Tihk Tohk

IC - OOC blog for my FFXIV Characters: Ellory Sparrow - Katja Revel - L'tohk Rhoto - Fen Lohro - X'tahma Zhazi - Cordial Raccoon - Qata Ooja - Rolo Scolaighe

[jensencart]

Mourn and Dreamer - FFXIV - Commission

One of the bigger pieces I've done recently! Never sure if I did the background right, I still need plenty of practice in that aspect

[sliptohk]

Did a great job with Mourn and Dreamer! Personally I love how the background came out. A nice little piece where Mourn shows Dreamer the flower she named her after - Valeria

[mothwithpaper]

Mourn's 3am break in snack, all she's missing is the Among Us potion. For @sliptohk

[sliptohk]

FFXIV 2025 (Unofficial) Prompt Masterlist

Official or not I must do the yearly challenge! I ended up doing a lot more stuff around Mourn than I had expected, especially as the month went on.

Prompt# 1 Greet (Mourn) Prompt# 2 Feast (Mourn) Prompt# 3 Chocobo (Ellory) Prompt# 4 Aether (Sachie) Prompt# 5 Grandeur (Mourn) Prompt# 6 Maps (Sachie) Prompt# 7 Longing (Mourn) Prompt# 8 Honor (Sachie) Prompt# 9 Sesquipedalian Loquaciousness (Mourn) Prompt# 10 Moogle (I went insane) Prompt# 11 Ponze/Pound (Sachie) Prompt# 12 Knockout (Katja) Prompt# 13 Branch (Mourn) Prompt# 14 Reward (Sachie) Prompt# 15 Vaunted (Mourn) Prompt# 16 Machine (Sachie) Prompt# 17 Dragon (Mourn) Prompt# 18 Turn (Mourn) Prompt# 19 Champion (Mourn) Prompt# 20 Gauntlet (Ellory) Prompt# 21 Posture (Mourn) Prompt# 22 Lugubrious (Mourn) Prompt# 23 Vitality (Mourn) Prompt# 24 Behemoth (Mourn) Prompt# 25 Gil/Gold (Mourn) Prompt# 26 Bygone (Mourn) Prompt# 27 Arcane (Mourn) Prompt# 28 Illumination (Mourn) Prompt# 29 Crucible (Mourn) Prompt# 30 Nerd (Mourn)

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 30: Nerd

One did not appreciate the normal function of the body until they were deprived of it. So it was that Mourn came to hold new appreciation for the way her chest managed to rise and fall without the bite of fractured bone. The comfortable absence of painful twinges of damaged ligaments. Unmarred flesh no longer aching where bruises once were. But the body remembered, each motion she took was slow and deliberate. And even magicked healing still took a heavy toll on the patient, causing the hyur to slip in and out of consciousness with great frequency.

It helped her appreciate Valeria's own trouble staying awake for any extended periods of time. Not quite the same given she did not show the same propensity to go tumbling through the dreams of others nearby. It may not have been so terrible given the number of moogles still flittering about their village. She had been told just what those noble folk often got up to in slumber.

There was precious little to do for the hermit in convalescence. Even the call had seemed strangely silent given what walked the trails of their demesne. While the spirits did often act in odd ways, they rarely overlooked the existence of an unnatural thing hunting within its borders. Was it foolish or optimistic to think it meant they did not see the infection as anything worthy of action?

At the very least it gave ample time to rest. A process that Valeria seemed particularly focused on overseeing.

"-we had large screens, their picture was so clear it was like being in the mountains themselves! You'd see all the little critters that lived there captured for you to see whenever you wished."

The smaller woman was laying beside her on that bedding of soil topped with soft moss. Mourn had considered shaping it into something more comfortable, but could not yet find the energy to. That same absence of energy saw her drifting along as her newest mender spoke of things from her former home.

"If we had one here I could show you all sorts of different nature documentaries like that! There were even these boxes that you could connect to them that let you play games. A whole bunch of different ones! Good options for someone on the mend."

When she spoke, the witch found her words sluggish. As if they wished to sleep even more than the hyur herself. It was considerably better than when she had first woke quite some time after the confrontation. The weak rasp had shifted into the mumbled, often slurred, words of the exhausted.

"Large boxes to contain so many."

