d need a man name to fit in with the man city. Leaver? Brook? That seems like a common enough man name. If common man calls themselves Brook then.

“Vale,” he replies.

“That’s an odd name, why you named after a valley?” the man asked.

“Valeo,” he tweaked.

“That’s even odder,” man tells him, but has him follow him.

It took some time traveling through a forest that has been removed of leaves. These people really wanted to go out like a candle. He might have come from the forest, but he new certain things about fire. Watching people fail with fire utterly. Even better the village is made of wood. These people really wanted to go out dying aflame.

“This here is our village,” the man says, “We were really worried about the forest burning our homes. So a lot of the folks volunteered to clear up the forest.”

“Oh yeah, what could go horribly wrong building a wooden structure, around a forest with nothing to burn, but the trees and the village itself,” Valeo tells the man.

The man laughs. He has no idea what he’s talking about. The man points to a raised part of earth. Ah so at least the lord would have a way to flee before the fire completely engulfed his keep.

“Lord lives up, there come on,” the man tells him, “Names Edvard, Valeo. Who name you, your mom?”

“I named myself,” Valeo replied.

“Oh that’s gotta be nifty, my mom named me Edvard, but I always thought that I looked like a Henry, what you think?” Edvard ask him.

“I think you look like an idiot,” Valeo retorts.

“Idiot an odd name, but I like you, even if we just met, going to call myself Henry from now on, get the whole village to do so as well,” Edvard continues, “Oi Junior.”

“Yes pa,” the young man finally speaks, so his name is Edvard too.

“Going to call myself Henry from now on,”

Why is he even bothering talking to their Lord? It isn’t like he owes these people anything. If they want to go out in embers why shouldn’t he let them? Valeo still climbs up the hill with Edvard/Henry the keep is guarded by two men standing at the thick wooden doors.

“This fellow tree person would like to bestow the lord with his common tree knowledge,” Edvard announces. Judging by the body language of the guards, rigid and stiff they recognized what he is, near immediately.

“Edvard that’s not a tree person,” one of the guards said.

“Got the horns and the funny lookin’ skin,” Edvard says.

“No ears like leaves, and his horns are not antlers. Deamon, what do you want?” the second guard asked him.

“To be parted from this moron’s presence,” Valeo replies.

“Ey now that ain’t nice Valeo,” Edvard tells him.

Neither is further listening to you. He’s not even certain why he is involved in this circumstance. Mainly out of curiosity, but this city would not stand long. It is nice to know the town idiot brought him to a less than impressive mud and wood city. They would die, it is a fact of life in the woods. How many times e had seen small startups like this.

“Sorry idiot,” Valeo replies.

“Ah no problem I will take idiot anyday,” Edvard says with a smile, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a deamon?”

Both guards are snickering at this point.

“What’s so funny?” Edvard asked.

“Oh nothing,” the guards replied.

“Most the time people get it the first try,” Valeo tells Edvard.

“Get what?” Edvard asked.

“Deamon,” Valeo replies.

“You look nothing like a deamon, they usually bigger, and more destructive, that’s what mother taught me,” Edvard replies.

The Guards knew what is going on, it’s why they were laughing.

“I don’t want to actually see your Lord, have fun burning,” Valeo tells them waving his hand.

Later that Evening;

Valeo, huh? What a lame sounding name, but he guessed he’d take it to avoid an identity crisis like Edvard/Henry back at that village. Staring into the campfire, Magnar was enjoying his dinner of femur, while he had prepared a quick stew in a little pot. Both him and Magnar froze when they heard a twig snap. He would have put out the fire, but food. So he stood up, ready to defend himself or Magnar from attack. A middle age man came from around a tree, dirty brown hair, a leather jerkin, riding boots, a sword around his hip, quivers holding arrows, and a bow strapped to his back. A square jawline and a chiseled manly look. He smiles.

“Saw the fire, smelled the stew,” he said, “Mind if a tired hunter sits down.”

“I do,” Valeo replies, and he’s already sitting.

“How old are you kid?” he ask curiously picking up the iron lid of his cooking pot, stirring the stew.

“Don’t know,” he replies.

“Dangerous times to be out here alone, my name is Bernard, and yours?” he ask.

“It is Valeo,” he replies with a hand on his hip.

“Valeo, huh, odd name,” Bernard says, “But hey I am not one to judge. Except that you’re a Deamon, how is that going for you?”

“Fine thank you very much,” he makes objecting noises as Bernard puts his gross mouth to his stirring spoon to taste the stew.

“Taste good. Hot from the stove. But good. Do you mind?” Bernard takes it off the fire.

“I do mind, that is my food,” Valeo replies.

Bernard shrugs.

“Thanks for helping out an old man,” Bernard says.

Valeo scowls. Magnar looks at Valeo.

Should I kill him?

Can’t kill people for being a nuisance.

Bernard begins to use the spoon to slowly slurp up stew as to not burn himself. Valeo crosses his arms and continues to glare at Bernard. Who is chewing a piece of meat when he finally looks up at him.

“Something upsetting you?” Bernard asked, “Sit down, relax.”

“That’s my food, and this is my camp,” Valeo huffs.

“Oh?” Bernard looks around surprised, “I thought you set all of this up for me. Made me dinner, a place to stay.”

Valeo steps forward, he looks at Magnar, okay we can kill him. Bernard raises his hands up and makes an objecting noises him.

“Ah ah ah, I wouldn’t make a move,” Bernard tells him, “See you are currently surrounded by five other men in the trees.”

He can see in the dark he doesn’t see anyone. Mans trying to pull the wool over his eyes.
“If you do not believe me,” Bernard lowers his hand, an arrow comes soaring from the trees and strikes Magnar in the shoulder. Who roars in pain. Valeo looks at Magnar, “So you see.” Bernard continues, “You’re going to lay out your bed for me and I am going to eat this stew. Without your objection. Go tend to your house cat.”

Valeo moves quickly to tend to Magnar. He visits Orphelia from time to time to acquire healing material, so he quickly grabs Muris. Tickling him, so he will relax and open up his mouth. Sticking his hand down Muris’ storage pipe, you do not want to go into the feeding pipe, he grabs out the fairy ointment.

“Hey that looks nice too, I want you dump out the contents of your bag too, what’s yours is mine, isn’t it?” Bernard says.

“Muris will not like be dumped onto the floor,” Valeo tells him, taking the arrow out of Magnar’s fur. The arrow did not go into deep. It is just a surface wound with how thick Magnar’s skin is. They should leave after slapping fairy ointment on the wound. Valeo looks at Magnar who seems to understand. It meant leaving his whole camp. He could not see the supposed people in the trees. Yet an arrow came from behind them.

“No, no you’re not going anywhere,” Bernard told him as he tried to walk off, “You will sleep right here with me. We’re like friends now.”

Next Morning

“Yeah the kid is sleeping right there,” Bernard’s voice could be heard. He was not sleeping. He had not slept all night. He kept awake and told Magnar to sleep. Things had bothered him about last night, the arrow had a string tied to it. This man had setup a trap. The string was invisible to see at night, but during the day it glint at the end of the arrow. Valeo slowly opened his eyes to see who Bernard is speaking to. Some men in fancy armor. It glitters, they almost look like. Half Celestials. Shite. This is bad. Half Celestials. A Deamon Hunter. How did he find him? Now isn’t the time to panic. Survive. He must survive. That is what the old song told him.

“Magnar,” he whispers into the tigers ear, “We have to go.”

Bernard is exchanging coin with them as Magnar is beginning to slowly wake up. As he is about to give them a slip, shining, glittering armor blurs his vision. A sword made of glittering light is being pointed at him.

“Not so fast,” the man tells him.

Magnar growls, showing off his canines. Valeo glares at the man intensely.

“Do you know who we are?” the man in glittering armor ask.

“Yeah someone who stands out way too much in a fight,” Valeo tells him.

The man cracks his neck.

“I wanted to avoid killing a child today,” the man says, “But we seek revolution. This land must be purged of your kind.”

Shite. Here went nothing. He pointed at the man’s sword as it was raised above his head. Think of shattering. Think of the symbols on the stone. The man’s sword ruptured into fine shiny particles of silver. Woah his sword wasn’t even anything special. He had been certain it had been enchanted. Time to go, getting on Magnar’s back Magnar at full speed tackled through the man and kept running.

A Long Game of Hide n Seek

When he believed they had fully given them the slip, Valeo is looking down a path that in the distance leads to a city with a stone wall. A sign in the road reads in carved lettering Redfort city. Magnar growls at the city and Valeo would have abstained from the city as well. Though Bernard found him, looked for him. Why? Who were those strange men in glittering armor? There was a large saw mill that sat the river's edge, the wind picked up, and a piece of paper flew into his face. Valeo scowled at it, and read what it said.

“Look-ing,” Valeo rolled his hands on the word, “For. Woo-d. Cut-ters.” Looking for wood cutters. Here? Valeo looked at Magnar, Magnar looked at him.

“You’re not going to like this,” he tells Magnar.

Magnar looks at the city. Valeo can almost read fear.

You can’t.

Those weird men are still around.

What are you planning?

“Just for a little while, hiding where they would not think I would be hiding, I already got a gig, woodcutter,” Valeo replies with a smile showing off the paper Magnar cannot read.

Magnar looks at him.

What about me?

“Lie low, we will meet in the cover the night,” Valeo replies.

Magnar gives him a reluctant look, but gives him the slip. Walking off into the brush. Hopefully this plan would work. All right time to talk to the head lumber mill. If need be he had a lot of tricks up his sleeve so to speak. Walking through the clearing and towards the lumber mill, he had never been in a village long with other men before. He did not look like them and so far all of them wanted to hunt him for some reason. Still he strolled up to the lumber mill, there a cottage a bit of a distance way could be seen. Must be where the man who runs the operation lived. There was already a sand brown haired young man, holding the paper in his hands knocking on the door. He turned around to look at him.

“Never seen you before,” he says to him. Actually he looks repulsed by him. Despite them being in the same age group.

“Glad your eyes work because I have never seen you before,” Valeo retorts, “Shocking.”

“Never seen you around and you’re a smartarse,” the kid tells him.

“You have astute observational skills,” Valeo slow claps.

“You looking to make me mad,” the kid sneers.

“Seemed like you were already mad, I think in this case you’re looking for an excuse to be mad,” Valeo quips.

“What is going on here?” asked the deep, bellowing voice of a very tall, ginger haired man. He’s tall, his hair is clean shaven and his beard is neatly groomed. His vest and linen pants say he’s dressed to work the mill. He’s older, middle aged. His eyes fall on him. Valeo knows that look.

“Nothing sir,” the young man’s tune changes quickly, “I was just hoping I could talk to you about that woodcutting job.”

“And you?” he ask him.

“Same,” Valeo replies.

“I know Hendrick, so who are you?” the man ask him.

“Valeo,” the more he says it the more it sticks, the more that annoys him, like he is being tethered to it.

“Valeo, you a half deamon then?” the man ask.

“You’re not really going to entertain him Sir Gregoff?” Hendrick ask.

Gregoff is studying him. He doesn’t make him nervous. An owlbear will give you the same curious look, deciding whether you’re one of it’s own or not. Man and other species were not really different in the way they assessed you. So Valeo just continued to stare Gregoff down. Everybody needed to know where they stood with each other. He understood it. It didn’t bother him in any sense.

“Yes, I am a Half Deamon,” he replies.

“I figured because you look too human to be anything that truly is spit out by the Oblivion,” Gregoff says, “So, why do you want this woodcutting job?”

“My family, left me,” he says, imitating the way a boy spoke once, overhearing the conversation and the nuisances in his voice. The natural breaks to make it real. Any real good liar knows not to make elaborate lies. Keep it simple, the more you add to the story the less believable it becomes. He imitated the breathiness and looked away like he did not want to say any more. Gregoff looked sympathetic. It worked? Wait! It worked.
“That must have been hard,” Gregoff says putting a hand on his shoulder. Even Hendrick is looking him over in a different light.

“I did not know,” Hendrick said.

“Are you okay?” Gregoff asked.

“I’m...just...scared…” Valeo tells him.

“How about we get you a meal and we talk about the job,” Gregoff says, “The people of Redfort won’t really understand. Especially now that those members of the Order of Purity have moved into town. But once they see you working and helping out, they will come around.”

He did not know this Order of Purity Gregoff talked about, but walked into his cottage anyway. As long as he had protection from Bernard. Magnar prints would lead them off somewhere else and probably lose scent of his tracks. Once that happened he could give this town the slip and move on as he always did. Gregoff began preparing bread and some cured meat.

“I know it isn’t exactly what you’d call a home cooked meal, but it will get something in your stomach,” Gregoff said.

“Thank you,” he knew manners counted in these moments. He had learned to subsist on food before, so eating everyday wasn’t important to him. The saltiness of the meat with the bread tasted good, man knew how to cure meat at least.

“The job isn’t hard,” Gregoff tells him, “I have three different crews. I have the woodcutters, they use the axes to cut down the logs for the town usage. Those who work in the lumber mill and those who cut down the trees. Your job would be to cut down logs for the town use. Have you ever used an axe before?”

How hard could that be?

“Yes, all the time,” Valeo tells him.

Gregoff nods.

“Lad knows his work, then if you are willing to work for the food and the board, you can stay here until I introduce you into the town, how does that sound?” Gregoff asked.

“Works for me,” Valeo replies.

“And if you need anyone to talk to,” Gregoff places a hand on his, “You can come to me.”

No one has ever touched him in that way before. It felt strange and foreign. Quite honestly Valeo did not like it, it felt too personal and uncomfortable. But he tried to play it off like the boy who lost his parents, woest me.

“Thank...you….you do not know what….that means to me” Valeo said looking down and pretending to hide tears.

Fate Has a Hand

“You have been here for three months,” Gregoff mentions one morning. Why did that matter, Valeo never kept track of these things.

“I probably should go,” Valeo replied.

Gregoff concerns.

“No, no that isn’t at all what I was going to say,” Gregoff tells him, “Octavius thrown out his back again and need someone to help him in his brewery.”

“Like a Crone brewery?” Valeo ask him curiously.

“No, like a tavern,” Gregoff scrunches up his face.

“You want me to help him then?” Valeo ask.

“I figured it is about time to introduce you to the town, everyone is getting use to your logs, despite not knowing how to use an axe,” he was going to bring that up again?

“Now I do,” Valeo tells him, “And I was going to know whether you had to teach me or not. So I knew. In a technical sense.”

Gregoff raises his brow. Yet playfully passes off his response. Gregoff hands him a bowl of spiced porridge.

“You up for the task?” Gregoff ask.

“I guess,” Valeo replies.

“That’s not exactly confidence your building me here,” Gregoff replied.

“What is more fun than giving drunk people a smelly drink that taste neither good nor smells good, I guess is I will help, I won’t enjoy any moment of it,” Valeo replies.

Gregoff just laughs. He sees him as a cute boy that came out of his shell. He wished Gregoff was scared off by him more. Instead he treated him like he were a small child. That anything and mostly everything he said was folly. He disliked that about Gregoff. The longer he stayed here the more he got annoyed with his habits. He was certain someone else was supposed to find them endearing and that’s what created bonds. It frustrated Valeo to no end and made him want to beat his head against a wall. They ate and said nothing for a little while. They washed up and Gregoff smiled at him.

“You know it has been good having you here Valeo,” Gregoff says, Valeo notices he is being genuine. Does he view himself, as? Oh gods. Please no. He doesn’t want him to get attached. How the heck is he going to leave this place if he gets attached? Like he’s some stray cat he’s let in.

“I like being here,” playing the part, it’s working too well now.

“Good, I am glad, I don’t want you to ever feel like you are not wanted,” Gregoff tells him. Now it’s just the generic crap. The only reason he’s been hidden in Gregoff’s cottage is because he knew everybody would have mixed reactions. Than there is this Order of Purity people he hasn’t met yet, but judging on Gregoff’s outlook on them they aren’t so keen on half deamons either. Do not give him that load of garbage, when he knows he has been, hunted, chased out, stared out, and most people have been scared of him because of the way he looks.

God he hates that sentimental nothing people spew. Walking out of the door, Valeo did not feel a sense of nervousness walking the path towards the town. He was use to stares, questions, the way people’s eyes dilated when they looked at him. The different way people showed fear then they gazed upon his physical being. That stuff did not really bother him. He looked funny compared to them, man reacted that way to anything that didn’t agree with their sensibility of normal. Why should that bother him? It was their flaw. Not his.

Passing the threshold of wall to town, Redfort city was a mixture of a town that hadn’t expected to survive the daunting trials of the forest. Some of the older buildings were made of a mixture of clay, thachtc roofing, and wood. While the newer buildings of the expanded city were made of stone and had roofs built at levels for irrigation when it rained. The town center had been moved from a small place, now used as a training area for squires, and half a pig pen, to a newer looking one with a water fountain and a woman with six wings, pouring water from her hands. She was beautiful, in an ethereal, and celestial way. Her water was sparkling, clear, glittering. So clear and glittering he assumed the water was not coming from a well.

Men in glittering silver armor patrolled the streets. And in the center of the town for all to see was a cathedral. With stained glass windows, that depicted six winged individuals performing miracles. Healing the sick. Aiding the injured. Helping guide the dead through death. There is collective gasp looking at him though Gregoff holds on tight to his shoulder. People were staring at him, whispering. Uttering phrases. He was guided to a tavern, in the back was a small brewery, and in the front was the area for entertaining guest.

An elven woman played the lute, as few of the town watched her, drinking their morning beer, and eating their morning breakfast before tending the fields. The elven woman in terms of everyone else around here, is very pretty, long woody brown hair, with strands of blond, tan skin, though lighter than the Moss Woods. She must have been a Deep Forest Elf. The voice of a celestial, said the flier. She apparently is to be in town for a week.

Maid girls watched her with a mix of envy and awe. Some too ugly to admire her music, were whispering things to put down her appearance. Gregoff guided him into the back. There a small kitchen prepared food with a single chef, and a couple of woman rolling out bread, cutting up vegetables. They must be preparing for tonight’s meal. In a smaller doorway the scent of yeast fermenting is pungent, strong, there are a few mini sylos. Bags of barley. Barrels where the ale sat till the fermentation process is complete.

A man with large glasses, large that they didn’t fit his pensive, bony face, with wispy brown or was it blonde hair, with slight hints of gray, sat in the corner writing something down on it seemed a log. Man was thinner than a twig, with a bony, pointy nose. His glasses seemed to manage to slip off from time to time, which he would just push back up.
“Octavius,” Gregoff calls out.

Octavius startles and drops his quill.

“You have to announce yourself Gregoff,” Octavius tells him.

“I just did,” Gregoff tells him picking up the quill. Their exchanged seemed friendly. They must be really good friends. The way they exchanged smiles towards each other, Gregoff practically laughing at Octavius. Gregoff guides Valeo in front of Octavius.

“Ah so this is him then,” Octavius says inspecting him, his glasses slowly sliding off as he did so, “You know anything about fermentation?”

“I use to brew potions with a Crone,” Valeo replies.

Octavius looks at him, well more like raises his head up to look down his glasses that have slid down to the tip of his hooked nose.

“Interesting,” Octavius whispers, he stands up and grabs a walking cane, “very interesting. Come walk with me.”

Gregoff smiles, “I will come get you when the sun turns to early evening. Do not go out in the city alone.”

Valeo stares at Octavius. This man has either lost his marbles a long time ago, or he is just this annoying. The man limped through the small room.

“Making beer is not all that different from, what did you say, ah yes potions,” Octavius said, “They are the same principle. You have your barley, and the fermentation blends all the flavors together. The boiling process cleans out any of the impurities. Surely you understand.”

“Yes, except one affects people negatively and another affects people in more various ways the user intended,” Valeo replies.

Octavius begins to laugh loudly.

