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Atalanta
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L&S Fables
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Steve Mincraft. The dude breaks trees with his fists.
Bio
I'm Liv Savell, and here are some things I've written:
❖ Vassal (Call of Calamity Book I)
❖ Goddess (Call of Calamity Book II)
❖ Shepherd of Souls (Shepherd of Souls Book I)
❖ Death Seeker (Shepherd of Souls Book II)
❖ The Thistle Queen’s Thorns (Kindle Vella)
❖ The Last Contender (Song of the Lost Book I)
❖ Emissary to the Frost Wolf (Song of the Lost Book II) Available July 23rd 2024
❖ Title Announcement Pending (Song of the Lost Book III) Available 2025
❖ Co-Author: @Sterling ❖
❖ Website: lsfables.com ❖
❖ Vassal (Call of Calamity Book I)
❖ Goddess (Call of Calamity Book II)
❖ Shepherd of Souls (Shepherd of Souls Book I)
❖ Death Seeker (Shepherd of Souls Book II)
❖ The Thistle Queen’s Thorns (Kindle Vella)
❖ The Last Contender (Song of the Lost Book I)
❖ Emissary to the Frost Wolf (Song of the Lost Book II) Available July 23rd 2024
❖ Title Announcement Pending (Song of the Lost Book III) Available 2025
❖ Co-Author: @Sterling ❖
❖ Website: lsfables.com ❖
Most Recent Posts
I've been working on a collab with nightmare medx, but I'm heading into a sacred space—no tech— for the weekend. It’ll probably finish up at the beginning of next week :)
When we go to question people, what will we find?
He's a discerning devourer XD
Blythe’s ears itched somewhere between hellfire and a double dose of beta-alanine. There were fire ants inside the cuff, spiders biting her ear lobes. She half-wanted to let Kolratheth turn her hands into claws so she could scrape them off, but his attention was so wholly focused on the fur-the-wrong-way clamor that he didn’t even notice her mental yell.
She ground her teeth and forced herself to focus on the sound that had so enraptured her demon. Gradually, it became clear. Teajay was speaking to a disembodied voice—something ancient, sexless, and powerful. Something inimical to Kolratheth.
There was no soul attached to the corpse they’d found.
“I want her.” Kolratheth hissed. “They waste her potential, keeping her in the dark. Can you imagine? Oh, the things she could do if she stopped following their rules.”
Blythe resisted the urge to put her hands over her ears and straightened her blouse instead. “The Sunday Group is off limits.”
“You’re going to have to feed me soon,” he purred, “and between your rules, the soul-saving angel, and a case that leaves the bodies dry… You’re either going to have to bend or get creative.”
“You’ll eat. The Sunday Group is still off limits.”
She ignored his grumble and turned back to the group, nodding absently at Adri as she walked up. Teajay was a little difficult to look at after her otherworldly chat, so Blythe only glanced at her briefly and turned back to the crime scene before her eyes began to itch. “I heard it. The body’s soul is missing, and it isn’t the only one.” She smiled grimly. “There are plenty of things that eat souls, though. Demons, for one.”
“They aren’t necessarily my favorite meal…”
“Are all demons so discerning?”
“The more things you can eat, the easier it is to thrive. Just look at humanity. It’s a veritable garbage disposal.”
“I don’t know many humans that could live off a lecher’s eyeball or a night of chaos.”
The rumble that served for Kolratheth’s laugh felt like a belly ache. “That just goes to show demons are the higher form of existence.”
“Or better at eating trash.”
“Have you seen the kitchen of a McDonald’s? Or—Satan forbid—a KFC?”
Blythe had spent too long speaking to the demon. She straightened her clothes again, a little awkwardly. “We know we’re dealing with a soul-stealing killer that uses some sort of flammable black goop that could have come from a mythical creature. This is not the only victim, and there could even be more nearby. For whatever reason, the killer didn’t light their goop on fire and destroy the evidence. Do any of you know a spell for stealing surveillance footage? There are a few cameras around here. Along with the garbage cans to check.”
She ground her teeth and forced herself to focus on the sound that had so enraptured her demon. Gradually, it became clear. Teajay was speaking to a disembodied voice—something ancient, sexless, and powerful. Something inimical to Kolratheth.
There was no soul attached to the corpse they’d found.
“I want her.” Kolratheth hissed. “They waste her potential, keeping her in the dark. Can you imagine? Oh, the things she could do if she stopped following their rules.”