"They weren't physical games, goofus. Thing of it like… I don't know, magic? You can do a lot of stuff but you don't have to carry around every last thing you do with you." It may not have been the best description, but one that had lived their life amongst nature alone it was hardly something normal to her.

"Ah. I recall Jenna having just such a device. Confusing things filled with words that became speech. And colored shapes moving about."

Valeria perked up at that comment, looking over toward Mourn's half-lidded eyes. It was a rarity to not see them spread open in that wide, all-seeing stare, but some would consider it an improvement.

"I should get one of those myself. If it runs off aether it would probably work fine if I dragged one all the way out here."

"An arduous task. Efforts both physical and insomniac lest it lay untended in the wilds when dreams claim you."

Conversation itself was proving just as taxing as Mourn's eyes slipped closed. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed when they opened once more as Valeria seemed quite focused on the possibilities of that magical box. Or was it the screen? It seemed a good deal of context was lost to her drowsing.

"-think you would like this one that involved protecting your garden from ashkin."

"Does one seek to emulate their lives in these…" She trailed off, unsure if they were discussing one of those movies the dream-mage had spoken of or a boxed game.

"You just don't get it because you haven't tried it. Trust me, that shit is addictive!"

"Seedkin would savor fertilizer much more."

It took a moment for Valeria to understand just what Mourn had said, before rolling her eyes with a groan, "That's such a dad joke! You're such a dork sometimes, Scarlet."

Eyes faded to bare slits as Mourn found herself dragged down once more to a recuperative spell, "I do not recall my father telling jokes."

It was unclear what that other word had meant. It did not seem overly important to figure out before slipping off once more.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 29: Crucible

Irmentrud knew that somewhere among the trees that wretch cowered. A shiver upon her web that proved too faint to clearly isolate among the stretch of land laid out before her. Yet the great size her rebirth had granted only worked against her as the smaller quarry could well have slithered into some unassuming hole that she could not find, much less follow. Tear apart in frenzied motions? Absolutely. But all she had uncovered were cowering beasts in their dens.

She could perceive no limit to her stamina, drawn as it was from the earth itself. It could have been a tireless hunt that could well have lasted until the sun rose high above, but their little encounter had proven the vast gulf in their strength. She had never played hide-and-seek with Cäcilia as a child. She wold not do so now.

Standing tall, the creature let loose one final challenging shout into the darkness even as branches shook in reply, "Preserve what passes for your life, little coward! Never fall before my gaze again!"

There was no answer. No surprise. That belonged solely to the fact that she had not found the girl broken from the force of her throw. Pure luck, no doubt. People were far too breakable to have walked away from such an impact.

There were better uses of her time once the rage had settled. Where had Farulf gotten off to in the years passed since their little weed had grown tall? Curiosity burned in her as Irmentrud dreamed of just what sort of form the man would take upon his return. Something suitable to his ferocity, no doubt. A thought that dug into her the more she considered it. Such a form ill-suited her. It would be best to adopt a more suitable appearance before they met again. One more to her own liking, of course. There was no doubt in her mind that the man would have sincerely appreciated the physical brawn of her current vessel.

The sensation of her existence was not to her taste, each speck of dust drawn so tightly together yet every one vying for her attention. It was a maddening thing to feel each last bit sift and scrape against itself with each motion. Had she possessed a spine there would have been a chill racing up it at the unpleasant experience. It simply would not do.

Moving forth, the monstrosity traced along its network. Each step sending up a spark of strength to urge her onward toward a proper place to work. Long limbs ate up leagues of space with their swift stride, sinking deep into ponds and bogs as she followed the pull. It had grown to impressive size while she laid in torpor - that skein stretching further than she could have hoped. Had something occurred to weaken the resistance of the spirits? What had once been the careful placement of threads thin enough to fall beneath the elementals' gaze had since become a vastness that Irmentrud could scarcely believe.

She had done fine work, it seemed. But there was always room for improvement.

Were she still possessed of a nose the sulfur scent would have reached her sooner. The rising heat would have threatened to sear the skin as ancient springs bubbled up from the molten core of the Star's soul. Few beasts possessed the resilience to bathe in those springs, much less Spoken. Thick, poisonous fumes wafted forth to clear away unwanted guests as the vessel scooped up a handful of fertile clay from the pools' depths. Those great fistfuls untouched for eons as powerful fingers began to shape them.