“You are a funny one I can see why Gregoff likes you,” Octavius tells him.

“You are the second person not put off by me,” Valeo remarks.

“Am I? You mean Gregoff,” Octavius looks reminiscent, “Ah, I suppose. Before we got old we were quite adventurous.” Octavius smiles.

“What do I need to do to help?” Valeo asked.

“Well originally I was going to have you help me brew,” Octavius told him, “I can get one of the other lads to do that. You said you worked with a Crone. I have a plan to make the town a new ale. I’d go out, but can’t use much of a sword due to my injury. So, I’d like you to come back with ingredients you think would go good in ale.”

“I never had ale before, how am I supposed to know that,” Valeo replies.

Octavius ponders.

“Right you are,” Octavius tells him. He uses his hands to usher Valeo to follow him. He does so. Can he leave now? Maybe he can use this opportunity to leave. Octavius grabs a spoon and continues to have him follow him without a word. They walk back into the tavern. A tall man, with graying hair, a bit of a belly, is behind the bar counter, filling the tap. As he is doing so, Octavius runs a spoon under the tap. The man glares at Octavius, who gives the man a toothy grin, “Open and taste.”

Ew. Valeo does so. There is several looks from the servers and even the man behind the counter. It taste like nothing, but fizzy, water. It is so bland and yeasty.

“It is for experiment reasons,” Octavius tells the people watching, giving them a dismissive wave.

“It is gross,” Valeo coughs.

“Right you are,” Octavius tells him, “So. Figure out, how to make it taste better.”

“You are not seriously putting him on a mission, that he will certainly fail,” the bartender says.

“Dear brother, he brewed potions, that must account for something,” Octavius replies, “Besides I need someone to fix your ale recipe.”

The man grumbles and looks at him, “Desmond. You?”

“Valeo,” he replies.

Little while later;

Well that was easy enough. Octavius is under the impression he went out looking for ingredients to try. All he needed to do was grab Muris and call Magnar, to leave. That should be easy enough. Gregoff would be working the lumber mill and while he may not be shocked by his appearance, he isn’t as observant as he likes to think he is. Walking towards the threshold between the dirt path and Gregoff’s cottage, Valeo notices something. That dark brown leather armor, almost like the fur of a dark mare, standing at the lumber mill talking to Gregoff with a piece of paper. Bernard. Shit he stayed too long.

He needed to leave now. Hiding behind a tree he watched the exchange. Gregoff shook his head. He needed to get closer without alerting either of them. So he took a path behind trees to hide behind Gregoff’s cottage. There isn’t much cover from here to the river’s edge. He hid behind a log pile.

“No sorry,” Gregoff replies.

“And you are certain?” Bernard ask.

“Certain as I’d ever be Deamon Hunter,” Gregoff replies.

Valeo looks at the cottage window, he has enough cover from the logs. He slightly opens the window and slips into the cottage. Muris is sleeping under the bed. Gregoff still hasn’t figured out where the snoring is coming from. Valeo grabs him by his handle, Muris startles awake.

“Just me,” Valeo tells Muris, “We have to go.”

As much as Gregoff is nice, nice doesn’t mean much. It was time for him to find somewhere else. With the Order of Purity in town and Bernard searching town, obviously someone would rat him out. Grabbing some bread he points it to Muris.

“If I feed you, will you not eat my food for the road?” Valeo ask Muris.

Muris merely licks the top of it’s teeth. He’s going to guess that’s a yes and he hands Muris some bread. Okay. What to take. An axe that will be helpful. What else? The door to the cottage opens and Valeo slips under the bed where he had stored Muris. Gregoff walks in, heavy boots. He forgot to close the window, such a rookie mistake. Gregoff walks towards the window and looks out of it. Trying to cover the mouth of a mimic bag is a lot harder than you think when there is a lot of surface area.

Gregoff looks around. Leave. Leave. Leave. Gregoff walks off. He waits for a few minutes. Then slips out from the bed. Have to be quicker. The door opens again and Gregoff is staring at him. Shit sauce.

“Have to admit you are extremely cunning,” Gregoff tells him, smiling.

“Thank you for not telling Bernard where I am,” Valeo replies, “While I honor that, I have no commitments to you.”

“I already assumed that,” Gregoff tells him, “But what is your plan, to continue running.”

Valeo shrugs. It is most of his life.

“I want a full explanation Valeo, you’re not a bad kid nor an evil one, else the town and I would have been slaughtered long ago,” Gregoff tells him, “I want the truth.”

Valeo sighs. He guesses he owes Gregoff the truth after sticking up for him and letting him stay here.

“Fine,” Valeo says.

So he does. Explaining every event up to this point. About his life. Who he really is. What has experienced in life. Gregoff just watches him and says nothing the entire time. He listens with consideration. He’s never seen someone with that much genuineness in their expression.

“You could have told me all of this from the start,” Gregoff tells him brushing his hand across his arm. Whenever Gregoff does so it makes Valeo uncomfortable. He does not like when he touches him in that manner. Valeo pulls his arm away, Gregoff doesn’t look disappointed.

“I do not think everyone has the patience you have,” Valeo tells him, “So I didn’t say.”

“Well that is true,” Gregoff laughs, “But trust me. All you’re going to do is continue running your whole life if you do not find a support system that will protect you. Stay Valeo.”

Valeo stares at Gregoff.

“Truthfully and honestly, I do not think this town can protect me,” Valeo tells him.

“It has for the last three months, trust me,” Gregoff tells him.

“And to be honest I don’t trust you,” Valeo continues.

“That hurts,” Gregoff frowns, “Look I didn’t give you out. We don’t like the Deamon Hunters any more than you do.”

What should he do? It is obvious Gregoff wants him to stay due to some emotional bond. He didn’t have that bond with Gregoff. His pleading was merely annoyance. Grabbing Muris, he walked past Gregoff to leave this town. He rather run than stay in one place. As he walked out of the cottage, the wind began to pick up furiously. Valeo continued walking towards the forest, till another scrap of paper flew into his face. It was torn. Barely legible, it read; Best Ale in Town.

Valeo stares at the paper and looks around the trees.

“Really!” Valeo shouts at the trees, “How do you know, whoever you are that this is the best course of action!”

The wind picks up once again. Valeo grumbles.

“Why should I stay? I owe these people nothing!” for a long time there is no response, as he continues to walk towards the forest. The wind picks up furiously again. Valeo ignores it. As he walks into the bush, city behind, the corridor of the forest must have changed as he walks into a cemertery. Valeo frustratingly screams.

“Okay I get it,” Valeo shouts at no one. Walking out of the bush and storming back to Gregoff’s cottage. Who is just sitting, looking defeated. Valeo hands him the scrap of paper, “I guess I am helping your friend.”

Familiar Prejudice

“Two glorious years our town has been placed not by a Celestial, but someone with Abyssal blood,” Gregoff raises a glass, “He has given us wood for our hearths. An Ale that taste better, sorry Desmond. He has helped the woman clean their laundry. He has helped men and woman in the fields. This is a celebration for him.”

Sitting at the chipped wooden table of the tavern, a group of villagers have gathered around a cake one of the woman, Ingrid made. Holding glasses of the ale he had helped brew. He hadn’t considered that people would ever change their minds about him. Then Gregoff is having him blindfolded, walking down a forest path, into the tavern. Where a meal and celebration has been placed in his honor. He is not sure the words to describe this moment. Nor sure how he should feel about the whole scenario. He knew he had to leave soon. This was not a home. He did not feel at home here. He just tried to pretend and smiled at the people.

“Wow thank you everyone,” Valeo says, mimicking the giddiness people express when they are happy.

“Valeo, we would like to honor you a permanent place to stay in the village,” Desmond offers.

He could not stay. He should not stay. He was not man. And the Order of Purity certainly would not let them honor a Deamon. Not when six winged Celestial statues guarded and patrolled the town, like stone whisperers.

“Only if I get to build the house,” Valeo replies.

The village laughs. All of this feels wrong. Still the music begins to play and everyone begins to dance. They seem to be having a good time. All because of him? The concept made no sense to him. He just did what everyone else did. It is not special. It is not even worth praise. Managing to slip out of the tavern when no one was watching. It was time to leave. That was his current gut instinct. Heading down the alleyway, he was staying with Alma, daughter of Ingrid, and Ingrid’s husband Anders. Heading into their home, grab Muris, grab what he could, and leave. Magnar is prepared for all of this and so was he. He had been planning for a while.

Entering their simple stone home, he squinted there was silver armor sitting in chairs, sipping on drinks. Bernard standing in the corner of the room. Valeo looked at them. Fine. He’d fight them if he had to. Or should he flee? He was getting tired of them following him. Still, how did they know he’d come back here? No some of them had celestial magic. Forget the stuff. Leave. Running towards the door, a woman stood in front of the door. Ingrid her hair tied up in a loose bun, an apron with flour on it. Valeo looked at her.

“Do not look so confused,” Ingrid told him, “The moment you came to town. I knew there was something about you. Took me a while to put two and two together, but you’re that Deamon child Erada spawned. I had assumed, she killed herself after killing you, but it seems she had a soft heart. I do not know how you survived, nor do I care how you survived. I do know you are an abomination.”

He did not care about any of what she has said. He always assumed there was some kind of arsehole in the town.

“Well, hey at least you confessed that you’re the town arsehole. Wonder if anyone is going to look at you the same way, when they know you will stab them in the back,” Valeo tells her, feeling energy from his hand, “Difference is I am not going to let you stand in my way.” The knights are getting up from the chair.

Ingrid raises a brow.

“I am not worried, I have the protection of the Celestial,” Ingrid tells him.

Well glad, she could not worry when she is writhing in pain. Survive. Flee. He did not necessarily have to kill her. Just get her out of the way. Stepping forward, he grab the sleeve of her dress. Something isn’t right. His unoccupied hand, his left, burns as one of the Knights grabs his wrist. He’s starting to feel faint. The world is beginning to spin a little. As he begins to collapse from weakness. Was the whole entire town in on this? Payback. He will get payback.

Ingrid bends down and waves a little vial, “I will explain just before you take this nap. I am surprised it did not take ahold sooner. All well. The Order will deal with you.” she spits at him. The world begins to fade to black.

Trigger Warning - I did not hold back on this chapter. If torture is something you don't like to read then you have been warned

This Is Cleansing

The chains burned his skin, clamped tightly on his wrist, the metal threatening to break his wrist. His shoulders were sore from being dangled by them. The chains were glittering, golding and had celestial energy throbbing through them. Despite seeing well in the dark, there was a faint blue light to everything and the bars of the dungeon were made of silver. He heard voices coming down, smooth stone, the stone his knees were bent on was cold. Very cold. It was cold down here in fact, he could see his breath. A man in dark, midnight robes, accompanied by another man in similar fashion looked through his cell like they were be entertained by some kind of beast.

“Curious isn’t it, this one threw us off for two year because it lived among people,” one of the man said.

Fighting against the chains he tried to lunge forward. Once he found a way. Once he found a way he would free himself and survive.

“Note it’s true nature is beast like,” the man continues.

“Better than someone running their mouth, kill me or don’t coward,” Valeo hisses.

The man looks at him with his squared headdress.

“Kill you, that will be in do time, first we must cleanse you,” the man says, “Evil is resurrected as evil if it dies impure. You will get your turn.”

The two men walk off. He’s left to silence at first, till it is interrupted, shattered by screams of agony. A few guards in glittering armor come down the steps, dragging a naked man the steps. As they pass his cell, the man is livid with bruises like that of dead meat. He is black and purple, despite the original color of his skin being red. His wings have been torn off and then burned at the ends. His nails have been ripped off, bleeding. Blood has left a trail. The man looks into the cell. He is crying. There is fear in his eyes.

Valeo watches. They call themselves the Order of Purity. The sight makes him angry. He will get them back for this. He fiddles with his chains. Just have to break free. He tries to channel his abyssal energy only to feel an electric shock down his arm. He growls, “Rrrr.”

One of the guards hearing the racket walks over to the cell.

“Those are chains of the celestial, not breaking out of those unless you pray for a miracle, oh wait you can’t,” the man throws back his head in a bright, silver helmet and laughs, “hahaha.” he turns to the other guard locking the cell door, “Did you hear me?”

“What?” the guard ask.

“I told him the only way he was going to break out of those chains, was if he prayed for a miracle,” the guard laughs again and now his partner joins in.

“A Deamon praying for a miracle,” both of them laugh in synchronicity with each other as they head back up the steps.

There is more silence. There is nothing down here. There is not a single noise. Beside the other half Deamons whimpering in pain. It stops for a while. Valeo wonders if he’s dead. Then there is nothing. He doesn’t not know how long it has been. Just quiet. Time passes. Though he’s not sure how much. He hears footsteps coming down the steps. Four guards. One man in a squared headdress, dark blue robes, his hands are held in a prayer, he is holding beads that are glowing with magic, he is chanting in a strange language. He stops, pauses and looks into his cell. He stares at him coldly.

“Shame, this is the boy,” the man says, he expects no one to answer, “Normally we do not deal in the death of children. Though this is a very rare occasion, we rarely find deamons so young. Better at hiding than others.”

He turns to the cell where the other Deamon had been placed.

“Pity, he did not survive the purification, well my child, it is your turn,” the priest tells him.

Valeo growls under his breath.

“Yes I heard you were feisty, we will have to fix that,” the priest waits for the guards to open the cell. They do so. They put a collar around his neck tightly. He can barely breathe with this on him. They unbound his wrist chains and hook a chain to the collar around his neck.

“You have two ways to do this, walk, at our side like a civil creature, or be dragged,” the priest tells him and commands the men to walk.

“Ci-vil...says a ...dog collar,” Valeo chokes out.

The Priest pays him no mind and they begin to walk up the steps. The stone floor is so very very cold. The whole building is illuminated by blue light. Bright, dark blue crystals are laid out like lights, giving this place its aura. No one looks at him. Everyone seems busy praying to Celestial angels crafted of marble, staring at judging them as they walked by. Send down a hallway, the door is opened to illuminate a bathhouse. The water is unusually clear. Very unusually clear. The energy off the water is very clear. Purified water.

“Ha…” Valeo coughs as he tries to speak, “It is nice of you….to...bathe me...before you torture me.”

“That tongue of yours will be silenced,” the priest tells him. As the four guards had been escorting him. One takes a dagger and begins to use to tear off his tunic and hose. When his clothes are off, it is extremely noticeable how frigid this place is. The guards throw him into the water. It shocks his system how cold it is. The water is freezing and it is already burning his skin. One of the Guard steps in as he tries to swim out. The guard grabs him by the forehead and forces him down into the water. Because of the collar he can barely breath as he dipped into the cold water. Water goes up his nose and he is instanously drowning and freezing.

“Pure Mother,” the priest voice says, as light from the crystal appears like moonlight on the water, “We bring you another impure sin of the world.”

The Guard pulls him up for air, except that isn’t quite the right word as he is gasping for air and choking before he submerged back into the water, without time to recover.

“Someone’s cursed thoughts brought this child here today,” the priest says. He’s so cold. He can’t stop his body from this trembling, shiver, there is water in his nose, his eyes burn so he has to close them every time he is brought back, up. The water burns his throat, it is scalding like heat, but so cold in his mouth. When it goes down it is like the feeling like he is going to vomit, “And while we have no sympathies for the Deamon. We have sympathies for a child brought into this world from someone unclean. We beg for your strength. To judge his character and guide us into the right light.”

There is chanting and the water rumbles. This time he is not allowed to come back up. The guard keeps him down as the water surrounds him. He can’t breath. He can’t breath. He’s going to drown. His arms flail in the air, the guard continues to force him down. His vision is going blurry. No. No. The first voice. The very voice he ever heard has a child comes back. It comforts him with the thoughts of survival. He mustn’t let them scare him. He must survive. He will kill them. He will kill them all. The water turns scarlet colored and he is finally brought back up. Two guards raise him up out of the water. Yet he is too weak to stand. He can’t breath. He is coughing. Choking. His body is trembling not doing the things he says. He is going to vomit. He does so on the white marble floor. It taste of iron. As crimson smears across the white flooring. He feels clammy, sick and weak.

“You see the color of the water, the Purest Mother does not see you worth salvation,” the Priest tells him.

“...so...so..some….ba...bath….it managed...to clear...up...my...my my sinus problems…” he spits some of his bloody spit at the Priest feet. And laughs. Despite the trembling.

The Priest says nothing as two guards pick him up and drag him down the hall he originally was brought down to. It is so hard to focus right now. His hair is dripping. He’s so cold and his heart is racing. There is infernal wrath bubbling inside of him, yet he cannot act out on his rage. Every fiber of his body demands the action of moving and fighting. Yet, the truth was his body was trembling and not part of his control right now. He can’t keep his eyes open, for a brief second he feels the world fading. Then she tells him. Survive. How? The time will come. When? You will know. Who are you? And then nothing. When he opens his eyes again it is in a room with a wooden table, stained from blood, there are chain cuffs for the ankles and feet. He is held down by the four guards, who strap him in and take the collar off. He can finally breathe. He wheezes. He coughs out more blood.

“Any request?” the priest ask him sitting in a chair.

His body is shaking and it is so hard to breathe right now he can’t respond. The priest smirks. Another man in black robes, they are stained in blood comes in. He has a singular tuft of gray hair in the center of his head. He’s very old his skin reminds him of wet leather.

“How would you like me to do it?” the man ask the priest.
“I am a generous man, despite the Purest Mother saying he is not worth redemption,” the Priest takes a second, “take his horns. Then do whatever else you would like. He has been living among humans for a while. If he survives. He can live with them again.”

“Very well, Father is being generous with you,” he tells him looking around for a saw, “This will be a long process. Your horns are fairly robust.”

“I’ll….” Valeo finds the words, “Kill you.”

He glares at the priest man. He will break free from this bindings and when he does. He will kill them all. The priest stares at him.

“Take his horns and I give permission for you to do whatever pleases you for the most pain,” the priest sneers.

Valeo continues to glare at the priest. The man has the guards take one end of a small saw and they fit it between the curve of his horns. They begin to go back and forth the way they might cutting a log. The sound is like cutting rope. Just back and forth. Crrrk. The serrated edge over the ridges of his black horns. Zrzrzrzr. The sound of the sawing. Crrrk. Again over the horns. Zrzrzrzr. The sound of sawing. Just think of rope. Just remember the men in Gregoff’s field cutting a tree. Valeo replaced the image of his horns with watching the way the men cut down the trees. He never really engaged with them, yet it was a better imagery than watching them go back and forth on his horn the way they were doing. He closed his eyes. Which perhaps to the priest, was some kind of resolution. Some kind of moment where he gave up.

He came back around to, “Those were thick.”

“At least they are off,” says a guard.

He opens his eyes to the man from before wiping sweat from his brow. Valeo makes sure they knew he hadn’t given up as he gives them a very dark glare. He had already vowed for payback. The man was taken aback.

“Were those not precious to you?” he ask him.

“Even if they were, you dying will make up for them,” Valeo harshly replies.

“How do you have so much spirit,” the man says, “Honestly, you still have a lot of fight in you. That is going to have to change. No one is purified if they keep up that kind of talk.”

Boiling. Something in Valeo was boiling. Pure rage. He was not afraid because the image that replaced the fear was anger. Watching everyone of them melt. To kill them all. To watch this hall of evil burn, was enough to make him carry on. The man walks off, only to come back with a hot, piping red hot metal bar.

“This is to insure growth back is minimal,” the man says, as a searing hot bar is placed where they have finely cut his horns down to his forehead. The bar melts the keratin and bone of his horns, he can feel the heat on his forehead and skin. Valeo spit in his face.

The man sighs.
“Grown men are not nearly as feisty as you,” the man tells him.

Once his horns were “fixed” to his liking, the harder part of skin where his horn had been are throbbing. The priest walks in. He looks at the man.