Blythe resisted the urge to put her hands over her ears and straightened her blouse instead. “The Sunday Group is off limits.”
“You’re going to have to feed me soon,” he purred, “and between your rules, the soul-saving angel, and a case that leaves the bodies dry… You’re either going to have to bend or get creative.”
“You’ll eat. The Sunday Group is still off limits.”
She ignored his grumble and turned back to the group, nodding absently at Adri as she walked up. Teajay was a little difficult to look at after her otherworldly chat, so Blythe only glanced at her briefly and turned back to the crime scene before her eyes began to itch. “I heard it. The body’s soul is missing, and it isn’t the only one.” She smiled grimly. “There are plenty of things that eat souls, though. Demons, for one.”
“They aren’t necessarily my favorite meal…”
“Are all demons so discerning?”
“The more things you can eat, the easier it is to thrive. Just look at humanity. It’s a veritable garbage disposal.”
“I don’t know many humans that could live off a lecher’s eyeball or a night of chaos.”
The rumble that served for Kolratheth’s laugh felt like a belly ache. “That just goes to show demons are the higher form of existence.”
“Or better at eating trash.”
“Have you seen the kitchen of a McDonald’s? Or—Satan forbid—a KFC?”
Blythe had spent too long speaking to the demon. She straightened her clothes again, a little awkwardly. “We know we’re dealing with a soul-stealing killer that uses some sort of flammable black goop that could have come from a mythical creature. This is not the only victim, and there could even be more nearby. For whatever reason, the killer didn’t light their goop on fire and destroy the evidence. Do any of you know a spell for stealing surveillance footage? There are a few cameras around here. Along with the garbage cans to check.”
What, that doesn't happen to everyone? Lol
I'm going to go with Blythe knowing of everyone but not necessarily knowing them. I’m fine with everyone knowing as much or little about her dark passenger as they want XD
I like the idea of Kolrateth/Blythe hearing the divine conversation! I shall give how to write it some thought and post soon.
If you regularly use discord, you can use it to host images. Just send the image in a server or pm, then double click it to open in a browser and get the link.
When Blythe’s alarm went off, she was already awake, sitting in the bottom of her glass-walled shower while hell-hot water flayed her back and shoulders. The raucous sound brought her slightly more into the present, out of the alive-but-not-consious fog she’d been drifting in since giving up on sleep two hours before. She let it ring because it would annoy Kolratheth. It didn’t matter to her.
“Blythe…” The demon’s voice in her head was as sleek and warm as a cat’s purr, but Blythe’s hands had caught her attention. Her knuckles where busted and her cuticles red from where she’d picked at them unconsciously. The nails cut to the quick.
She used to take such good care of her hands.
“The alarm, Blythe!”
Out of pettiness, she waited another couple minutes to rise and took her time drying off, applying lotion, and combing heat protector through her hair. By the time she was finished, Kolratheth was seething in the back of her mind like a petulant toddler—a comparison he did not care for—and Leone’s cat was yowling at the bathroom door. She clicked off the alarm.
“You are a hateful, bitter thing, and I hope you die alone.”
“I was planning on it.” She just had to get him out of her head first.
Blythe tried to slip back into mental oblivion, but the clawed, angry thing that lived inside her rib cage—her, not Kolratheth— was awake and pressing on her lungs like it wanted to get out through her teeth. She clenched them and went to feed the cat, playing a simple counting game her therapist swore would help.
Five red things: her knuckles, the spine of a book on ritual magic, Dragon’s collar, blood in the photos on her pinboard, the string linking them together. Four orange things: the logo on her punching bag, the shade on the ugly lamp Leone’s aunt had given her, the cover of an encyclopedia…
It was supposed to put her PFC back in control of her emotions, but she was still angry when she sat down at her desk and opened her laptop. Eleanor’s email was at the top of the list.
When Blythe first joined the Sunday Group, she thought that Kolratheth would like this sort of thing more than she did. As it turned out, he didn’t care about dead bodies—something about how it was much more efficient to sow chaos with living beings. They both disliked the crime scene and enjoyed the hunt—two of the very few things they ever agreed on.
“I’m hungry,” Kolratheth growled as they approached, and a thread of fear and revulsion wound through Blythe’s anger. He leaned towards Eleanor and Alcander’s emotions, twitching to change them. She pulled him back. “We’re on a case. You’ll eat soon enough.”
“Put it off if it bothers you so much. I’ll take over this body for a while.”