A curve of a limb formed meticulously beneath her touch, woven through with the threads of her own life. Laborious, but well worth the time it would take to forge herself anew. They must have burned her upon death, else it would have been a vessel of bone and rot she found herself in when that slowly gathered might helped her tear through the final obstacles holding her back. Even in death, years spent lying in wait for her to pierce the veil, they had proven abject failures.

"How flimsy your resolve to see me punished. How fruitless those words you spoke in defiance."

Knowledge swam through Irmentrud's consciousness, stolen arts dragged back from the abyss that once claimed them. To form a puppet would have been a simple enough thing, but no mere marionette would ever hope to contain the density of stolen life caught fast in her workings. It was said the gods had once formed man from clay. She did not believe in such fanciful beings of unfathomable strength. The creature believed in the kernels of truth hidden away in the chaff of belief, the means to construct a shell before breathing life forth to infuse it.

As she worked, it began to grow softer. It would never be human, but vanity demanded she wear her own face again. Eyes forming as detail came slowly into being. Beginning with unnatural skin that would never pass for human, fine hairs began to grow and details of nails and teeth. It would not be a perfect replica, but it did not matter if the imagination at work proved more flattering than the former reality.

The great giant began to diminish as more aether slipped into the other, dark hair spilling from its head and eyes snapping open with a distinct scarlet hue. An aura intense as the final flare of a dying star, before it compacted to fill that lifeless body. There was no sensation of heat or pain as Irmentrud felt old sensations return to her. The touch of earth beneath her body and the flow of scorching waters as fingers ran through their flow.

It was good to feel again. The loss of sensations of pain and discomfort could stay forgotten by that body made incapable of experiencing such a thing.

She ought to have brought garments to wear, she mused as the pale-skinned woman stood naked in the midst of that toxic bog. A twitch of a smirk upon red lips as she began to stride forth. That same tireless stamina in her limbs. Unnatural power in her limbs. Yet captured once more in a form that best suited.

"Come now, Farulf. We have both suffered a long ordeal. Our reunion is long overdue."

The smile upon her face would have died were she aware of the man's ultimate fate. Shorn from the limb of an oak to be caught up in the lifestream on its pounding rush. A fresh matter she would soon need have words with Cäcilia over.

[odsteria]

Prompt #27: Arcane

The evening had been a calm one, the settling sun pulling the amber glow into a darker hue.

Valeria rose from the cobblestone, sleeve wiping drool from her mouth. She slipped a small note that had been stuck to her face onto her plaid skirt and looked it over. With a swift tear of the seal, her half-lidded gaze scanned the words. That gaze widened slightly, brows furrowing.

The note drifted in the air where Valeria had darted off. Adler caught it as she walked out from the estate, sounding out the words to herself. Meanwhile, Valeria sought out directions from Mogler Mogumwind, rode a carriage with the enigmatic sheep peddler Rhemnoir, and traversed the deep gardens of the forest until she found the Moon Wizard, Mortimer, tending a plot. She pointed her eastward, but not before giving her a small sapphire flower. Valeria tucked it into her hair and went on her way. Yet even with the heavy intake of fungi gathered from the deepest confines of the wood--it could not stave off her inevitable sleep.

She stumbled down the tall roots she had been climbing and collapsed into the darkness below. She struck the ground with a splatter of mud and did not move. A swell of aether came from her unconscious body then, reaching out as it often did to lap at the bark and squeeze against it. It found no respite there, but her mind drifted, and though she did not dream herself, she felt the pull of many nonetheless.

Meanwhile, two fluttering warriors descended from above, circling until they found her.

"It is her! The Scarlet!" one beady-eyed Moogle exclaimed, adjusting his Mogshelm and drawing his Mogsblade.

"No, no, nincompoop! That one is Valeria! You know her, Moglon!"

After a double take, he could hardly recognize her beneath the mud. "Oh! Moggins, she's already defeated! We can go home and celebrate now!"

He was promptly bumped on the head.

"We did not come to defeat her, kupo! We came to help her!" Moglon kicked his little feet in annoyance.