“Everything's in order, for a Deamon, he had minimal traits,” the man says.

The Priest looks at him. He seems unsatisfied. Valeo continues to glare at him. The Priest this time glares back.

“He is not purified, bring him to the waters,” the Priest says.

To be Understood

Day in and day out. The waters were frigid. He couldn’t breath. His stomach felt like a belly of knives. He was beginning to see double. He refused to give them what they wanted. As a whip lashed across his back for what felt like the hundredth time. Who knew how much something that looked like a simple rope could hurt so much. It was golden, braided together. He could feel blood running down his back. He could feel the wounds from yesterday beginning to rupture again. Valeo doubled back a little. He did not know how long he could endure of this any more.

“That should be enough for today,” the guard said.

Valeo laughed.

“Are you getting complacent? Maybe I am not purified enough,” Valeo tells him through his laughter.

The man strikes his back harder. The only thing that is keeping him going is their corpses in his dream. The priest burning in internal energy. It is the only thing keeping him going. This boiling rage. Payback. Payback. Payback. How had he continued to survive all this? Payback. Payback.

“The Priest orders us to clean him up in the waters,” another guard walks into the room. His shoulders are beginning to burn from being suspended in this position for so long. The guard with the whip grumbles.

“When will this be over,” the guard ask.

Is that sympathy he hears? He wants none of their pity. He feels his hand shaking with rage. Both the guards begin to walk in front of him. One of them grabs his key, the other has the collar. He has never tried it before. To use his energy with the collar on. He knew his arms when those cuffs were on would just get shocked. Just as the collar was about to be placed on his neck, he pointed at the man’s arm. Break. Break. Break. There was a snapping sound as his arm bent into a shape that seemed inhuman. The other guard was taken aback.

He took the opportunity to point to his leg. He wanted it to break. Break. Break. The man’s leg gave way as he fell onto his knees. He stood up. His back hurt. His shoulders were sore. He did not have a lot of energy. Grabbing the collar, ow that stung. He hated this thing and latched it onto the man’s neck with the broken arm. He began to gasp for air.

“Good boy,” he says patting the man on the head. Ow. Honestly everything hurts. Yet he doesn’t necessarily care right now. He walks up to the man who has whipped him. His eyes were glinting now, “Now you bastard let me show you what torture is.”

“HE-” Valeo places his hand on the man’s mouth.

“There will be none of that, do not let the kid show you up on how take pain,” Valeo sneers.

His hand is beginning to heat up. Payback. Kill them. Kill them. The mans mouth begins boil, skin is beginning to form bubbles to the surface that rupture into blisters of blood, till they blacken, beginning to eat away at his flesh. Burning like it were on fire, the burns spreading the way fire spreads onto paper, then slowly turning black. Big blisters, that would go from clear, clear, till they ruptured, and popped into burst of blood.

He let go of the man’s face. All that was left, was blacken, crumbling skin, and his teeth formed in a screaming position that Valeo had muffled. The other man gasping for air watched, his eyes wide in shock. He tries to scramble off the floor to run. After all that is broken is his arm. He can barely breathe with that collar on his neck. He’s screaming, yet is muffled through gasping breaths.

“Hahaha,” Valeo looks at him, “Is this what you fear of me? I did nothing to you! I wanted nothing to do with you! Or your Order! You brought this upon yourself. You fear the monster inside of me. Well then I will give you what you should fear.”

All that anger. All that rage was cascading and clash together. Tides of flames in his body clashing together like the sea would hit the rocky crags. Like churning magma, it boiled at the surface all at once. His horns taken. His back aching. His shoulders sore. He did not care how he exhausted he really was. What was filling him through and through was rage. That was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I...am..” the man coughs as he tries to breathe, “s...orry…”

“Ohhhh you are sorry,” Valeo looks at him, “If you we were sorry…..you would have left me alone! How ...do I get out of here. HOW!?”

“The….sew...sewers...down below the cells,” the man says, “You...will need the keys. Please….have...mercy. Show me mercy.”

Mercy! Mercy! In and out. Drowning. Body cold. Exhausted. Angry. The man looks at him tears in his eyes. Valeo never cried. Not once. No matter what happened to him. He held it in. Held it in. Held it in. He couldn’t hold it in any more.

He growled, “RRRRRRRRRR!” He walks up to the man and grabs his face as well.

“P...lea….se I to….ld….ld….AAAAAA” the man’s face begin to churn, boil, and blister. Blacken, it smelled of scinged flesh. His tears evaporated as Valeo held onto his face. He swore he’d kill them all. Right now though he had to survived.

Grabbing the man’s keys Valeo took them and walked out of the room. Now he had to escape. To survive. To survive. He would get them back for all this. His shoulders burned. It was hard to walk his legs felt like jello. He had to grab onto the wall to keep his balance. He had watched the layout of this building. He knew there was a circle that connected all the rooms together. If he went the opposite direction the Priest and his guards would be coming he wouldn’t be found out. Just survive. Get out of here. He found the stairs down to the cells. He ran down them.

Sewers. Sewers. He saw the manhole cover. Did he have the strength to lift that right now? He clasped his hands around the rim. Lifting it up. Or struggling to do so. Over and over again. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. He managed to get it up. He jumped down and ran down the sewers. He didn’t care what was down here. He didn’t care that it smelled. He just ran, splashing dirty water around as he did. Barefoot and naked he just ran down the long corridor. Keep going. Keep going. He ran. Ran. Splash. Splash. Drip. Drip. Keep going. Keep going. He slammed into iron bars. There is a gate. It is a gate. He takes out the keyring.

Open. Open. He tries a key. It doesn’t work. It nearly slips his grasp. He grabs another key. Come on. Come on. Open. Open. He grabs onto the bars and shakes them.

“Raaaawwwr! Open! You piece of shit!” Valeo screams at the bar.

He finally hears the click. He runs out. Down another long black corridor. Till he sees light. Either this is death or he has made it. His feet plunged into ice cold water. He’s staring at the trees. He’s at the edge of the river. The lumber mill is to his left. He puts his burning hands into the cool water letting it run past his hot hands. He angrily shoves the water away. Dammit. He runs through the river picking up water whenever he does so.

It be foolish to think Gregoff kept his stuff. He runs up the bank. He is naked. Cold. His legs begin to shake. He feels so sick. He falls to his knees bending over to throw up nothing onto the grass. He pushes himself up by sheer will. He grabs an axe sitting next to the logs. He doesn’t care. He’ll kill Gregoff if he gets in his way. Opening the cabinet door. Does he still have Muris? He first checks under the bed. Then he turns around, on a shelf Muris is snoring, sound asleep.

The door creaks. Valeo is prepared for whomever walks in. He raises the axe. Ow. His shoulders. Gregoff walks in. His expression is a mixture of surprise and shock.

“Valeo!” he sounds relieved.

“Don’t get near me!” he shouts at Gregoff, “I will kill you!”

“Valeo, I had nothing to do with what Ingrid did,” Gregoff tells him. He sounds genuine. He holds onto his axe.

“I DON’T WANT YOU NEAR ME!” he shouts at Gregoff.

“Valeo, you are naked and very angry, but I would never do that to you,” Gregoff tells him.

Valeo steps forward. What is this feeling? Exhaustion. He succumbs to his exhaustion. How pathetic you will wake up in a cell, again.

Valeo’s dreams are of the forest that always embraced him and welcomed him home. That strange lullaby that made his heart beat. To survive. To live. Who was she that spoke to him. Was it the forest? She never gave the answer. Was she a god? She never said. He had to continue. He had to continue. When he opened his eyes, he smelled food. Gregoff was cooking. He had closed the door and had placed Valeo on the bed in some sheets.

Valeo looks around.

“You were very exhausted kiddo,” Gregoff tells him, “You have not eaten in a while, I can tell. How you have managed to survive. Beyond me. You have great strength in that soul. I bandaged you up. Getting you some clothes to take when you leave town. But before you do we’re getting food in that stomach of yours. Do you understand?”

Why? He had been gone and the Order of Purity thought he was impure.

“Why do you care?” Valeo asked him.

Gregoff looks at him with a sad expression. Slowly ladling food into a bowl.

“Valeo, even if you did not feel it for the two years you have been here, I am very proud of you, you,” he paused, “Made me feel like a father. I cared for you like a father. I love you like a father. To see you hurt like this. Pains me.”

He’s being serious right now. Why does Valeo feel angry at that answer? Gregoff hands him the bowl of food.

“I hate you!” Valeo shouts.

“That is fine,” Gregoff tells him, “That won’t stop me from loving you. You may hate me, but I will always love you.”

Valeo does not understand. Orphelia never said these things. Mertrodora loved him, but he had to leave. This was not his home. He didn’t understand. Why does he care so much? He was using him in the beginning before he was forced to tell the truth.

“You’ve always been on the run Valeo, even from feeling,” Gregoff tells him, “You have been at a distance with me since you came here. Are you scared to be accepted?”

Valeo looks at Gregoff. He cannot pretend to know who he is. He was grateful they accepted him. He was grateful that they let him stay in their home. It’s not that part that makes him angry.

“I accept your acceptance, I was grateful for that, but that’s all it was gratefulness,” Valeo tells him, “I am not your son. I am not your child. That’s the part I don’t accept. I don’t want to be loved like that. I wanted to be understood.”

Gregoff nods and looks sad.

“I had hoped, I could have went with you, to keep you safe,” Gregoff tells him, putting his hands through his hair. He looks sad and touches the tough part of his skin, only a partial of the horns are there, as amputated nubs. Gregoff is weeping. Why is he crying for his sake?

“I have to do it myself. My respect comes in the form that I don’t want to see you dead,” Valeo pauses playing with the stew in his bowl, “I will visit you again someday. If that is any consolation. I am sorry I cannot love you like that.”

“Where will you go?” Gregoff ask him.

“Someone has not told me yet,” Valeo tells him spooning food into his mouth, no longer able to keep his hunger at bay.

“Well I hope they take care of you and understand you in the way you want to be understood,” Gregoff tells him and kisses his forehead.

New Arrival

It took them awhile to travel from the alpines. Though Valeo never count of these things. He simply sat on Magnar’s back. Their reunion, what, a few weeks ago was a good time. Magnar was scared and he was glad to ease his insecurities. Now he stood at the barrier of Cosmo City, with two pompous looking guards in raincoats “guarding” the gates.

“Can one of you give me the location of Gertrude?” Valeo asked, “Unless you actually are the fashion police.” Valeo laughs at his own musing to himself, as his clothes were a little tattered from travel. Both the guards looked at him.

“She lives up the hill,” they told him.

No sense of humor. He did not know why the invisible person had sent him to Gertrude. A clip of a newspaper of Gertrude’s youngest child went missing. Valeo just new the clues and signs. He would follow them. His wounds were still recovering, but it felt a lot better than before. His skin tingled crossing the barrier. Ow. Ow. Ow. That stung.

This place thinks highly of itself. Pastel colored buildings. All in this quirky style, that said I have money and think I am important because I live on a mountain. At least he didn’t rupture into ash going through that barrier. So that is a good sign.

Everyone is staring at him. Must have been the tiger. No he knew why they were staring at him. He just pretended that it was Magnar.

“Jeez, why do you have to be such a big tiger?” Valeo nudges the tiger’s shoulder.

Magnar says nothing. Valeo hails a lady down.

“Yes,” she says nervously.

“Yeah it seems like I am looking at four large hills, what is the hill Gertrude lives up?” Valeo asked her.

The woman points silently. He nods and heads in that direction. The scenery soon changes from lots of ugly colored buildings, to green. More green and more green. As he passes someone’s garden of flowers swaying in the wind. To finally meet eyes with a large brown manor. He sees another kid in the distance, though they vanish in the inside of the manor. Do not tell him he is going to be with other kids. Annoying. Valeo heads up the pathway towards the large door. He knocks on it with the knocker.

He looks at his claws. This is taking long. He knocks on the door again.

Maybell scurries up to the door and struggles to push it open. Once she finally manages it, she stares with wide eyes at the boy on the doorstep. "Hi hello what do you need?"

Valeo raises a brow. He has met talking animals before. Oh. That's great. He looks at his ring of animal friends. So that's what this meant, "Looking for an old lady named Gertrude."

"Okay!" she chirps, "I'll go get her!" The door slams shut and her voice faintly carries through, "Gertrude! There's someone at the door who wants to see you!" A few moments later, Maybell comes back, trying very hard to muscle the door back open again. "Come in!"

Valeo continues watching her.

"You know perhaps you shouldn't be the one on door duties," Valeo walks in and whistles, this place is fancy as fuck, "Did not know orphanages had such big budgets these days. If I had known I would have come much sooner knowing we would be eating like fucking royalty. Am I right? You seem like a smart possum to know to take advantage of an opportunity when you see one. Ever decided to pawn shit?"

"Well, I was the closest, so..." she trails off as she leads him into the parlor, "Pawn? Uh, I haven't really thought about that. I don't really need to anyway."

"What does do, she pay you for not having family?" Valeo ask.

"What? No way! It's just nice to have somewhere to stay. And I have a family, buster! I just... have to find them."

Valeo raises his hands in the air, an act of truce.

"Sorry did not mean to ruin your delusional fantasy"

Maybell snorts dismissively as she crosses the threshold into the parlor where Gertrude is sitting. "Here she is! I've gotta get back to my book." In a heartbeat, she scampers away.

Getrude sips on some tea and looks at him. Jeez she is old. Lying to her would probably be easy, but he’s tired from travel and he is hungry. The quicker they can get through this exchange, the quicker he can be living it good for a while. At least till the Order forgets all about him and the two dead paladins that is.

“I heard you were looking for me, what is your name?” Gertrude ask him. Oh god she’s that kind of old lady. Sweetness that makes your brain melt.

“Valeo,” he replies.

“And, why do you need to speak with me?” she ask.

“I’m an orphan, and need help,” Valeo replies straightforwardly.

“Well nobody has been so straightforward about it before,” Gertrude replies.

“Yeah I am not like those sad Orphans running to you and holding onto your knees crying, it gets exhausting having to cry a lot and feel sorry for myself,” Valeo responds.

Gertrude raises a brow.

“And, how do I know you have not run from home?” Gertrude ask him.

“That’s the beauty of this exchange, you’re supposed to be the nice old lady who helps me and you will never know if I ran away or not,” Valeo tells her, “Then one day if I am feeling like having a pity party. I’ll just reveal the truth to you then.”

“Perhaps in time your jaded view will change,” Gertrude replies.

The hell is that supposed to mean. Jaded view.

“You going to help or not,” Valeo retorts.

“I will set you up a room and you can help the others prepare dinner,” Gertrude says.

“I will sleep outside, but thanks for the room and board,” Valeo tells her dismissively. Did not know he have to go through an entire interrogation just to get here. Still, how long does it take to make an angry religious sect not angry at you any more?

Theme Song:

More Music Stuff

Digimon: Soul Hunters

Kei had not gotten all the names of the kids yet. He could not quite remember the name of the reddish hair colored boy. Or maybe they never spoke before. Looking Nasaneiru and Reicheru, then back at the other kid. He could feel a slight nervousness in the pit of his stomach, he manages to step forward.

“Reicheru-san, this is Nasaneiru-san, he will be helping us,” Kei said, he looks nervously at the red hair boy, “I um...I am Himura Kei. I know this is a weird time to introduce myself, but we have not quite met.”

Kei nods his head and shakes it with slight determination.

“We are currently split from the rest of the group,” Kei said, “So we need to find them.” His face goes hot for a second as he realizes they are older than him. Maybe this is something Reicheru-san should be saying. He looks at her. He looks back at the rest of them. Where did Sebun-san go? Kei shakes his head. You got this.

“We should split into three teams,” Kei said, he points to Nasaneiru and the other boy, “You two should look off in that direction.” Kei points to the east of them, “We are looking for Sebun-san, and Kyasarin-san, Kaba-san, and the other girl. I didn’t catch her name.”

“Reicheru-san and I will look over in that direction,” Kei points to the South of them, and he points to Dorumon, “And you will look over in that direction.” he points to the North of them, “This clearing will be where we meet up once again. Then we should head to this Blossom Town as soon as possible. If we were attacked they must have been attacked too by those….bad Digimon.”

Kei stares at them for a second. Again he realizes the gravity of this situation. They are older than him. Kei nervously flails his arms.

“O...of...course you do not….have to listen...to me,” Kei tells them, “Reicheru-san, she is probably better suited for this. I...understand if...if nobody wants to take suggestions from a 10 year old. Sorry. Reicheru-san, what do you think we should do?”

They are going to think he is bossy. He should have let one of the older kids give out the plan. Specifically Reicheru because she knew the most about the situation as he did.

The Golden Brew

@deadpixel101

I was told to do a review and honestly I was kind of avoiding doing so. So I remember the conversation we had about getting straight to point versus my long sheets. And while yes, my sheets were long, my descriptions are minimal a paragraph, and max two paragraphs. It is detailed, but it is simply detailed to get the picture. I am not trying to compare myself to you, what I am trying to point out is your simple philosophy bit you in the ass.

All your character right now is Magic and Battle Profile, without a name. Who is Simon? Because I do not know who he is. Your description is great, but flat. You forgot all the emotions and hand gestures and body language people use. You forgot to make your character alive because we present our appearances physically. His personality is painfully plain.

Generic flaws and generic strengths. And the tale. Makes me feel nothing. You just sum up stuff in the dryest exposition history that makes me shrugs. Who cares? Because I do not care. If you read the actual explanation of Arrival, it ask for their trials and tribulations. I got none of that from this sheet.

Simon does not make me excited. And it is probably, and I mean no offense, why he hasn't been included in much of other's CS. Because no one knows who Simon is and to be honest, I really do not care at the state he is. Cool an engineer. But he has no personality.

The Golden Brew

-Character Tab in all its glory-

The Golden Brew

@Akayaofthemoon

For the most part I love Astraea I got a sense of her soul when we were writing our collab. The history was well thought of and well detailed and I love the lore you have setup. Your skills and spells are well thought out and I really don't have very many criticisms so I won't force critique that isn't needed. However, I do have 1 minor nitpick and it's two of neutral personalities feel like they belong in her strengths;

She doesn’t like bullies and she definitely does not appreciate unnecessary cruelty. You do not have to be hateful. There are better ways of doing things.
Astraea cannot stand when other people only think of themselves. It makes her feel frustrated that the one person's selfish actions affect everyone but they don’t care. It is all about them and she just can’t see why anyone would do this.

And they both seem kind of redundant. Find a way to condense these two sentences together into one thought and move them off to the strength or split them to flaws.

Otherwise, I loved the sheet. Can't wait to see more of the character in the RP.

The Golden Brew

Age: 15

Species: Half Elf, Idris is the son of Elfreda and Arvid Beorhtric. Elfreda being of the Great Woods of the Aeflstan, belonging a subspecies of Deep Forest Elves. Not be mistaken by the Wood elves who live in the lighter parts of the forest near the meadows and prairies.

Forest Elves were said to be the deepest knowledged of all species, they said they carried and beheld the knowledge of keeping the forest tame that which man could not. Elfreda was widely held by her people with regard for her beauty and her strength and sheer will. But Idris is not a Deep Forest Elf nor is his a Human. He is the byproduct of intermingling of species.

All the knowledge, skill of a Deep Forest Elf, is not blessed upon him. In fact he may not have received much gifts from his Elven ancestry despite being literally half and half of both species. As ordinary as he is Idris still has some gifts from his elven ancestry. That being magic is more quickly bestowed on him, he learns quickly and understands spells because magic does not simple flow from him, but sings to him in a way that it does not to others. He can sense or detect magic with great perception before others, practically tasting the way it hangs in the air. Otherwise, everything else he has obtained is butterfly shaped ears, and bestowed with some of his mothers unearthly beauty.