Blythe clenched her jaw, running her tongue over her teeth to make sure they hadn’t begun to sharpen. Still square, but she kept her lips closed when she smiled a greeting at her coworkers. At least, Alcander’s observations distracted her from thoughts of feeding her demon.
“If he was dropped, there might be signs of whoever dropped him on one of the roofs,” she said, “but the real question is why the liquid did that to the pen and not the body. Does it just burn that hot, or does it have properties activated by flame? And if so, why the fuck did the perpetrator not bother to light the body on fire? It would have hidden the evidence.”
She crossed her hands over her chest, distantly annoyed by the wind pushing long strands of dark hair into her face. She wasn’t cold—demons ran hot. Blythe didn’t think she would ever be especially useful at a crime scene. She had no training in this kind of detective work, only in the sort that included chasing down primary sources, but she could ask decent questions. And how else was one supposed to find an answer?
She supposed it was possible that the perpetrator was an amateur who didn’t know the properties of the fluid they had used or that the substance worked differently on human flesh than it did on inanimate objects like Alcander’s pen. Maybe they had wanted the evidence found, though there was no obvious statement to be gleaned from this coated body. If none of those options were true…
“Maybe they were interrupted before they could light up the body. There might be a witness.”
“Blythe…” The demon’s voice in her head was as sleek and warm as a cat’s purr, but Blythe’s hands had caught her attention. Her knuckles where busted and her cuticles red from where she’d picked at them unconsciously. The nails cut to the quick.
She used to take such good care of her hands.
“The alarm, Blythe!”
Out of pettiness, she waited another couple minutes to rise and took her time drying off, applying lotion, and combing heat protector through her hair. By the time she was finished, Kolratheth was seething in the back of her mind like a petulant toddler—a comparison he did not care for—and Leone’s cat was yowling at the bathroom door. She clicked off the alarm.
“You are a hateful, bitter thing, and I hope you die alone.”
“I was planning on it.” She just had to get him out of her head first.
Blythe tried to slip back into mental oblivion, but the clawed, angry thing that lived inside her rib cage—her, not Kolratheth— was awake and pressing on her lungs like it wanted to get out through her teeth. She clenched them and went to feed the cat, playing a simple counting game her therapist swore would help.
Five red things: her knuckles, the spine of a book on ritual magic, Dragon’s collar, blood in the photos on her pinboard, the string linking them together. Four orange things: the logo on her punching bag, the shade on the ugly lamp Leone’s aunt had given her, the cover of an encyclopedia…
It was supposed to put her PFC back in control of her emotions, but she was still angry when she sat down at her desk and opened her laptop. Eleanor’s email was at the top of the list.
When Blythe first joined the Sunday Group, she thought that Kolratheth would like this sort of thing more than she did. As it turned out, he didn’t care about dead bodies—something about how it was much more efficient to sow chaos with living beings. They both disliked the crime scene and enjoyed the hunt—two of the very few things they ever agreed on.
“I’m hungry,” Kolratheth growled as they approached, and a thread of fear and revulsion wound through Blythe’s anger. He leaned towards Eleanor and Alcander’s emotions, twitching to change them. She pulled him back. “We’re on a case. You’ll eat soon enough.”
“Put it off if it bothers you so much. I’ll take over this body for a while.”
Blythe clenched her jaw, running her tongue over her teeth to make sure they hadn’t begun to sharpen. Still square, but she kept her lips closed when she smiled a greeting at her coworkers. At least, Alcander’s observations distracted her from thoughts of feeding her demon.
“If he was dropped, there might be signs of whoever dropped him on one of the roofs,” she said, “but the real question is why the liquid did that to the pen and not the body. Does it just burn that hot, or does it have properties activated by flame? And if so, why the fuck did the perpetrator not bother to light the body on fire? It would have hidden the evidence.”
She crossed her hands over her chest, distantly annoyed by the wind pushing long strands of dark hair into her face. She wasn’t cold—demons ran hot. Blythe didn’t think she would ever be especially useful at a crime scene. She had no training in this kind of detective work, only in the sort that included chasing down primary sources, but she could ask decent questions. And how else was one supposed to find an answer?
She supposed it was possible that the perpetrator was an amateur who didn’t know the properties of the fluid they had used or that the substance worked differently on human flesh than it did on inanimate objects like Alcander’s pen. Maybe they had wanted the evidence found, though there was no obvious statement to be gleaned from this coated body. If none of those options were true…
“Maybe they were interrupted before they could light up the body. There might be a witness.”
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