Strong Resolve

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A sprightly blonde comes out from hiding in bushes, leaves scattered in his platinum blond strands as he brushes his bangs out of his eyes to share the world blue irises with purplish hue. He smiles and happily dust his clothes off, a pair of riding breeches, with riding boots, a pleated leather shirt dyed purple, paired with a linen multi colored vest with a hood. Shaking out the rest of the leaves of his hair, shows off his butterfly shaped ears hidden by his well maintained,and stylish undercut. A leather belt with a family crest you’ve never seen before as a belt buckle, he waves his hands in front of your eyes to get your attention, him wearing two different gold ring bracelets.

He smiles as you acknowledging him. Upclose he’s not very tall, he stands at 5’5”, 165 cms, yet he already carries a grace and elegance about himself that is very different from that of a human. His long an elegant eyelashes bring him a boyish and youthful charm, He’s prettier than any human boy you would know, but he carries it well with a slender, pensive diamond shaped face he is still firm with his expressions. There is a balance between the beauty and the masculinity of his face that makes him seem like that of noble blood.

Despite his short stature, he is quite thin and wiry. If you had to guess any sense of weight the young man would most likely be on the light side. If you had to take a guess it would be roughly around 115lbs, 52kg. Still the boy gestures at you expressively with his hands.

“I don’t understand, can you talk?” you ask the boy.

The boy huffs expressively, placing his hands on his hips. He blows out a bit of air which makes one of his bangs go up in the air for a second. He points to his ears and slides his finger to his mouth. Nods his head happily, then goes back to smiling, grabbing you by the hand pointing to a store shop. He begins to eagerly guide you, with a slight skip to his step. Airy, but elegant, with light steps. As if walking were more like dancing, fluid, he didn’t like a peasant. But you weren’t so sure about the boy who wouldn’t speak, but simply drag you along to his own beat.

When and if Idris speaks, it’s slow, and sounds like he’s trying to feel out the words on his lips to make sure he’s pronouncing them clearly. It doesn’t sound quite like he knows what or how he sounds, but rather tries to feel how it sounds. He doesn’t talk often and prefers to use gestures, and written messages.

Personality Strength

Anyone who knows Idris knows that he is quite expressive, he often gesticulates excitedly, maybe a little too excitedly at times. Especially when he’s enthusiastic about certain things. Idris has always had a wild spirit, perhaps it is the Elven blood inside of him that makes him seek out things with curiosity and trying to have a sense of understanding things around him. It is why the Deep Forest Elves have had such a grave understanding of the magic around them because it’s their curiosity that drives them as it drives Idris.

Those who know Idris know him as a bold go getter, someone who sees something he wants and takes the actions to go after what he dreams. Idris is not someone who simply says he will do something and sits around never getting to it, never procrastinating and always striding towards his goals. With the understanding that not everything is going to happen instantaneously. Thus he is reasonably understanding of that fact and never getting discouraged simply because things didn’t work out the way they should have.

Idris has a very go with the flow attitude, patiently waiting even when things go awry. It’s something his mother taught him that a true noble is one who is patience, understanding, and doesn’t get lash out negatively towards others. Being a noble to Idris was never about showing off his wealth in some arrogant pompous way or lording over his influence. His father and mother always told him that a true noble is one who is kind, understanding, reasonable, and tries to look at other people’s point of view. Thus Idris tries to live with that in mind.

Of course Idris is also still fifteen and still learning what it means for him to be an adult. He’s brave and will stand up for others whenever they are in a pinch. Those who know Idris know they have a long, trusting, friend. Idris is not the type of person to be cold and off standish, in fact he’s the most accepting and tries to let others in as quickly as he meets them. Inviting them to play, go on small scale adventures with him. He always wants someone to feel accepted, so he tries to be the first to be the role model of accepting those who may be a bit different.

Personality Flaws

Idris has high expectations of himself sometimes, not of others, but himself. He can come off as a perfectionist at times, been known to practice a spell over and over and over again well beyond his own tiredness. Idris is concerned or fixated on redeeming himself, believing himself responsible for feeling some sense of guilt and shame that his city fell because he didn’t defend it. Without the realization that he couldn’t have done anything at the time. Routinely beating himself over the head for not being strong enough to defend the city. Even sometimes believing that he has no reason or sense to reclaim it when those he abandoned will merely only see him as a coward.

He’s ashamed that he fled that night, beating himself over repeatedly about how he shouldn’t have left his parents there. Blaming himself for the fall of the city. These are things that are not often seemed by the other orphans. He demands a lot of himself. To repay for his mistakes. To suffer for his mistakes. Which contradicts the otherwise regal calm he generally has.

While it hard to frustrate Idris there are times when he can be frustrated with others. Often in moments of miscommunication when nothing is going through. Though he usually places the blame on himself. Idris is the type of person who will take responsibility for others actions even when they are the ones who should take responsibility for their own actions.

Neutral

It doesn’t take a lot to make Idris happy, he enjoys adventure, as long as you feed his curious appetite, he usually is settled. Idris is often very content as an individual, he doesn’t necessarily have any standout hobbies that would make him a unique individual to others. Though he appreciates when someone tries to communicate with him and tries to make communication easier. He dislikes those who say something about his race or only point out that he is simply a deaf kid. He’s more than those things and is always determined to show others that he is not simply the mutt deaf.

Skills:

Lip Reading -

While Idris can read other people’s lips, it’s not as accurate as you would think. People mumble, they laugh, they cover their face. And it is difficult to for him to always discern what someone is saying by lip reading. Simply put don’t rely on too much, but he can do so if necessary.

Signing -

Most of Idris communication comes in either gestures he has made up to create his own shorthand of language. It may not make a complete sentence that would make sense to you and I, but the message comes across with his animations and facial expressions. He also knows how to spell the alphabet, if he’s in a more complex conversation with someone he may choose to sign the letters to reply.

Nobility Knowledge -

Unlike someone else, he was taught to remember the names of all the important family houses. Who their leaders were and who their heirs were. He could probably recognize a house emblem and know exactly what house emblem it is from. He can also probably tell you the past history of some houses. Arvid his father always dream of having The Oaken Fort being claimed as one of the great cities, demanded his heirs know this information.

Rune Reading -

Rune magic and rune reading is different, but of the same vein. You need to understand Rune language before you go crafting your own Runic spells. The Deep Forest Elves often used Runic Language as their way of writing spells, or their books. Their language conveyed in universal words that conveyed many things at once the Elvish word Hwesta could mean a breeze or to breathe. This simplistic nature of the Elvish language with their simple Runic transcribing helped Idris learn this language and to read it better without having to learn another complicated language.

Calligraphy -

To cast Runes you have to understand how to write Runes, through the practice of calligraphy. Writing a Rune is not writing a word the way a man may write a letter. It is understand the symbol, each rune that crafts an idea, it is more like a true linguistic art than it is simply writing a sentence.

Focal Crystal: The Eleven Storm, Alagelda, a purple stone sits in a birch staff, shifting in hues of purple, from light to dark, flashes of amethyst like lighting appear and then fade.
*See appearance for crystal

Special Equipment:

*Brethil Vandl - Silver Birch Staff
*See Appearance

The Elven Eye is a unique staff that was gifted to him by his Elven family. They handed him an empty silver birch staff carved for him by his grandmother and told him to place his magic inside of it and that his magic would guide the function of the staffs duties. The chariote like stone in his staff is one of perception, thus the name of the staff was dawned the Elven Eye. His staff ability is one that perceives many things dependent on the weather as forest Elves are dependent on the seasons.

Ability: The Elven Eye perceives many thing, but what it perceives is determined by the weather.

Sunny - on bright sunny days the Elven Eye can illuminate items that the user wishes or desires for. The item often glints like seeing a piece of metal at a distance, or the eye leads a line towards whatever it is the user desire before fading into nothingness.
*Clear Evening - on clear evenings the staff faintly glows a soft light. This soft light illuminates things in the light. You hear a snapping twig the staff illuminates a bunny that is faintly glowing on the other side of the brush.

Overcast - when the sun is hidden behind the clouds, the Elven Eye turns a subtle dark purple. When in this state it can illuminate and even cut through some illusions.

Rain/Fog - the Elven eye faintly glows. It continual blinks at different intervolves, illuminating the right path to take when visibly is unclear. The faster the speed of light the more you have strayed from your path than the constant gentle slow chime of light.

Snow/Hail - When the world is blanketed in white or when ice hails from the sky, and visible is too low to even guide on one a straight path or is too dangerous too. The staff begins to ring, and echo locates the nearest shelter that becomes visible at regular intervals as to not lose your way.

“While the way your world works may be different, allow me to illuminate what you may not be able to perceive on your own. Let thy staff I have crafted for you become the staff that guides you, not changes you, but gives you what you adequately lack”

Love Truly - Gwawr

Aelfgifu “Elf gift” - one of the many reasons it is hard to find the Elven secrets, especially of the Old and Deep Forest is because their magic is one about secrets. Elves do not hide their knowledge, wisdom, advice, and magic out in the open in safe storages. Instead they have another plane, or really an item has another purpose. For example a single key decorated in purple and violet butterflies and vines, is not merely just a key you see. Elves, especially the Deep Forest Elves, hide their items within items. An singular orb, could hide a mountain of knowledge and wisdom that no one would find.

Somethings aren't what they seem

Ability: Idris’ key is not merely a key instead hidden within the key is his spellbook. All he needs to do is unlock his spellbook and his key and his book switch places. The key residing in the keyhole and the book free to be openly used, until the time comes again for them to switch places once again.

Equipment: Idris bag has a piece of string that he uses to attach on the front his key, so it’s in a place that is accessible and reachable. His leather satchel might be slim, but he equips with the necessities

Small for the Road

World map, because it seemed Idris was the only person would thought about that before setting off. Inkwell, quill, and parchment. As well as a manuscript to translate ruins for the others. Trail mix, some nuts mixed with dried fruits. And some granola treats.

Magic: Lv 5

Spellbook:

“I have a surprise for you,” Arvid’s deep, ringing voice echoes through the library. Edmond the Mentor scowls at Arvid.

“This is a library Arvid, it is not the outside,” Edmond scoffs.

Arvid just laughs deeply, and walks up to Idris and taps the boy on the shoulder. Idris looks up and Arvid smiles. He hands the boy a leatherbound book, with metal clasp. Arvid’s point to the flowers, they are the House flowers. Idris smiles at Arvid getting up to hug the burly man. A keyhole in the center of the book, Idris stroked it to feel the etchings, Edmond fixes his glasses and looks annoyed that the studies have been interrupted for this.

School of Focus: Runic - a unique form of magic that uses the form of written words as traps, imbued with an effect that goes off when triggered. Generally someone steps on it or is within the 5ft circumference of the rune.

A Father's Gift

Précis

Scrawled on the floor or wall is a glittering Rune. Not all Runes are ones to worry about, some of them can be quite helpful. In this case, Idris can mark walls, doors, floors, with a rune that gives quick summarized information. I.e. “Trap Door Ahead”, “Center Dead End”, “Big Threat Ahead”. To name a few ideas of what he may tell his team, if they are ever separated from one another.

Slick

Runes are often simple, they have a singular word that conveys the full effects of a more complex spell. Though often they are triggered by movement, someone stepping on them or passing them, is often the trigger. Slick is no different. When a creature passes the word or command Slick, the rune ruptures and breaks the seal covering the ground in a slick oily slimy substance that covers a 15ft range. This substance is slippery, those who run into the mess leftover find themselves slipping and also struggling to keep their footing.

*Bonus Affect - This is not a feature of the spell, but the way the substance interacts with other substances. When touched by flames, the substances begins to harden and anyone stuck in the slime is stuck in place till they break free from it. When touched by water the substance becomes even slicker, tackier, like walking or wading through glue.

Thorns

This affect when either attached to the wall or the floors, when the seal breaks, explodes into plant life. As whipping vines burst from the rune itself. These whipping vines sting with jabbing thorns on their thick branches. They spread about 10ft from the actual rune, and anyone who dares pass them be prepared to get whipped by lashing vines.

Whirlwind

This rune sits glittering on the floor. Have you ever wondered what it’s like to fly? Well than take a chance and step on this rune. While most ruins are AoE in someway, this spell tends to directly affect those that are directly on the rune itself. The individual who stands on this spell, has a mini tornado wrap around both their ankles and shoots them across the room, well at least 5ft before they land with a hard thud. Anyone else within the range of this spell is merely knocked onto their feet briefly.

Bend

Those who step on this Rune at first won’t notice the effect of this spell. It’s not displayed lavishly like vines, or mini ankle tornado rockets. Instead whenever anyone is in a 3ft range of this spell, or has directly stepped or passed the rune on a wall, they’ll notice any non magical items they are carrying, be it weapons or, be it their armor has warped or bend in some way. Try fighting someone with a wobbly sword, you’ll just end up being a laughing stock.

Misc Battle Info: The way Idris is aware of magic, is due to his heightened ability to feel magic as a Half Elf. Idris is aware in battle because he can feel magic on his skin and he is able to taste magic that lingers in the air. Magic is the gathering of energy and thus just like you can feel the electricity in the air concerning lighting storms, he can feel the hair on his skin stand up when someone is preparing to cast a spell. He can discern the type of magic in the air that lingers through its scent and taste. It’s not like a specific taste he won’t say it tasty fruity, but it has different ways it makes his senses tingle or spark.

Born to a silent world, one without the sounds that the world takes for granted. Arvid and Elfreda did not curse their child for his inability to hear, instead they took the news with stride and did their best to educate and get him prepared for nobility despite his limitations. Elfreda and Arvid never considered to punish their child or treat him poorly merely because he cannot hear. He definitely can and will become a Lord, hearing or not. They always encouraged him and made sure that he would be as noble as his brothers and sister.

Silent Prince is Born in April Rains

A celebration could be heard echoing through the mist of the Oaken Fort. A city surrounded by trees as a bailey and wooden buildings in architecture unheard of in most of the Great Cities. This celebration of course was the celebration of Elfreda and Arvid’s fourth child, Idris. This was a long time coming, a plan created by two families a generation ago. By Tlaloc’s Elfreda’s father, and Grand Elder of the Deep Forest elves and Arnulf father to his heir Arvid. Arvid and Elfreda married in her late adolescents and his early adulthood and many awaited how they would receive each other. Over time it was clear to the elves and the humans that Arvid and Elfreda may have actually fallen in love. The unification of two families had been considered a success when Elfreda birthed their first child Hákon. Soon after a year later, they found themselves with child once again their daughter Blodeuwedd, named by their grandmother Gwawr. Two years after Gruffud was born. And now a year after Idris has come to bless the family further.

Arvid paced in the grand halls of the Grand Oak Keep. The midwife came out and smiled at him.

“It’s a boy,” she tells him softly.

Arvid smiles, “And Elfreda?”

“Healthy,” the woman smiles at him.

Blodeuwedd is coming down the hallway, she walks like she is gliding, elegant, graceful, cat like steps, with a bouquet of white flowers at hand.

“Well,” Blodeuwedd ask with curiosity.

“You have a new brother,” Arvid tells her.

Blodeuwedd sighs, “Could have been at least another girl.”

Arvid laughs and places a hand on his daughter's cheek, her skin supple and soft, “Your mother loves those flowers.”

“Yeah, well I feel it’s a waste now because Grandma was so assured we were going to have another girls, boys don’t like flowers,” Blodeuwedd frowns and looks disappointed.

“We don’t like flowers?” Hákon coming from the north end of the wing, with a smile on his face, he looks the most like their father, except the butterfly shaped ears gives him away, “Well I like flowers, so I can use them to flirt with beautiful girls.”

“That’s not the same thing as liking flowers,” Blodeuwedd replies.

“Theoretically, it is the same thing, girls like flowers because they are pretty, he likes flowers because knowing they are pretty he admires them to admire girls,” Gruffud replies, or really Hákon is carrying him in his arms and maneuvering his mouth. Gruffud displeased with this action tries to bite Hákon finger, but Hákon moves it out of the way quickly.

“Thank you Gryf,” Hákon replies.

Blodeuwedd scoffs.

“You see what I have to put up with,” Blodeuwedd complains to their father.

Arvid gives out a hearty laugh, “I think everything will be okay Bloddy.” Arvid ruffles her a bit, she fixes her hair back into the position she had laid it.

A Revelation is Made

Elfreda held Idris in her arms, though he always seemed like a distracted child, ever since he was born. His eyes would wander and he wouldn’t look at her when she spoke to him. She wondered if he regretted being born to her. She’d never let anyone know that she worried about the future of her children being the way they are. Half elves mingling with humans, the thought irritated some elven purest. Holding the twelve month in her hands she tried to call out again to him.

“Idris,” she said softly, “Please my child.”

He finally looks at her, all though it was a few seconds later, only to look at her with a babies expression of confusion.Elfreda huffed in frustration.

“Why, what have I done?” Elfreda asked Idris, “Why do you hate me?”

Snap!

Elfreda jumped as one of her elven maids Mindra clapped her hands as she entered the room. Elfreda looked at her frustratedly.

“You startled me,” Elfreda told Mindra.

“I’m sorry milady, still no luck with Idris,” Mindra replied.

“He won’t respond to songs, he won’t respond to his name, he won’t respond to me, and Gruffud already talking,” Elfreda sounds tired and exasperated.

“Have you considered he cannot hear, milady?” Mindra asked.

Elfreda took a second. It’s like someone had shown her the way with fairy light. Suddenly things began to click into her head. Why hadn’t she noticed it till now? She got up quickly and Mindra looked at her, Elfreda looks back.

“He didn’t jump when you clapped,” Elfreda responds.

Mindra simply nods her head.

“I must speak with Arvid,” Elfreda says as hurriedly.

“He’s in a meeting milady,” Mindra said.

She didn’t care, handing Idris over to Mindra, who smiled at the child and made silly faces. Idris begins to laugh the more expressive Mindra’s faces were. She should have seen it, how had she not. Quickly rushing out of the room, she soared down the hallway, her green dress following her, until she pushed back the wood doors of the keep, into the counsel room. Where Arvid stood talking to a few lords, ladies,of the lands.

“Lady Elfreda,” they greeted her, though they looked as surprised as Arvid did. Elfreda moved past them all.

“Elfreda, my white blossom, what is it that you need?” Arvid asked greeting her by kissing her hand.

She wasn’t necessarily thinking in this moment, as she blurted out, “He can’t hear.” Noticing watchful eyes she covered her mouth and grabbed Arvid’s hands, “Forgive me Lords and Ladies, I’m stealing him away as we have a touch of a family emergency.”

She drags Arvid off, well leads him out into the hall. Arvid looks at her, his concern for his children great, but his dedication to tending to the matters of the land also great. Arvid looks at her with a soft, but stern expression.

“What’s this about hearing?” Arvid ask.

“Idris,” Elfreda tells him, “He can’t hear us. It’s why he hasn’t responded.”

Arvid takes a second. There’s a bit of silence. He looks shocked and then the realization in his face begins to turn. Arvid takes a second.

“It makes sense,” Arvid began to sputter, “I...I hadn’t thought of….I hadn’t considered it. Are we poor parents for not figuring it out? How do we confirm this? Any elven doctors we can speak to?”

“I can get the Shaman Elder to confirm for us,” Elfreda told him, she places a hand on his cheek, “But this does not make you a terrible father. You realize and you’re seeking to assist as quickly as you can. That’s a sign of a good father. Now go back in there to assure our children’s land claims.”

Elfreda smiles and kisses his fingers slightly. Arvid nods kissing her forehead.

“We’ll have a meeting family afterwards,” Arvid tells her before walking back into the counsel room. Now all that was left to do is contact the Shaman Elder.

**

“If Idris can’t hear, can we explain why Gruffud has terrible manners?” Blodeuwedd ask at the dinner table, watching Gruffud decide his fork was too difficult of a task and began to use his hands to eat tonights roast stew.

“Fork,” Elfreda barked at Gruffud, one of the maids placed his fork back in his hand.

“Bloody,” Gruffud hands her the fork.

“I don’t want it, and it’s Blodeuwedd, if you’re going to give me a nickname, it should be one more suitable,” Blodeuwedd scoffs.

“So, if Idris can’t hear, are we not going to get in trouble if we call him a bad name?” Hákon ask curiously.

Arvid gives Hákon a look, “Even if he can’t hear it's still rude and we don’t call our siblings bad names. Instead you’ll get ten times a harsher punishment.”

“Bummer,” Hákon responds.

Priorities Before Leisures

A hand is placed on the book he’s reading, the glittering runes are slightly etched onto the book, which are nice to the touch. He looks up to Blodeuwedd. She’s talking, he’s watching her lips move faster than a horse drawn carriage. She huffs and he only catches a, -that’s right from her lips-. She points to herself -me-, and then points to him -you-, she points outside to the window -want to go to town?-. Idris stares at the stuffy book he’s been made to read by his Grandmother Gwawr. She’s says things like he has a very special kind of magic she can feel, except that his sister likes to point out she also thought he was a girl. Which Grandmother pointed out he has a distinct feminine energy. He’s not even sure what any of that means.

He also points to the window -To town- drawing a question mark in the air.

Blodeuwedd nods.

He places his hands on the book and huffs, he looks at her. A mild look of an annoyance, a bit of expressive hesitate, looking at her. He looks back to the window, he wants to go, and then he stares at the book he’ll get in trouble.

Blodeuwedd raises her hand in the air and looks like she’s screaming from frustration. Before grabbing his arms and dragging him lightly out of the chair. She points to him sternly -You!- she begins to cradle her arms like a baby -baby-. She points to herself -me- and then looks at the headboard of rules set for them during their instructions. -You’re my baby brother, you listen to my rules-

Idris shakes his head, blonde hair getting into his eyes and he has to brush his bangs back. He couldn’t go. He had to read this chapter. He puts his hands together in praying form -please- and he shakes his head.

Blodeuwedd huffs. Throwing her hands up in the air, she gives up. Storming off. Shaking the bookshelves as she did so. Why wasn’t she studying? Was she shirking her studies, again? She always thinks because she gets it faster that she doesn’t need to study these things. Sitting back down he stares towards the window. Be nice, to figure out where she planned to take him. She seemed really upset with him not going, she also may be trying to get him in trouble though,

Edmond the teacher, he’s the one who gives him lessons. He’s some really funny looking older elf, with white wispy hair, and glasses he wears on the bridge of his crooked nose. If he had disappeared Edmond might have reported back to his grandmother and grandfather. His education wasn’t just handled by his parents, but through them as well. And grandma is scary.

Edmond looks at him. Idris sinks into his chair a bit. Did he notice he moved only a slight inch? Best not give it away that Blodeuwedd tried to take him to town.

Edmond taps to the book, he runs his finger along the chapter he’s reading. Oh he hasn’t changed a page since Edmond left.

Idris looks at Edmond and shakes his head. He places his finger on the paragraph he’s at. Edmond raises a wispy brow. He dismisses him with a hand gesture, sits down and watches. He makes reading very nervous.

Running his fingers along the embossing of the runes, it isn’t necessarily like reading, it isn’t necessarily not like reading either. It conveys a thought rather than it conveys words. To adjust the practice of a rune, one must understand that a singular word conveys the secrets of language. Edmond’s still watching. Maybe he could convince his mother to go to town.

Celebrations, Adversities, and a Budding Friendship

The lights are flickering there are people dancing, though he can’t hear the music, he can feel perhaps the mood. It isn’t just his family around the table, they are outside, and when you look up the tree canopy you can see the faint glittering of stars. Grandpa Tlaloc and Grandma Gwawr is here, though only the nobility seems to be deliberating giving them all dark glares. Idris tries to ignore it, as his father prepared the celebration of his birth with the people of The Oaken Fort. A big community where all caste have come together, though the Family Houses seem to be staring at the elves and peasantry like nobodies or if they are mud on their clothes.

One of the nobles grabs his father’s arm. Arvid smiles. They begin to talk, Idris tries to figure out what they are talking about, though he can’t quite figure it out as the Lord of House Briar is purposely speaking in a whisper so others cannot hear.

Idris moves along, Hákon dancing with a fair girl in town. She seems smitten with him, as do all the other girls. As Hákon moves around the dance floor, he catches Idris eye and puts up a finger for the girl to give him a second. Hákon laughs as he jogs up to Idris with a smile and still slightly dancing, grabbing him, dragging him towards the dance floor.
From there Hákon explains to several girls, that he’s his baby brother. He does a cradle motion than points between the both of them as if to make the comparison. He points to his ears, telling them he can’t hear. Hákon smiles at Idris. Though all the girls look up at him with vague intrigue. They seem curious, they have questions. Idris smiles at them and waves.

They look delighted as they run over to him. They are smiling. Some hug him. They look to Hákon, how do they speak to him?

He again waves. Lifting his hand up, H-I. He points to his eye -I am-. I-D-R-I-S. He points to the girl closest to him. -You?- he draws a question mark in the air.

The girls cheers and looks delighted. Idris huffs and looks at Hákon, placing a hand on his hip and scowling. She looks at Hakon, he has to focus to read “Is something wrong?” Hákon waves his hand dismissively -it’s nothing-. He then takes her by the hand again to dance.

Idris allows them to bounce around and do loopy loops together, while he continues to walk around. Gruffud seems to be avoiding the festivities. Idris walks up to him and waves with a big smile. Pointing to the festival and pointing to himself, he then hugs himself tightly. -This big celebration for me, I feel loved-

Gruffud smiles. He moves from brooding by himself to hugging Idris tightly and ruffling his hair the way their father does. Gruffud let’s go and places a hand on his chest and then places the same hand that touched his chest to Idris. -And I love you deeply-

Idris jumps up excitedly and smiles, he tries to drag Gruffud to celebrate. Gruffud shakes his head no. I-T he points to the celebration and expands his hands out. He does an explosion expression around his head and then looks exhausted. -The celebration is too much and makes me exhausted-

Idris nods. He smiles. He points to the sky -Tonight- and points to the celebration. He points between the two of them. -Tonight me and you will celebrate together- he loops his fingers together with a smile. Gruffud smiles excitedly and nods. Gruffud points to his eye. He forms his hands in a box. -I have a gift for you-

Idris looks very excited and grabs Gruffud hands, he smiles happily. Gruffud shakes his head and then gestures for him to have fun. Idris nods and runs off excitedly. His grandmother and grandfather had gifts for him as well. He wondered where Blodeuwedd could be. He should see what she’s up to. Skipping down the wooden architecture of his town, it inspired journeys and the forest called him. There was always a tingling sensation from the trees. Grandmother Gwawr said the forest is alive and that’s how the Elves survive it. Not paying attention where he was going he bumps into someone. It’s Cedric Briar, son of Lord Hendell Briar.

He’s shouting at him. Idris frowns. He points to his ear and slides it to his mouth. He cannot make out anything he’s shouting at. He points to a spot of dirt on his rather nice coat, it must have come from one of the Great Cities. Idris looks shocked. He bows as an apology as he takes out a handkerchief. He uses a gesture to tell Cedric its to wipe his coat. He hands him the handkerchief.

Cedric knocks the handkerchief out of his hand. He looks mad. Idris takes a step back. He points to eye. S-O-R Cedric grabs his hands. He’s saying something to him. Idris watches his lips, T-A-L….”Talk.” He tries to take his hands out of Cedrics. He talks with his hands. Cedric looks upset at him.
“I- can’t,” Idris manages to sound the words on his lips, is that right?

Idris tries to pull himself away, now he’s just scared and doesn’t like this person. His eyes are watering. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Cedric, but the situation is starting to sour quickly. Just as he’s about to cry out for help Cedric is distracted by something behind him. Cedric turns around and a fist is shot at his face. Cedric doubles back letting go of his hands. They are grabbed once again and he’s being dragged off down the street into an alleyway. A kid with dark, black, scraggly hair looks over the alleyway and smiles. He looks at his knuckles.

He’s begins talking. When Idris doesn’t respond, he looks perplexed. Idris points to his ear and drags it down to his mouth. He shrugs, takes out a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket and grabs a stick. He lies it on the side of the wall and writes. Handing him a note: Valentino. And I think I am going to get banished or exiled. How cool would that be?

Idris shakes his head. He points to his eye. P-R-O-T-E-C-T and points to Valentino. -I will protect you-

Valentino gives a thumb up.

Friendships in the Summer

The two twelve year old boys sat at the bridge’s edge looking at water winding through the city. Legs dangling through the cutouts. Valentino’s hair had gotten longer and it currently was matted in sweat. He smelled of manure from working the stables at the Briar’s, dirt crusted his face, yet he swung his legs happily. Staring at a purple, smooth stone, that glimmered. He takes a second to scribble something down and passes the paper along to Idris.

Idris smiles. Handing it back after he’s finished with his response.

Valentino takes the note. He laughs, his face crinkles when he does so, showing off his dimples. Nods his head.

Idris takes the message and laughs. He covers his mouth real quick. He makes a galloping gesture with his hands and nods. -I can see it-

Valentino takes the reply, though he seems upset by something or sad. He puts the quill to his chin in thinking position and begins to scribble something down with deep concentration. Idris wonders what that could be.

Idris takes the message and looks surprised. He blinks. Me? I did that? He begins to reply quickly.

Valentino nods and Idris leans in to hug Valentino. Valentino squeezes tightly.

May 9th - Chapter 14

A note is passed along as he’s studying one of his magic books. For his thirteenth birthday he received a staff from his grandmother that is meant to be imbued by a Gem Crafter. He wonders if that is what Valentino is talking about. Idris scrunches up his face and shakes his head.

Scribbling down a response he harshly slides it past to Valentino.

He does not like Valentino implying that he simply gets these things for free. Valentino reads it and sighs, he shakes his head as well and begins to write.

This is distracting him from his studies. His next test decides whether or not he actually has earned his staff and if he can get on with more advance lessons of magic with his sister Blodeuwedd. He makes sure Edmond isn’t around before replying.

Valentino snatches the response up and stares at the message. He gives off a smirk, and licks his lips. He’s wearing an impish smirk as he begins to write. Valentino slaps the response onto the table, which makes the table vibrate, with a huge grin on his face.

Idris is quick to reply.

Valentino reads the reply and stands up from his chair. He begins to flap his arms around like a chicken, even bobbing his head side to side like a chicken. He isn’t a chicken.

Idris stands up and waves his hands in Valentino’s face. Gesturing for him to stop. Valentino looks at Idris with a big grin. Waiting for a reply.

Idris huffs and sighs. He shrugs his shoulders. -Fine, okay, you win- Valentino raises his hands up in the air and begins to cheer. Idris is watching him punch the air excitedly.

Valentino points me and you. He does writing. -We need a plan-

**

Late that evening his mother enters his room. She has her hands behind her back and she’s wearing a disappointed look on her face. Had he not done his homework right? She throws a piece of paper on his bed and gestures towards it. She wants him to explain. He quickly snatches it up;

-Meetup at Town Square tomorrow afternoon, late you are a coward
-Swap clothes

The list carries on.

His mother W-H-A-T, she points to her head and points to him very sternly. -What were you thinking- He looks at her and he tries to start to explain. He doesn’t know how to explain. He just doesn’t want Valentino to say he is a coward or that he is lucky. He grabs a piece of paper to quickly write down, Hands it to her and looks at her with an exaggerated frustrated look.

She carefully reads it. She puts down the note and looks at him with consideration. She points harshly at him -You- A-R-E V-E-R-Y- she makes a motion with her hands that looks like she is doing an action. -You are very hard working- Idris huffs and scowls. She’s just saying that, isn’t she? Because she’s his mother.

She shakes her head. She points to the both of them at the same time -We-. H-A-V-E V-E-R-Y she takes a second and words “Jobs” slowly to him. She grabs his note and points to Valentino. -We have a very different job than Valentino-

Still he frowns and looks down to the ground. Valentino doesn’t see it that way. He’ll still think he’s a coward. A coward who backs out on his word. Idris places his fist on his chest, forgive him. His mother looks at him sadly and picks his head up.

She points to him and her. -We- W-I-L-L she gestures with her hands from her mouth and drops it low -Speak- T-O she points to Valentino’s name again and puts her fingers together. -We will speak to Valentino together-

He picks his head up. Really? He points to his eye. W-O-R-K he makes a shoveling gesture. -I can work the stables-

She frowns for a second. She points to him and her She makes a gesture, hands over her brow like she’s looking around. -We will see-

He nods excitedly. If his mother comes along than Valentino cannot call him a coward and he has to do what his mother says.

June 10th - Chapter 14

At first the job was hard, mom and dad had always made sure him and his siblings found at least one chore in the Grand Oak Keep to do with the help. What made the job hard was not understanding Lady and Lord Briar despite them being talked to prior. His mother worded it as advance learning. Except Lord Cypris Briar insisted he speak, that was the hard part. Not being able to use his hands. It was frustrating if he was allowed to speak the way he was use to he could be a lot more useful. It got easier over the course of a few weeks, but he was glad Valentino and his days were going to go back to normal. He missed his siblings and his mother. Polishing silverware in the living room for the final celebration between his family and Briars as peace offering between the houses after he stayed in their service for a month.

Cedric walks in, though Idris has learned since living here Cedric is not the apple of Cyrpus’ eye much either. He prefers his daughters Silva and Dahlia. He has seen the arguments, though not heard them. Cedric is already yelling something at him. Then knocks on his head like his head is a door. This part he would not miss being treated like he lacks intelligence. Idris scowls.

“Helllllloooooo” Cedric’s lips sound out. How Idris wanted to hit him right now. While he might be Cyrpus’ favorite, he probably wouldn’t take kind to Idris hitting his son.

“Ca-nn I h-h-elp you?” Idris feels the syllables on his lips, they feel funny even still. He doesn’t know if he’s making the right words, but Cedric laughs. He doesn’t know if he makes him talk on purpose. He’s making fun of him. Idris sinks his head low a little. He promised he wouldn’t cry in front of Cedric, yet it hurts his feelings.

He pushes Cedric back only to run away. It’s the one thing he hates about this job. He never looks forward to dealing with Cedric. He doesn’t know how to do so. Fighting back tears he runs into the only room he has found solace in this house, and it is a damned library. He hesitates as he sees Lord Briar reading a book. Cedric and Lord Cyprus don’t actually look very alike. Cedric got an ugly, bumpy nose, and his features are more rounded and he’s slightly average. Lord Cyprus looks elven, though he doesn’t have the ears like him or his siblings, they look like humans, yet his facial features are pensive and slim. Cyrpus looks him.

“Sss-orry,” his lips try hard to make the S sound he has been so told of.

Cyprus continues to stare at him with sharp violet colored irises. Idris is about to turn and leave when he sees Lord Briar pat a seat next to him. He wants him to sit? Idris hesitates and sits on the cushion next to Lord Briar who is slimmed figured, very slimmed figured.

“I,” Idris begins, but Lord Briar puts up his hand for his silence. Cyprus stands up and rummages in an old desk that doesn’t befit their status. It’s old, beaten up, it’s not polished. Cyprus takes out a piece of paper and walks over with a quill.

He hands him a letter Idris reads it.

At first he doesn’t understand what these words mean. It isn’t that he doesn’t know what they mean, it’s more who they are coming from. He looks at Cyprus with wide eyes, a bit of a shock and tears stain his gaze. Cyprus doesn’t emote anything just hands him his quill and holds the inkwell.

Handing the letter back with shaking hands to Lord Briar, the man nods and carefully reads. He reads a lot longer than it should take, before replying back. Also taking his time. He hadn’t been more impatient in his life to see what Lord Briar meant. Lord Briar doesn’t look at him when he passes along his response.

Idris reads it. Of course he’d forgive him. He said sorry, he seemed genuine despite trying to cover it with a veil of aloofness. Instead of writing a message Idris tried to show him he forgave him in his way by hugging Lord Briar, who instantly tensed up when he did so his whole body went completely rigid. Their family never hugged each other likes this. Lord Briar doesn’t ease up simply pats his head before pushing him off as if even thirty seconds is too much contact.

Itzal the Shadow Hunt’s Messenger, paces across the tree line. Though not in a way that would worry any of his mean. In horned helmets, distinctly elven designs that were shadow, warped, and distorted like horns. Itzal stared upon the Oaken Fort with disgust. He raised a slender ashen hand, with long manicured nails and pretended to grasp it, only to crush it. He turns to the army that lie await in the mist of the forest fog.

“Dad ennas na- mín coth. Hain remmen a gwaur mín agar. Gwaur ha with firen a gwerio i iar gondobar. Sír mín iôl othrondwen in diiâr,” he tells his men, who raise their jagged shaped, curved, elegant, and blacken blades in the air. Silently cheering for the death of the impure blooded. Itzal turns his attention to the town and raises his own blade.

“Ai Eldanor!” he says as trebuchets are released, sailing forward round balls of what look like a mixture of twisted roots, branches, stone, moss, and vines that banned them together. They crashed into the Oaken Fort with a loud explosion sound, the aftershock sent some commoners back into the wall. The ball of wood, branches, and stone began to unfold itself to show arms and legs. They stood as tall as the smallest buildings around 6ft to 7ft tall, with glowing eyes, a magic core inside of them syphoned life through them.

Their feet sent vibrations through the earth as they walked. One of the guards immediately begun to run to the nearest towers, in a hollowed out tree with wooden stairs, he began to grab onto the rope and began to ring the alarm. Ding. Ding. Ding.

**

The family’s sat together eating dinner. It wasn’t quiet, Idris watched as the families exchanged words. He caught words from Cyprus to his father as “enlightening”. His wife, Lady Primrose reminded Idris of a walking pig, she had a button in nose, her hair was always up in a tightly curled bun. She was on the rather bigger side, The only few that exchange words with him were his brothers and siblings, but looks from Primrose and Cyprus meant they didn’t necessarily care for goofing off at the table. Something his parents allowed them. Still things weren’t exactly what he called ideal, yet peaceful. Though that changed as his father and Cyprus both stood up at the same time. They seemed on alert. Idris felt his heart racing, his father seemed worried.

Arvid ran towards the window without a word. What’s going on? Arvid quickly turns and points to his mother, he catches his father’s lips, “take the children.” Their mother gets up quickly and stares at him, and curls her fingers for him to follow. Putting her hands on her lips, she looks to Cyprus. “Escape passage” he says as he walks over to the fireplace. He knew it had a weird energy to it! Cyprus places his hand on the fireplace. It glows blue, the fire inside of it goes out, as the wall splits in half to show a passage. His mother bows.

She grabs his hand especially. His brothers and sister are behind, Cedric, Silva, and Dahlia are also following. Neither of the girls are very pretty. None of them inherited Cyprus looks though Silva is prettier than Dahlia. The passage is closed behind them. What’s going on? He doesn’t have time to ask as his mother is fully sprinting down a passage of stone, will o wisp lights glowing at every step they take. Even if anyone was talking he couldn’t hear them. The stone was blocking it, but he could feel a weird energy. It was palpable. Powerful. Twisted even through the storm. They continued to run. His lungs were going to give and without an explanation.

His mother seemed proper afraid. As they came out from an iron gate, there was the small of firewood burning. The oak in the air. He could taste blood mixed with the smoke of fire. The Oaken Fort is burning. As they ducked out of an alleyway. Bodies lay scattered across the earth. Walls splattered in blood. Idris could feel his heart racing. He felt his body shaking. His mother won’t engage, she won’t tell him anything. She expects them to run. Hákon picks up a sword from one of the guards, who has been ripped into parts. An arm scattered, entrails strewn out. He’s going to vomit.

His hand slips from his mother’s grasp. She looks frightened as they separate. She tries to grab for his hand as he trips on uneven ground. His hands get scuffed up, dirty, he nearly touches the guards dead corpse. The thought alone makes him wretch. Blodeuwedd bends down to grab him. She looks at him, he tries to save face looking away losing dinner. Blodeuwedd I-T W-I-L-L she gives an okay gesture and takes his pink with hers. -It will be okay I pinky promise-

She helps him up.

He holds onto her hand. His mother hand is extended out waiting for him to reach her. When he stops, she turns around quickly. Blonde hair whipping in the air like the flames flickering. A large wolf, with sharp canines comes running at full speed, at such a speed on all fours it loses its grip taking the sharp corner it does. As it leaps from its back legs, his mother raises her hand, a shield forms and pushes the wolf into the wall in front of her. It merely shakes the damage off as it recovers, wobbling. She points to Blodeuwedd. Blodeuwedd nods and grabs his hand, taking him to the other side into another alleyway. More bodies. More blood. The magic in the air is a nightmare. It keeps filling his head with the images of ancient cities. Stone that glittered in magical light. And blood. Hatred. He could feel clinging onto his skin the way sweat might.

Where is Hákon? Idris turns his attention to him engaged in an individual with blacken armor. That’s it, that’s the source of magic. It’s made of a metal no one has seen before. Not steel, not iron, it’s magical, black sleek, shiny. His helmet is elvish, but it looks funny, it looks twisted, warped. Elvish Deamons. Swords clashing. Sparks flying. The black metal vibrating every time it’s struck. Idris calls out to Hákon as someone in black leather, and two daggers jumps from a burning roof to engage with Hákon, “L-O-O-K!” as he does another man in blacken armor engaged with one of their soldiers, turns his attention to them. The soldier sees an advantage, striking the blacken Elven knights in between the plates of his armor. The Elven Dark Knight grumbles and turns his attention to the soldier, taking his blacken, twisted mace into the soldiers neck. The man’s neck gives way.

The knight is coming this way. Gruffud stands in front of Blodeuwedd to block her. He words “Go.” Blodeuwedd nods, holding onto his hand. Her hands are actually shaking. He tries to keep up with her pace. She’s scared. They are trying to get to the Grand Oak Keep, he can see it sitting on a hill overlooking the town. It too is on fire. There are more men in black armor on the drawbridge, riding those wolves. There’s a blast of magic on the drawbridge as Edmond, and some Elven soldiers tried to defend the Keep. They are intermingling with the human soldiers. Swords clashing. Idris is dragged down into rocks, that squeeze between a sewer system and the town mill. Blodeuwedd opens the grate and has him enter the tunnel.

It’s not what he expects actually. Instead of a dingy sewer, which it is, there’s stone steps leading upwards. Blodeuwedd guides him to those steps. The stone here feels different. It’s cool in here and the chaos of the battle seems way up there. The ancient passage his family talked about, though he had never been in here. Only seen the manuscripts. There’s no one here. It’s like the battle is far away down here. They continue to walk through smooth stone tunnels. Till he sees light. He squeezes Blodeuwedd’s hands, he doesn’t want to see her go either. She squeezes his hand tightly too as reassurance.

A soldier in armor stares at the both of them. He’s talking to Blodeuwedd. He’s talking fast. They have laid defenses down here. Their last defense. The soldier has them follow him, there are some soldiers down here. Do they think they will reach down here as well? Blodeuwedd nods and guides him to a wooden door. The Service corridors must connect to the passage as the manuscripts had laid out. She opens the door, to see the maids packing their things in small bags. They say somethings to Blodeuwedd. They smile at him. Nodding. The soldiers are escorting the maids and service out from behind here, that’s what the defenses are for.

Blodeuwedd continues guiding him. He wants to fight too. He tugs at Blodeuwedd hand. She looks at him for the first time in this whole scenario. The smell of smoke is filling the hallways. It’s created a thick fog. He points down the hall. He knows that’s where the armory is. Blodeuwedd nods. They have to be quick, they are already coughing and all that running has made it difficult for his lungs to give much more. They hand down to the armory. She opens the door. She smiles as she grabs her staff, she stops shaking the moment she touches her staff. He looks at his white birch staff, that has been finished more recently, grabbing it, it felt right. Like home. He saw the memories of the Deep Forest Elf from this staff.

She still holds onto his arm though. He tries to pull her back towards the entrance. She turns to face him. She shakes her head no. She continues to force him down the hallway, away from the passage they came from. The smoke is thick and hard to see through. He can feel himself hacking a lung, but his staff is illuminating a faint light. As they get into the grandhall. The steps in front of them, they can hear the keep’s larges doors being slammed against. Soldiers are trying to keep the doors from giving way. Fire is spreading through the throne room. Blodeuwedd creates a little bit of water to break through the path of fire.

His Father’s advisor, Andah is holding the door with his magic. He seems tired. He’s been holding the door for a long time he figures. His sister has him lead up the stairs. Why? What aren’t they telling him? They could be helping them keep the door. The smoke is worse up here, actually most of the top floor is illuminated in orange flames. It’s hot up here. He sees some soldiers bodies, burnt to a cinder, the smell of burnt flesh, and ashen hair threatens to make him throw up again. Expel what he doesn’t have. Blodeuwedd takes him towards his room, she ices the door down with some of her ice magic to repel the flames before shattering the door open. He’s never seen his room like this. Orange. Like the Abyss. Smoldering and burning. Blodeuwedd looks shocked, but grabs a bag that hasn’t been smoldered. She hands it to him. She begins looking through his dresser, that the flames are threatening to.

Now he understood. No. He shook his head at Blodeuwedd who has stopped the flames for now with her water. He hands her the pack. Shaking his head No again. Trying to get her attention, as she’s just shoving whatever clothes aren’t burned into his pack. He waves his hands in her face, and tries to stop her. She pulls her hands away from him. Handing him a full pack.

She puts her two fingers to her eyes and points to him sternly -You see-, and points to the window, then does a gesture with her pointer finger and middle finger. -You see out there, you have to run- No he didn’t want to run. He lifts his staff up and gives her a stern face. I am fighting. He shows her his staff. She shakes her head and points again to the window very forcefully. -Run-

She stops, she looks afraid. She hears something he can’t. She grabs him, hold her breath entering the smoked filled hallway again. She’s walking slower now, having him go down with a simple gesture. They are crawling on all floors on a runner rug that use to be purple, now it’s blacken and turning sooty. She peaks over the edge of the stair railing. They have busted through the door. The soldiers are fighting the Black Knight.

Andah is dead, crushed underneath the weight of the door, alongside some other soldiers. Those wolves are sniffing the air. She grabs his hands and looks at him. She knows he’s scared, she seems scared too, despite hiding it. She looks at him. Her brows furrow, and she seems to question him with a look. Do you see why you have to run? He doesn’t want to run. Doesn’t she understand that? He can help. Tears are coming from his eyes. What if he never sees them again? She looks at him also about to cry. She words very slowly for him to read her lips “Then - I - love - you” she said and drags him into a hug very quickly.

He finds himself breaking out into tears. Trying to be silent. Blodeuwedd looks at him. She points to herself and the stairs. {Heading downstairs} She points to him and points down to the hall. {You run to the passage}

He watches as she heads down the stairs. She begins tapping her staff on the stonewall. The wolves look toward the sound. She gives him one final look. Now. He has to run now. He runs down the stairs. One of the wolves tries to run after him, a bit of his sister ice spikes the wolf. The wolf changes its mind and he sees that two of them are beginning to approach her on the stairs. There’s fire behind her. He’s about to step in. But he sees her look. Go. He feels his heart racing. His body shaking. He begins to bolt down the passage. Turning to see on warg spiked by ice through the belly. Blood begins to run down the ice pillar, before freezing into dollops of ice red. As she’s casting the other warg grabs her leg. Dragging her down to the ground, another wolf noticing the commotion goes to investigate. He can’t look anymore. He’s sorry sister. Goodbye sister.

He continues running down the passage. Fast as he can. He looks behind him to make sure nobody's following. He already sees a Black Knight coming down the hall. He must have noticed him. Idris places down a rune on a ground in front of him throwing out Slick onto the ground. He turns his back and runs faster, even though everything hurts to do so. He runs through the kitchen. He runs through the maid service corridors. Everything is empty now, the door is about to close a soldier is quickly ushering him to come quickly. He runs faster. The soldier taps him on the back and slams the door shut. He can see the way the door jiggles on its frame.

Idris puts a pointer finger up for a second. Placing thorns to a wall next to the door. He follows the soldier down the tunnel.

He almost expected to see his father standing at the grate. Instead a soldier stood, waiting. He hands him a paper. Idris nods his head. Perhaps, his mother and father would make it and meet them at the woods. His brothers too.

Midnight

They hadn’t shown. The forest felt different no longer in the city. A wagon of horses lay beside tree and mostly children and woman, the elderly had been left behind. None of them could sleep he was sure, even if they had all gone into their tents for the night. Ever time he closed his eyes he was brought back to the burning village and Blodeuwedd. Tears streamed down his face. Why hadn’t mother and father shown yet? Then as if this whole entire time they had been in the eye of the storm, Idris felt the magic of the black metal clinging to his skin. The pouring hatred, the burning sense of betrayal. The smell of burning tents. As Idris quickly got out of his camp, tiny tents dotted through the forest were slowly lighting one by one on fire. He saw the Black Knights mounted on the wolves. Saw isn’t the word though he had an image of them in his head by the way their magic felt. Idris looked away as a woman fled out of her tent, a running human silhouette on flames.

He couldn’t look at anymore death. The forest beginning to light quickly to orange. Turning the even dusk into orangish midnight. He grabbed his bag and his staff. He needed to find his grandfather. He wanted to fight, though he knew from these images in his head. That he would not be able to defeat an army. Remembering the look in Blodeuwedd’s face. Run. Go. He saw it in his head. Idris trying to keep his breathing calm as he began to flee. This time not turning to look at the burning tents. He couldn’t continue to watch slaughter and not have the strength to help.

Idris began to wander through the brush. He had only visited his Grandfather’s home once, he was very small and didn’t quite remember the path. His Grandfather said that because of his blood, that he would know the path when he felt it. Idris wasn’t so sure he was in the mood to feel anything else. Something is muddled it clings to his skin, like kindred spirit, yet is warped and corrupted. He looks around someone is here. Someone has found him. He wants to know who. As if understood his command the staff illuminates a figure in the brush. The figure seems to notice they have been found out so they walk out in an iron twisted helm like the black knights. He doesn’t like the way their magic feels. It’s both of the Deep Forest, but it feels more dark than that, cloaked in shadows is the image he gets.

He thinks the individual is talking. They seem confused to why he hasn’t responded. Idris won’t say. Not to this person. They take their runic, dark, corrupted steel sword and raise it up high. He raises his staff to block it and closes his eyes. When he opens it again, a soldier of his fathers’ is holding the individual back with their blade. He uses a moment to gesture for Idris to go.

Idris starts to run again. Why are they after him? Why do they want to kill him? All these messages are fragmented in his head. Their magic is twisted. He just keeps going.

Early Morning

Sun kisses his skin. He opens his eyes. There is blood on his forehead. His ankle is twisted in a root of a tree. Where is he? He’s in the forest. His head hurts. He has to get out of here. Doesn’t matter where. He just has to go somewhere not of the forest. That’s what his instincts tell him. He doesn’t want to. He wants the comfort of family. He has to leave the forest. Idris weeps a little. Why did all of this happen?

He manages to take his leg out of the roots of the tree. Nothing seems broken. He just sits on the root of the tree and cries. He wants all of this to be a bad dream. He doesn’t want to see these images. Blodeuwedd. Gruffud, he didn’t get to tell them goodbye. I love you is stuck in his head. He just wants to go home. He just wants all of this to have not happened. A horrible nightmare, but he isn’t waking up. He isn’t waking up. Mother and father, they never showed up.

He holds onto his knees and sobs into them soaking his breeches with tears.

September 17th - Chapter 14th

He lost his bag somewhere along the way. He doesn’t know what day it is. How long had he been wandering the forest? His hair has grown long, dirt sticks to his skin, his hair matted in mud. He limped across the forest, his legs are sore, his head hurts. He’s not hungry. Or he doesn’t feel hunger any more. Using his staff to help lean on. Idris eyes are blurry. Trees are beginning to go double. He just continues on. Not knowing where his destination is. He just knows he can’t go to the Deep Kingdom. He feels he’s suppose to go somewhere. Being drawn to somewhere.
He feels sick. He just continues walking. There was an urge to throw up. Idris sees something in the distance glittering. Is it a hallucination? A mirage. He heads into that distraction. It couldn’t be? One of the Great Cities? He had heard stories. It was his father’s dream to turn the Oaken Fort into one of the great cities. He’d have called it the fourth great city. Idris wanted to keep that dream alive. Trying not to remember that night.

He pushed the thought back. He stands in front of a glittering shining barrier. Looking into the blurred visions of bright pastel buildings. They look nothing like the wooden buildings he was use to. A man in a funny looking cloth cloak that didn’t look like it protect him from much of anything carrying a spear stares at him. He’s talking. Idris doesn’t have the strength to tell him he can’t hear. The world is turning into a swirl of pastel colors.

**

When he came around it was in someone’s house. It smelled nice, flowers wafted in through the window and the sheets felt soft. For a second he was lulled into the sense he was back home. He knew he wasn’t, he saw the glittering barrier. The house wasn’t even made of wood.

An woman walks in, she has graying hair, and she is carrying some water in a pot. She says something and he looks at her. He points his ear and slides it to his mouth. She looks a bit perplexed. Idris huffs in frustration. He looks around, and makes a gesture for paper. She grabs some from a dresser that she bumps slightly, hands him a quill. He begins to write. It hurts to do so. His head is sluggish, yet he manages, handing it to her.

She reads a few times. Then nods her head.

She writes down her reply, hand it back.

He carefully reads it. It dawns on him, she’s offering him a place to stay. He recalls bits of that night making that realization. He looks at her sadly, and nods his head.

She smiles at him and places a hand on his shoulder. It reminds him of his mother’s touch. He doesn’t want to cry in front of this woman. He had already done so much crying. He had already done so much walking. He had already seen so much the horror the forest wrought. Idris just nodded and swallowed the sadness down like bitter medicine.

Written by Myself and Akaya

A Friendship Twinkling

Things were slowly getting easier. There were other kids here and he was trying to assimilate with each one of them. Today, Astraea was his target. Target made it seem like he was going to be doing something bad or horrible to her. He only wanted to get fresh bread for breakfast from the bakery. He liked it piping hot, it brought back memories of doing so back at home. Idris stared at the carpet for a second before approaching the blonde female. She had wings, then again so did another orphan here. Orphan, felt like a funny word to him still. He had a home. He had a mother and father, a sister, and brothers. Now he didn’t, orphan. He tapped her on the shoulders to get her attention first.

Astraea’s head turn, slightly startled that anyone else what up just yet but it was a welcome surprise. She smiled gently, giving a small wave of her hand to let him know she was greeting him. She wanted to see what it is he had to say, wanting to be of help if possible. “Morning, how are you?” she asked, hoping he would be able to read her lips. It would not be the easiest task if the roles were switched but she knew he could read a bit as long as the speech was clear and not quick in pace.

While it did take Idris a second to read her lips, when he did get it he looked a bit like he made a realization. Smiling at her. He stretched out his arms above his head and made a yawning motion. He wiped his eyes as you would when trying to wake up. He then gives her another big grin and gives her a thumbs up. -Good, but waking up-

She nodded in understand before lifting to a simple teapot and point to it before doing the same with the kettle, in her own way trying to ask ‘would you like tea or coffee?’. It was what usually helped her wake up in the morning when the land of dreams was tempting her to go back to bed.

Idris nods his head yes excitedly.Time to see if he can ask this proposal right. He grabs the bread basket that sits a centerpiece and shows it to her. Dancing around the table he’s looking for something to write with. Meanwhile he’s spelling with his hand B-R-E-A-D. He finds a napkin lying around. Uh, he makes the motion to write on the napkin. He needs something to write with.

He looked excited, the bread basket that was the normal centerpiece for the table being the first object to show her. She was a little confused, trying to see where this was going as he spelled out the word ‘bread’ with his hands while his eyes seemed to be scanning for something else. It took a moment for a napkin to be found when he made the motion to write. Astraea quickly moved to one of the kitchen drawers, opening it up to pull out a quill and grabbing the inkwell from the counter before placing it front of Idris. She laid her hand flat, doing a sweeping like motion before looking like she was writing, trying to let him know to please go ahead and use these to write. She wanted to know what it was he was trying to convey and writing was a good way for clearer communication even thought she didn’t mind the hand motions.

Idris nodded and took the inkwell with a smile. He began to write on the napkin, through it probably wasn’t the best because the ink would bleed through a little. Still he managed with excitement and handed it over to Astraea, he thinks that’s her name. He looked at her like an excitable puppy, his whole body is practically trying not to move around too much and his face is jovial, light.

Astraea took the note within her hands, taking a moment to read what it said as it had bled a little bit here and there but nothing too illegible. She smiled brightly, happy that it was her that he wished to go with into town. She gave a nod, motioning to come with her as she headed for the front door with a skip in her step. A heavy cloak on the coat rack by the front door was taken down and quickly wrapped around her shoulders before being tied into place. She gave him a thumbs up before pointing to the door, seeing if he was good to go.

Idris nods excitedly and runs from the table towards Astraea, nearly tripping off the leg doing so and smiling extremely bright. He wanted to show her that he is very happy that she has accepted him, in some fashion of the way acceptance. He grabs her by the hand a little dangling it side to side before trying to eagerly take her out of the door. He always enjoyed company going out to town. His sister or his brother would have went to town with him. Often racing each other to their next destination. He missed them, though he’s trying now to let this new one in. It hurt sometimes they felt like replacements and not individuals of their own degree. Still he points his finger ahead down a path towards town. It is afterall an adventure.

“A-hoy,” Idris spells out with his lips, he tries talking a bit too. Especially for the youngest, he doesn’t seem to understand sign. Idris has no concept of the word, he just assumes it is something adventurers would say. He just wish he knew what it sounded like. Or if she just thought he sounded funny. That be embarrassing.

She almost asked if he was alright when he nearly tripped on the table’s leg but he looked happy that she decided that it was fine leaving that question aside for now and just smiled with him. Astraea hadn’t expected him to take a hold of her hand but it made her feel glad that he was coming around. Idris was always friendly but there seemed to be a kind of distant feeling that reminded her of her own guardedness. He pointed to the distance, drawing her eye to the path ahead and the town now in sight.

“Oh!” Astraea yelled, punching her free hand in the air. She felt a little silly but that was part of the fun. She started to move to lead Idris down the hill and onto the path. She was excited to get to the to town and watch it come to life while they set up or started the day.

She seemed to be having fun already, punching the air, her lips making an O. Wasn’t sure what that was about, but he let go of her hands only to start going down the hill. He finds himself hoping that she understands that he wants to race down the hill. Even taking the position of running, and pointing all the way down.

Her grin grew and her eyes sparkled with delight as she gracefully moved into a racing position. She couldn’t remember a time where she had gotten to do this. The kids in her village had never wanted to be near her or made fun of her for being different and the others at home had never offered. It looked to be fun and she felt childlike wonder and a rush at the thought of racing someone.

The feelings were all the same, as wind rushed through his hair. Legs going, but only really his control taken from him by gravity as the hill pushed him down by itself. He was worried he was going to trip considering the steepness of this hill. He manages to stumble a little to the end, but he made it. Looking around, he searches for Astraea, she’s only a few seconds behind. Idris waits for her and when she’s finally down, looking windstruck, Idris gives her a thumbs up. T-H-A-T W-A-S F-U-N he tells her.

Astraea smiled, trying to push her hair back into place with not much luck and wasn’t to disappointed by it. That had been so much fun and she gave Idris a thumbs up before replying back, probably not as smoothly, with a I-T W-A-S. She looked towards the town, waving her hand for him to follow and pointed towards the path. She was really looking forward to getting some fresh bread with Idris and checking out the town.

Idris followed with a nod of his head. This place still felt odd at times. The colorful homes of pastels, the stone streets. It felt like he were in an entirely different world. The barrier glittered and made the blue sky look like stars at times when the sun hit in just the right spot. Tapping her to get her attention.

He points to a building, than to himself. H-O-M-E he spells with his hands and points to a tree. W-O-O-D and he makes a hammering motion with his hand. -My home was made of wood-

Astraea was always dazzled by the pastel colors of the homes, making the town cheery. It was nothing like she knew when she was younger and it was always nice to appreciate them and the feeling of the stone under her feet. She would usually sit outside at Gertie’s place, watching the sky as the barrier shimmered and at times the sun even made it look like glittering stars. It made her wish that her mother could have seen it. A tap drew her out of her thoughts, her blue eyes focusing back on Idris as he pointed to a building and then back to himself, the look of confusion on her face probably being clear as day since he continued by spelling out the word ‘home’. She nodded, understanding what he meant about his home and watching as he continued to explain the rest to her. She smiled and pointed to herself and then to the stone path before pointing at the tree. She was trying to let him know that she lived in a home that was both stone and wood. The roof had been made of simple thatch and straw but the structure was wood and everything else was filled with stone. She wondered what kind of wooden home that Idris had grown up in. She didn’t know much about elves and thus probably would imagine something not even close to reality.

Idris took a second looking between the stone and the tree. What did they have in common? Idris drew a question mark in the air and cocked his head to the side lookings confused as day. He spells T-R-E-E, S-T-O-N-E.

Astraea bit her lip lightly, trying to think of a way to explain without spelling it out but it seemed like that might be the only solution since she hadn’t thought to bring anything to write. She tried one more time by pointing to herself, then the buildings as he had done before making the same hammering motion before pointing at the stone path and then the tree. She spelled out the word W-O-O-D so he wouldn’t get stuck on the fact that she pointed to a tree.

Idris raises his eyes and nods, Ah. He points to the buildings, S-T-O-N-E and points to the tree W-O-O-D. He puts up his thumb. -The buildings were made of stone and wood, got it-. Idris laughed and he looked at Astrea. He points between the both of them and makes a writing gesture. He scratches the back of his head as well, making sure to emphasize the nervousness. -We should have brought paper, haha, oops-

Valentino and him use to exchange letters as they walked. Valentino never bothered to learn proper ways of signing to him. He didn’t mind it. How long had he been reminded of that? Only a year ago. He never had seen the fate of Valentino, though if his family were any amount of evidence it meant nothing too good for him either.

It was painful and exciting at the same time trying to recover. Trying to heal wounds that were still fresh. The woods were so close still. Though the trees told him not yet, not yet. When then? When could he go back? They were so far away. Yet, there was a part him that somehow knew his grandfather was looking for him. He had family. He didn’t like the word orphan. And yet here he was with orphans as an orphan.

He taps her again to gain her attention, before pointing to her. L-I-K-E and he circles around. -Do you like it here-

She returned the thumbs up as it would have been hard to spell a whole sentence out. She noticed that he had the same thought about the paper and quill which made her nod, feeling a little silly that they had even forgotten it. It had been exciting, the thought of going to town. Astraea looked to Idris, about to point at something when she notice the pain and confusion there. She had no idea what he was thinking about but his eyes told a story and it made her look away. She drew her attention to the shops, looking at the merchandise that was for sale. She still got nervous in market places after her childhood even if this place was nothing like Fort Halloway.

Astraea felt a tap and turned her gaze back to Idris before looking around them. Did she like it here? She looked back to him again and nodded softly. The town she had lived in hated her and had killed her mother. This town didn’t make her out to be horrible. They didn’t attack Gertie’s because she didn’t do exactly what they wanted. She then spelled out, Y-O-U, before adding a question mark after since she was curious. Did he miss his home?

Did he like it here? He wasn’t sure. The forest feels distant, despite being a step out of the main gate away. It probably had to do with the barrier. His home was of the woods and the homes were made of trees. The defenses were the trees. The forest gave them everything. He wondered how many people survived that attack. Had he left them behind? Some Prince he was. He left his home burning and the people too. An image he can’t get out of his head. It was the one that repeated in the forest when he walked, walked for so long.

Idris didn’t know how to convey this pain that grasp at his heart. He didn’t know how to convey this sense of lost. This not knowing in his heart. He points to himself, and holds his chest. He makes a gesture like shattering. -My heart is shattered- He looks around at all the buildings. He does a circular motion to convey around here. Pointed to himself again. B-U-R-N. -My home burned- Idris looks away. He abandoned them. It’s all he could feel.

Astraea could have froze at that statement, she felt like she was back on the hill with her bare feet in the grass and taking that last second to look down at her burning home while the town cheered with joy. She didn’t think and just reacted as she gave Idris a gentle hug. She knew it would not take away the pain and it would not fix anything but it was the one thing she had wanted while the world was crashing down around her years ago. She pulled back, waiting for him to look at her before signing, M-I-N-E, T-O-O. He was not alone in his pain of losing others to a fiery death. Yes, he lost more than she had but she understood what it was like to have your heart shatter while everything around you burned.

Idris was startled by the hug at first, though he accepted. It seemed they had something in common after all. Perhaps why he was drawn to her spirit. Was this okay? Was it okay to accept others in? Was he betraying them? He wondered these things a lot. He tried not to look sad when their embrace left. He just smiles a wordless thank you. As if to deter himself from this moment, he taps her shoulder. He puts on a smile. He’s fine. T-A-G he spells with his hand. He points to her -you’re it-

Astraea laughed, before signing a quick N-O-T, F-A-I-R and went to tag him back. She could have thanked him for the distraction in her thoughts. They both had something in common and if they felt the same then she knew the burden of guilt. It now made sense on why he was distant for them a bit. She was still guarded herself whether she wanted to admit it or not.
He ran away from her and stuck out his tongue. Have to be quicker than that. He just like the sense of rushing. Rushing wind. Rushing breeze through his hair. It kept him from overthinking. It kept him from the feeling as if he were running away from it, not really Astraea. He didn’t even really consider to play the game he preferred to just keep running from whatever he was running from. Till he stopped at the bakery. He tried to catch his breath. Hoping Astraea was quick enough to catch up.

She quickly rushed after him, making sure to tuck her wings close to her body since there was still a little bit of a crowd and she didn’t want them hurt. This meant that she would be a little slower as she was use to gliding or use them for a little bit of levitation. He kept just out of her reach, every time she went to tag him would just end in her stumbling a bit from missing him by just a hair. When he finally stopped, Idris had arrived at the destination they had planned all along, the bakery. Astraea tapped him, tilting her head towards the bakery door, asking him in a way if he was ready to go in.

He nods enthusiastically dragging her along. After all she is the one who can talk to the baker.

The bell over the door chimed as it signaled the two’s arrival in the shop. The air was filled with so many wonder smells of different styles of bread and it was so comforting. She could have found herself in here for the whole day if it wasn’t weird or didn’t put her in the way. It reminded her of her mother and watching her bake and cook. It is where her own skills came from but she was not good enough to think she could do any of the fancy things that this shop held. The baker’s wife smiled at the counter, greeting them with a friendly welcome and asking the two what they would like. She wasn’t even sure herself. It would depend on how much she actually had in her coin pouch. Astraea looked to Idris, curious on what he wanted to get.

Walking into the bakery shop, the scent of fresh bread instantly hit his nose. It was a smell that took him back honestly. Look at the hearth, burning with coals, and the fresh loafs being taken out on shelves. The building may be made of stone with a pastel coloring, but it reminded him of a time back at home. He use to do this with Blodeuwedd a lot. Even Valentino. Though more Blodeuwedd. They’d go down with the Maid Doddy to the bakery. His parents would never allow them to get away from not helping with the service. You had to understand. You had to have care and compassion. They’d always get the long bread, where Idris’ hand was hovering.

Mom complain. There are other types of bread Blodeuwedd. Doddy would laugh because she’d never give them instructions in picking out bread just overseer them. Back then it seemed happy. Like nothing could happen and their family blessed. Then the unthinkable could happen. What if they were alive? He had only seen Blodeuwedd die. What if? Hakon, Gruffud maybe. His father? Why was he still denying it when they never came back?

All because of the smell of bread. Idris felt tears streaming down his face. Would they forgive him? Could they forgive him?

He turns around and charges out of the bakery store. He doesn’t know where he’s going really. He just hates to cry and he hates this feeling. He hates this feeling of guilt. This feeling of regret. This feeling. This tightening in his chest. He finds himself near a fountain, collapsing on his knees to a crying fit. He didn’t care if strangers were watching him. He just wanted this nightmare to be over. To have vanished. To stop aching.

Astraea watched as he jetted out, excusing them and apologizing to the woman as she exited the building and chased after him. She remembered the feeling, fear and guilt as she ran through that dark forest. She wouldn’t let him be alone while his world started to crumble. He finally stopped near a fountain, knees collapsing and tears spilling down his cheeks. She sat on the edge of the fountain next to him, rubbing his back gently and just letting him cry. She would be there for him if he needed it and at least he could let it out and know that someone was on his side, looking at the crowd to make sure they kept walking. Idris didn’t need on lookers and people judging him while he let go of some of his pain. She wished she knew some elvish songs but sadly she did not so she just started to hum a soft calm tune.

And so the journey begins. To look for the Golden Set, with the other orphans. What things will he find? What adventures will he get into? What dangers will come? We'll find out certainly won't when the told is woven.

Theme Song:

Misc Info:

When it comes to the way Idris communicates. He will have four main forms of communication;

Hyphens will be used to break up sentence structure to communicate or translate his responses and gestures in everyday conversation

In everyday conversation he will fingerspell what he cannot gesture out symbolized by spelling out the letter R-a-b-b-i-t

When Idris needs to convey something quickly, complex, he will usually write down notes, but is not against writing notes in everyday conversation either

In combat I will be breaking up action with brackets { } these tend to convey quick action and gestures. Such as he’d point between him and another party members which is understood as me and you. And he make a circular gesture to the person he’s pointing at {tag, you go around}

Generally when Idris is in everyday conversation, he expresses his meanings through gestures, but also exaggerated gesticulation and exaggerated expression to give people into the tone and insight that he is “speaking” in with his gesture. A stern scowl and a point may be addressed as a forceful You. While a genuinely point with a smile may be a general You.

In Combat his gestures are usually commanding, though not in a forceful or angry way. Though he leads the charge in an assured general way. As if conducting and strategizing a plan of attack.

Idris fifth way of communicating is through “speaking”. It’s his least favorite form because he doesn’t know if he’s saying the right things. He also speaks slowly, he speaks like he lip reads, feeling the letters on his lips because that is the only indicator for him that he may be able to address others appropriately.

Idris is a royal and with his family crest he can claim land in the Deep Forest once again, as long as he has the proof that he is the last of the Beorhtric line.

Idris Bloodline

House Beorhtric

Bárðr - Father to Arvid - Grandfather to Idris- Deceased 55

Eirian - Mother to Arvid - Grandmother to Idris - Deceased 69

Arvid Bloodline

Arvid - Father to Hákon, Blodeuwedd, Gruffud, Idris - Deceased 44

Hákon - Son of Arvid - Deceased 19

Blodeuwedd - Daughter of Arvid - Deceased 17

Gruffud - Son of Arvid - Deceased 16

Beorhtric Exempt

Hanslett - Son to Bárðr - Exiled 16

Margaret - Daughter to Bárðr - Fled 14

It was Bárðr who opened the Oaken Fort to compromising with the Deep Forest Elves. Becoming good friends with Tlaloc Aldamir in their adolescent. In order to show good faith between the Elves of the Deep and the Human race, Tlaloc and Bárðr decided to unite their clans and heritage through their families. Offering their first born children to be wedded in the near future. Eirian and Bárðr had two sons Hanslett and Arvid and one daughter Margaret. Margaret fled to join a group of Deamon worshipers at fourteen an act of rebellion against her mother and father. Margaret's fate was never known and Bárðr forbid anyone to speak of her. Some say she was devoured by a Deamon. Others say she still lives today. The fate of Bárðr other son Hanslett was more regularly spoken. During the time Elves were brought into the Oaken Fort, Hanslett killed one of the elves and laid a rally against the elven visitors with a group of individuals he had rallied under one flag. Bárðr furious with his actions exiled his son instead, in hopes his fate would be worst than death. Arvid has always been Bárðr blessed son, is what many in Oaken Fort called. He experienced many years of good wealth, fertility, and a happy marriage. If Bárðr had lived through Arvid's accomplishments he would have been proud.

Clan Aldamir

Grand Tlaloc Clan Aldamir - Father to Afon, Elfreda, Glaw, Aelfwig - Alive 335

Grand Gwawr Clan Aldamir - Mother to Afon, Elfreda, Glaw, Aelfwig - Alive 356

Ascendant Afon Clan Aldamir - Son of Tlaloc and Gwawr - Father to Clover, Gale- Alive 56

Higher Elfreda Clan Aldamir-Beorhtric -Daughter of Tlaloc and Gwawr - Mother of Hákon, Blodeuwedd, Gruffud, Idris - Wife to Arvid Beorhtric - Deceased 39

Maiden Glaw Clan Aldamir - Daughter of Tlaloc and Gwawr - Alive 35

Maiden Aelfwig Clan Aldamir - Daughter of Tlaloc and Gwawr - Alive 28

Afon's Line

Higher Heulwen - Wife of Afon - Mother to Clover and Gale - Alive 40

Gale - Daughter of Afon and Heulwen - Alive 19

Clover - Daughter of Afon and Heulwen - Engaged to Idris - Alive 14

Clan Aldamir is a name given to a long standing clan that proceeds Tlaloc. It goes back to as far as one of his great great great great ancestors line and it was a name blessed by them by their people to say their beauty was as beautiful as the forest itself. "Tree Jewel" is what it translates to and they are the jewel of the forest with their beauty and grace. Tlaloc has always been a blessed and praised Grand. He has been grandmaster of the Deep Forest Kingdom for several years now, praised by his people to tame the forest in a way others could not. He exudes what the forest is all about Tlaloc says the forest will change, and thus the Elven people must change. A thought that probably occurred to him more during his childhood friendship with Baror. Tlaloc probably would have never mingled with the Human folk if not for Baror's vision of the world. It isn't that Tlaloc didn't like humans, the thought never occurred to him. He says sometimes the Elven people are like trees, they stick in place, but humans are like seeds that are carried by the wind and bring new diversity to the land. Tlaloc welcomes them and adored his Half Elf children, he saw it as welcomed change. As after all the Deep Forest Elves were once Sun Elves who mingled with the Moss Wood Elves. You cannot prosper if you do not change.

The Golden Brew

My Archibald Review

@LemonZest1337

-Skills are missing, need skills

And a few out of place lines in history. Which I have demonstrated.

The pair had managed to conceal their partnership for the better half of a year, but when the baby started to grow in Viola's belly.

This comes off silly. Nobody would write this beside a small child. This could be better written as I gave given the example of "They kept their relationship concealed for half year, till Viola fell with child." Sounds much nicer and cleaner than belly.

It was either they dragged their child around the land with them as they ran from Vampires and humans alike, or leave him on the doorstep of Granny Gertrude.

You don't explain how they know Gertrude or why this would be an option they would choose. You don't need to have a crazy Arisen history, however, you do needs detail. Which are lacking here.

However! I love everything about Archy and he seems like a great character. Besides those two little gripes of mine which can easily be fixed.

Strange Cases of SYNBAD [High Casual]

10:30 am

The shuttle began to circle around to a car park. Trafalgar Square seemed to have transformed overnight into a splash of streamers, golds, yellows, and blue streamers decorated the street lights in spiraling designs, loud music, and several several vendors were spread across the large square hall. Furthermore to emphasize the theme of the park it seemed several people, not a good portion of the crowd were semi naked or completely painted in various different shades of blue, green, violet, yellow. Some wore partial halloween costumes, devil horns spray painted white. There were even some people who had spray painted their body to look like Bridget, though none of them stood as tall as she did.

Those not brave enough to dawn facepaint, wore t-shirts and jeans. Many of them said, New Breed Ally, or I <3 SYNBAD, others said New Breed is my Spirit Animal. So and so forth. The smell of many different kind of vendor foods all collided together into one “parade smell”. A smell you couldn’t describe unless you were at a parade to realize that certain particular smell. A DJ sat on the stage blasting music as a crowd of people off tune and out of key with each other.

“You guys have fun!” the DJ shouted.

The crowd hollered in joy, “YEAH!!”

Bikes were decorated with different colored streamers. Some creative folks had decided to turn said bikes into different types of monstrosities. As if they were meant for another parade, and yet they didn’t seem to recognize the disconnect.

At times like this Viorel felt like he still experienced culture shock. He never remembers parades being so. Well he wasn’t sure the right word to use to describe his feelings on the matter were.

“Well there are several convincing Bridget cosplays, though she may stand out of the crowd due to her height,” Viorel said an attempt at humor in the car park, though his delivery was so dry no one actually caught the humor aspect, “Keep in contact with with each other. We’ll meet back here later when the festivities have begun to die down. Have fun. Don’t get into any trouble and to remember to support small local businesses that have remained open.”

Angelica hops out of the drivers side and leans on the shuttle.

“Make it sound real boring Viorel,” Angelica tells, “Awight listen up you fuckheads. I want this to be nice and clean. You will kiss the public’s hand if they ask. Fuckin’ kiss their babies forehead. If they ask for a photo. You give them a photo, Bridgett. I want this to go nice and clean. And you will all behave like fucking kiss asses. This could go good for us. Get a lot of sponsorship and funding. And if any of you fucking wankers ruin this for me. There will be a titty twister waiting for you. And now Luka you won’t enjoy it because I’ll fucking tear your nipples off cause I got fucking bear hands. Do all of you shit stains understand?”

It was a rhetorical question because she dismisses them with her hand. Viorel escorts Gemina out of the car park. While the rest of them are wandering off, with a look of fear and confusion. The parade is upon them, and they have become the public’s face. It was a social due or die situation. Where every action they took would be used to judge them. For better or for worse.

As they scattered with their plans in mind. There was this overwhelming daunting feeling about this event. On one hand it was meant to be fun. On another hand there was a lot of pressure to perform appropriately.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

@Spiffy

Affliction would have responded to the individual whom he disregarded his violent reasoning, if not for the fact that he blacked out with the others.

In any normal circumstance, someone might have been terrified at the idea of seeing visions of death, cosmic horror, annihilation of the world. Though it had become a familiarity to dream about the abnormal these days.

**

When he came around, his head felt a bit fuzzy. He couldn’t tell if it were from the trigger event or the fact that a wall of meat was calling him quietly. He took a second. Before switching his attention to Swarm. Something had bothered him about the earlier interactions.

“Do you always make decisions impulsively?” Affliction ask him, slowly recalling what a response even sounds like.

This was a strange dive this event. Normally Affliction would be spending the time with his cats at home. Gaining a following. Or find some way to further his invest in the people. It would be the people who would create an uprise. Not a lone vigilante. People need an image to aspire to, like a Buddha or a God. He hadn’t yet found the Buddha or the God he could persuade others to. Not quite yet that is. But chaos only caused scattering, they needed a unification. Or that is the way he saw it.

Sure you could cut the snake’s head off and that certainly would destroy an organization. However, what that man failed to realize was that an organization was more like a tree. The leader was the base, and the branches the organization. Go ahead and cut the tree, a tree lays a seed in the ground and rejuvenates over time. Instead you took the tree, you took whatever was heading it and you find a way to stimulate yourself into the group. Take down their highest structural pillars. Become those pillars replacements and have the leader under your thumb.

Sometimes the best course of action was one so subtle you’d barely knew it was an action. So many people want these spectacular displays of their power. Vials. And the inability to see that random chaos had no end goal. You would not erect or change the course of society that way.

Digimon: Soul Hunters

Collab: RebtheWriter + Myself [AngelofOctober]

“What’s that?” Kokomon ask.

He knew he should be following the others behind, but something had caught his eye. A strange log out of place with the large trees that the others seemed impressed with. He was still feeling nervous about all the events that had happened. Anxiety clashing and even though the tightening his chest had faded, the pain was still there. Often the only thing that eased this sensation was to draw. This log seemed different, broken cracks reminded him of stain glass. Stain glass made from bark. A dryad must have made these broken, mossy colors, and put them into the image that it presented itself. That or it could have been a natural programming flaw to look more authentic. Though he tried to push that aside. Taking out his sketchbook and beginning to sketch what was in front him. Conjuring up the silhouette of a jovial, kind face of a dryad. He had forgotten Kokomon was even here or that there were others. Drawing a dreamland to escape the uncomfortable dark thoughts that had begun to surface. Until Kokomon sat on top of his sketchbook.

“We’re going to lose the others,” Kokomon tells him.

He looks towards the pathway the trees were creating. Indeed he was losing them. But he was hoping that if he stayed behind that all of this would fade to black and be a weird dream. Kokomon looked at him and he looked back.

“I am really not,” Kei mumbled, “a hero.”

Kokomon takes a second.

“I think Dorumon has high expectations, but we cannot runaway from the threat,” Kokomon tells him.

“I know,” Kei replies, he stares at the grass, “I know, but I’ll just bother everybody. I’m younger than them and this whole entire time, I have behaved like a baby.”

Kokomon says nothing just stares at him. Kei looks away.

Rachel had already been walking ahead of them. Her eyes, narrowing at what could happen to them. It wasn’t like this was simply easy to figure out. They didn’t really know exactly where they were going. They had just gotten separated from everyone a bit ago.

Sunmon bounced behind her, “Hey Rachel, how much longer do you think until we’re over there.”

Rachel felt a vein pulsed in her forehead, twitching. Just why was her Digimon asking her? Didn’t he know exactly where they were, “You’re not around too much here, are you?”

“Well, not really.” Sunmon muttered to himself, “I don’t really know this area. I was too busy trying to find you.”

Rachel sweatdropped, “Well ain’t that lovely.” She remarked sarcastically, “Just our luck.” She stretched her arms out, yawning before realizing Kei and Kokomon were a bit behind her. She turned over to them, “Hey, we really need to keep moving!” She told him, crossing her arms across her chest. They couldn’t dawdle in a situation like this.

“Reicheru-san,” Kei calls out, he looks at Kokomon, then back at her, he gets up from the ground. He didn’t want to be made fun of. Just a stupid kid. He walks a bit closer to Reicheru, he supposed he hadn’t met her new friend now. Kei looks up at her, “Sorry. I uh.”

He scrunches up his face, “Do you still think this is all still a dream? Or is it really real?” Kei pauses, “Oh hello. Do you know Kokomon?” he ask her new watch friend.

She looked over at him, blinking at the nickname. Ah, yeah, Japanese name she had to remember that. She didn’t know too much about Japanese culture, but she knew they had honorifics. She decided that was fine, but the kid was pretty young once she thought about it, very young in fact. It made her note that she’ll have to help him if needed. She wasn’t fond of kids, but she knew it was pretty traumatic even more for him.

She sighed, shrugging at him, crossing her arms across her chest, “Unfortunately. It’s probably real.” She stated, “I don’t know about this whole prophecy thing, but it’s pretty bad they just slammed us into this world. Almost sadistic, really.” She paused, stopping herself. Damn, she shouldn’t be saying things around this kid. It was only going to get him even more freaked out, “Sorry, I really shouldn’t be saying that. It’s just that these guys strike me as pretty crazy if they just kidnapped us here.” Dorumon was a odd one and while Rachel still didn’t trust people from this Digital World, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice but to follow in order to survive.

She looked down at the other Digimon, “Oh no, I don’t know him. Hello Kokomon.” Meanwhile, Sunmon was hiding behind her leg, “Hey, introduce yourself. It’s alright.” She told him before Sunmon hopped over to Kokomon.

“Hi, I’m Sunmon.” He grinned nervously, being a little shy. He wasn’t good at interacting with other people.

That was something Kei could have agreed with this. This could have been done in a much different way and thinking about it, he was still anxious, but he was also growing irritated with the situation. If Dorumon wanted their help then he needed to make more of an effort. Balloons don’t sooth over the fact they were taken from their homes.

“Hi,” Kei told Sunmon, “I’m Kei and this is Kokomon.”

Kokomon smiles, “Hiya Reicheru-san.” imitating the name that Kei had called her. Kokomon looked impressed with himself that he had paid attention.

Introductions aside Kei nodded his head. There was no point in being mopey. Reicheru-san was right, they had no other choice. That’s fine, but he was going to give Dorumon a piece of his mind.

“We should catch up to the others,” Kei told her, “I have somethings to tell Dorumon if he wants our help.”

Rachel smiled at his comment, resting her hands in her long black short sleeve sweater, “Yeah, I got a bone to pick with him myself.” She rested her hand on her hips and sighed, “Let’s keep going. The last thing we need is to get lost more so than what we already are.” She knew that damn dinosaur had something. Purple dinosaurs were always suspicious just look at Barney. Dude in the costume was apparently a drug dealer.

Kid got a little bit of bite, she noticed. That was good. Showed her that he wasn’t much of a delicate kid despite being the youngest of the group.

Storming passed the hall of trees Kei convulsively rehearsed out loud to open air, “Next time you take people you have to explain clearly what you want from them. You can’t just expect people to help you because you….you...you look...like a sad puppy.”

Kei nods his head at his own convictions. While a minute ago he felt emotional vertigo, now there was agitated storm brewing inside of him. He points at the air to no one in particular, “You listen here Dorumon. If you want our help, you have to tell who is involved, why we’re fighting and why we truly have to help you. You….know what...you can’t just give the droopy...dog eyes at us and expect us to feel sorry for you.”

Kokomon stares directly at Kei. What is he doing? Has his master already lost his mind?

“What are you doing?” Kokomon ask Kei.

“Yelling at Dorumon,” Kei replies quickly.

“He’s not here,” Kokomon looks around, “they are up ahead.”

“In my mind, I am yelling at Dorumon in my mind,” Kei replied.

“Why are we mad at Dorumon?” Kokomon asked.

“Would you like being taken and locked up, not knowing that someone took you somewhere with potential danger without saying goodbye to your family?” Kei asked Kokomon.

“Probably not,” Kokomon replies, “Okay. What’s a droopy dog?”

“It’s when someone gives you a pity look and wants your forgiveness,” Kei replies.

He’s absorbing everything Kei has said. Now he’s mad at Dorumon and he’s not sure why. But Kei seems mad. So, it’s natural right, that he should be mad too?

Wow, this kid was weird. Rachel scratched the back of her head nervously. Not that she wasn’t thinking about how she was going to tell off Dorumon. He definitely had a backbone for sure. Very fiesty kid. Honestly, she was glad that she got lost with him and not any of the others. He seemed like the easiest one to get along with, honestly.

“Why do people argue out loud, Rachel?” Sunmon asked curiously, looking a little nervous. For such a small human, he was really feisty.

“To let out their emotions.” Rachel assumed, shrugging, twirling a lock of her brown, curly hair, “Kei, are you going to give Dorumon one heck of a chew out that I won’t have to?” She asked, chuckling. She wanted to mess with him to lighten the mood. She couldn’t stand everything feeling so damn dark.

“Why would he want to chew out Dorumon?” Sunmon asked.

Well, so much for lighting the mood now. She was getting annoyed.

“Well, he fucked our lives over pretty much.” She shrugged, “Could get us all killed.”

“What do you mean by fucking our lives over?” Sunmon wondered, looking confused, “We can’t die, the prophecy probably doesn’t say anything like that…”

“For the love of all that is good, you’re really an airhead, aren’t you.” Rachel twitched, sighing to herself. And this timid, odd little Digimon is her partner? Are these people for real?

When Reicheru pointed out he was arguing with nobody Kei flailed his arms around a bit nervously. Feeling the heat of his cheeks he had a bad habit of behaving weird in front of others. He must have looked like a mess crying then yelling at the air.

“Aaa, I am sorry Reicheru-san,” Kei said nervously, “I...must look weird. I am sorry.” He looks down at the ground a bit. He really wasn’t made for interacting with other people, is he?

Kokomon watches Kei.

“Kei? When are we going to get snacks?” Kokomon ask.

“Eh, I’m not going to judge you for that.” Rachel shrugged turning back away from him before continuing to walk along, “No need to apologize, Kei. It didn’t bother me at all. It just took me by surprise is all. She sighed, “Besides, we should worry about more important things at the moment.”

“Like saving the digital world!” Sunmon piped up.

“Nah, to get ourselves back home and back to safety.” She stretched her arms out, “Didn’t think I was going to play the heroine role here, but guess it’s been thrusted upon me.” She sweatdropped, looking down at Sunmon who looked happy that she said such things, “Yeah, I just admitted I have to deal with you. Are you happy now?”

“Of course I am!” Sunmon cheered happily, bouncing happily, “Means that you’ll save our worlds.”

Get me out of this anime cliche. Rachel thought to herself, groaning mentally to herself.

She seemed nice like Kyasari-san earlier. No one has really made fun of him yet, at least he didn’t get the feeling. Despite him being a baby upon their first meeting.

“Thank you,” Kei mumbles, “For not making fun of me that is. I get made fun of a lot, so it’s good not to be. I know I do odd stuff, but I promise I’ll…”

He really had no choice. Couldn’t really make a promise based on a task forced upon him. Yet, here he was.

“To help save the world too, but I am mad because we needed to know that beforehand, I’ll do it, but because…..I want to,” Kei mumbles that didn’t come out as he wanted it to come out.

“Oo, I like the sound of that, but on the way, snacks,” Kokomon throws his hint out once again.

“People tend to let out the negativity out of their lives and onto other people.” She crossed her arms across her chest, “Granted, that doesn’t give them the right to do such things, but you won’t have to worry about anyone messing with you.” Because she’d kick the crap out of them if they did, “Don’t worry, I don’t intend on watching a friend of mine get hurt. It’s not like me to sit back when someone’s getting pushed around.” But it has gotten her into bad situations, but that was okay. She was still going to do it, regardless.

“Ah, I got a sister I really love back in our world.” Rachel nodded, “I wanna get out of here to be there for her. I can’t be dying if she’s around. She needs me, after all.” She turned over to Kokomon, “We really shouldn’t be worrying about snacks when our lives are on the line and we don’t know where we’re going.” She sighed. Man, they are really doomed, aren’t they?

“Can’t save the world on an empty stomach,” Kokomon retorts, “Food is important to keep up one’s strength.” Kei looks at Kokomon.

“Where did you get that from?” Kei asked Kokomon.

“Hopmon,” Kokomon says happily. It sounded wise to him.

Coming through the clearing now the group becoming visible, though they were scattering away as a loud explosion could be heard. As the two of them reached the clearing, they caught the end of an orange Dinosaur attacking a Dorumon, grabbing him by his tail. Something like a beam came from Dorumon’s mouth and the orange dinosaur was blown away through the clearing of the forest.

Rachel put her arm in front of Kei as she saw the orange dinosaur being blown away through the clearing of the forest. Her eyes widened at the sight, startled, “Okay, what the hell just happened?” She covered her face before looking over at Dorumon. Was that orange dinosaur being blown away done? Or did they have to worry about that thing trying to kill them?

“Ah, that was an Agumon.” Sumon squeaked, “And if Dorumon is actually fighting him, he must be an enemy.”

“Well no, I thought he was on a nice little stroll.” Rachel remarked sarcastically, “We shouldn’t just rush in though. What if he isn’t done yet?” She pointed out. She didn’t want all of them dying already.

Witnessing Agumon’s attack was the first realization that this wasn’t a dream. It was like slowly connecting the dots together. Kei looks at Reicheru, “What about the others?”

Rachel looked around, trying to see if she saw the others, taking a few steps forward before looking around, seeing nothing really. She looks like she’ll have to go and see for herself. That would be pretty dangerous though.

She gulped, “Well, I can’t see them, but I’ll take a look at them.” She looked at Sunmon, “Let’s go!”

“Ah, but you said it would be reckless to rush in…” Sunmon began before she was cut off by Rachel.

“Don’t think we have much of a choice at this point, honestly.” Rachel sighed, “Dorumon might chew my head off, but I’m not intending on just rushing while he’s helping. I’m gonna try to navigate around. Let’s hope there isn’t any other ones running around here intending on hurting us.” Sumon popped on her shoulder.

“I’m going to help,” Kei utters quickly following after Reicheru. Even if they couldn’t see the others they had to be here, somewhere, right?

“I’ll help too,” Kokomon says with a bit more enthusiasm than the situation should call for.

Looking around as the dust settled, it seemed like the others were not here. Only a handful maybe, in the bushes. Was it safe now? What if there was a second attack? Further exploring the surroundings Kei paused as he saw a shoe. Tristan was lying face down in the dirt, with the back of his head bleeding slightly. Kei could feel a squirming in his stomach.

“Reicheru-san,” he calls out, as Dorumon seems to be confused looking around for which direction the kids had went.

Rachel was running back over to him, taking the scenic route that she had planned beforehand before hearing Kei’s voice in the distance. She quickly ran forward before she panted.

Her eyes widened at the sight of Tristan. She looked over at him before she covered her mouth with her hand, trying to keep herself from freaking out, “Oh God…” She breathed. Did that dinosaur do that? The one that Dorumon fought earlier? It had to have been him.

Sunmon felt tears going down his face, “Oh no, one of the children has died. This isn’t...this isn’t supposed to go like this…” This was horrible. What could they do? How were they going to tell the others?

He couldn’t stop his body from shaking he couldn’t tell if he were really sad or if there was another emotion bubbling from within. Torisutan didn’t get to say goodbye to his family, his family didn’t say goodbye to him. They didn’t know, they didn’t know that today could have been the last day. Dorumon just took them and now and now and now. Kei turns his head to glare at Dorumon though tears are blurring his vision. Dorumon’s head is low in that sad droopy looking face he gave earlier explaining nothing.

Dorumon looks sadly at the Digidestined. He didn’t want this to happen. He told them to run. What was he supposed to do now? What about the other Digidestined, he told them to run, he didn’t know they would run in different directions. Things weren’t going the way they were supposed too. Wiping a tear for the Digidestined Dorumon went to reach for the human’s arm.

Whap!

Dorumon was hit much harder on the head by the same book earlier. The tiniest Digidestin was glaring at him fiercely with angry tears in his eyes.

“This is your fault!” Kei shouted, “You took us here. You don’t get to make that expression or that face when you’re the one who took us here! You never explained this world to us. You never asked us! And now look!”

Dorumon was taken aback that this human boy was fiercely shouting at him. Shame and regret panged his chest. Rubbing his head where it stung, also where he had been burned from Pepper Breaths earlier. Dorumon says in a solemn voice, “I know it is, but I can make it right.”

“How?” Kei asked, “Tell me how. Because right now everyone is out there in the forest. Lost. They could get hurt. And Torisutan parents, his family, what about them? Can you give them that back?”

Dorumon looks to the ground. The longer they were here, the other Digidestin may have gone too far. The boy was crying and yelling and Dorumon couldn’t tell if he were angry or sad.

Rachel watched Kei smack Dorumon in the face in the sketchbook, watching the kid get angry at Dorumon. She clenched her fists, shaking, gritting her teeth. She couldn’t utter any crying, but she was angry. She didn’t like feeling this fucking useless. She hated being useless more than anything in this world. She was angry that this kid had to die. She was angry at the enemy for hurting him. She was angry at herself for not being strong enough. She needed to do something to make sure nothing happens to the others. She could do something about it. She needed to take this as something that she needed, no that was absolutely unable to happen again.

She wanted to tear their damn boss apart for doing what he did. He was partially responsible. If he wanted a battle, she’ll fucking give him one.

Dorumon, as much as she wanted to yell at him too, she finds herself unable to. She knows he’s suffering as well. This was hard on him as any of them, and that, was punishment in of itself.

Something suddenly went off on her digivice, her eyes widened before she noticed that Sunmon was being encoded with light. Was this….?

When the light faded, it showed a Coronamon. That’s what it said in her Digivice anyways. Did he just Digivolve?

“Whoa, I digivolved.” Coronamon grinned, “Which is awesome. See, Rachel, we can really get stronger. My digievolution happened. Just like your heart wanted.”

Rachel’s eyes widened, not believing this, but it happened, and she nodded, “We’ll do more than that, I promise.”

“I like that fighting spirit in you.” Coronamon grinned, punching his fist into the air.

She looked over at Kei, “Let’s go after the others. Let’s find them and make sure they’re safe.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, “It’s what Tristan would’ve wanted.”

Kei looks at Dorumon than Reicheru. Sunmon’s evolved before their eyes. So it is true? All of this is true. Real as well.

Dorumon tucks his tail behind his legs, his ears droop, “I’m sorry I failed you as a Guardian of the Digidestined. I have to get Tristan’s Digivice so that way I find the next candidate for the crest.”

Kei looked at Reicheru. Then back at Dorumon.

“How does that work?” Kei asked.

“Well the Digivice will create a portal to this world, but not yours. It gets the Digidestined here, but it can’t take them back,” Dorumon tells Kei as he removes the Digivice from Tristan’s wrist. Dorumon looks sadly at the body.

“So, we’re going to get another, Digidestined?” Kei ask. He didn’t like the idea that Toristan could so easily be replace. This world is callous.

“Yes,” Dorumon responded, “I will speak with them and convince them to come.”

Kei didn’t like those prospects. Dorumon speak to the person he was going to bring into here. Dorumon, the one who tried to smooth this over with balloons and thought he was doing a good job communicating with them.

“Anyone can speak to them?” Kei asked.

“Yes, in a way,” Dorumon replies.

“I’ll do it, I’ll speak with them and I’ll tell everything they need to know,” Kei told Dorumon.

Meanwhile Kokomon looks sadly at the Digidestined who didn’t make it. Poor thing, he felt bad, he wasn’t sure what to do. Noticing Coronamon Kokomon with respect simply says, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t do it without Rachel’s strong determination. Hey, I feel a lot less scared now and it’s all thanks to you.” He scratched the back of his head, “Just don’t do anything rash, Rachel.”

She sighed, knowing fully well that someone like Kei probably didn’t like how replaciable Tristan was, and she couldn’t blame him. However, she did see Dorumon’s point as well. It was what they needed. As grim as that really was, she understood it. They needed someone to fill the slot and that, unfortunately, meant that someone else was going to get involved in this.

“Kei, let’s make sure we find the others.” Rachel turned to him, “And let’s make sure someone doesn’t share the same fate as our friend just did.” It was hard to call him friend, really. She didn’t even know him.

“That’s why we have to,” Kei pause, “Bring the other person in. The right way. To find the others. And keep everyone from…” he didn’t want to say it so he simply trailed off. It’s when he noticed Seven standing up from his hiding position. Oh. Oh that’s embarrassing. He probably saw what happened with his artbook again. Kei turned his attention away from Seven. Looking at Reicheru, “We...have to be.” he shook his head she’s the who’s Digimon evolved, “After this. You should...guide us.”