"She needs help?" They looked down at her face-first body in the mud as the aether poured out to mend her.

"Moglin said she might, and if it means some Dreambooze and snacks, well by my pom, we see it so!"

"Dreambooze?! Well why didn't you say so!"

The two rushed down to haul her out of the muck. Her clothes clung weakly and slipped away, dropping her right back with another splat--her pale buttcheek clear as day. Moglon and Moggins exchanged a look, gears turning, before finding a vine to wrap around her waist and hoist her free again.

They fluttered through the woods, bantering about who would get the first drink and reminding themselves that “Scarlet,” as Valeria called her, was not their true target at all, but the one everyone else knew as Mourn.

As Dreamer drifted, she felt the swaying pass of dreams. She had learned not to fall into them so quickly. There was always a moment, a strange moment, where if she leaned back she might not fall in. It did not always work, but this was not a time she could afford failure. She could not waste time wandering through aimless dreams or tending distant sorrows. No--Scarlet was hurt, and nothing else mattered.

Through Valeria's pool of aether, her bruises and cuts began mending, her breath slowly returning after it had stopped from the fall. From below, ashkin hands rose out of the mud, rotten and yearning for the swell of passing aether. They could not reach it, but still they clawed.

Valeria awoke to the sight of shifting earth. Startled, she screamed and grabbed the Moogles by their fluffy bellies. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" Her eyes darted around before she clutched her chest.

"Fuck! Can't you guys warn a girl?!" She caught her breath, grimacing as she noticed the vine digging into her waist. "And get a softer vine, what the hell!"

"You were asleep, kupo! There was no time for cozy comforts!" Mogglin proclaimed.

"Yes, yes, but do you happen to have the booze?" Moglon asked, still gripping his end of the vine.

"No flying and drinking, Moglon! Or you'll get a visit from Moglaw!"

"I'm on my last Mogwarning…" he muttered.

Valeria whined. "Can you guys shut the fuck up?! Scarlet is dying, she needs me!"

"Then we go faster, kupo!" Moggins sped up.

"But the MogLimit…"

Moggins turned to Moglon, squinting his already squinty eyes. "「仕方ねぇ！」" (Shikata nē!)

--

They arrived at a burrow kept in the shade of several large trunks, raised above the floodplains on sturdy ground. As Valeria was set down, she peeled away the vines and rubbed her skin raw where they had pressed. She rushed forward, finding Moglin staring toward a hollow husk of bark.

"Moglin?" she called, storming forward, mud clinging to every inch of her. "Where is she?!"

The top of the tree had snapped off long ago in a storm, its hollow making a small place of respite. A shaft of moonlight poured down upon a mound of dirt, where Scarlet lay as if upon her own gravesite. Valeria stepped inside, her toes sinking into the fertile soil as she beheld the scene.

Her companion's bandaged body looked as though it had been broken against the Wood itself. Abrasions scored her arms and shoulders, skin raw where bark and stone had torn into her. Bruises darkened her ribs, rising and falling in shallow jerks of breath, while her sternum bore the imprint of something immense that had pressed her into the earth. Blood matted her hair and streaked from her ears, and her fingers twitched faintly, as if still recalling the aetheric cord she had once seized in desperation.

Tears blurred her vision as she stepped forward, each pace heavy, as though she were walking into a dream--a nightmare she wished it to be. But with every step the truth sharpened, cutting away any hope of illusion, until her legs buckled beneath her. She fell to her knees at Scarlet's side, trembling as she reached out. Valeria pressed a shaking hand to her neck, praying to find warmth there--but not the heat of a fever.

It was then Mogwan appeared from the shadows. "No time for mourning, kupo!"

Valeria flinched her hand back, teeth clenched as her sharp gaze landed on the fluttering creature. "Mogfuck--Twelve, how long have you been there?!….. It's not even morning." Her breaths came in shudders, weight pressing against her chest until her hands shook. "Thanks for.. your work…" She turned back to Scarlet's bandages, wondering how she had survived at all.

Valeria plucked the sapphire flower from her hair, muddied as it was, and held it up. "You know this? Medicine? Moglin said to bring medicine. Might help bring the fever down…"

Mogwan's pom worbled as he snatched it from her hand, pressing the bloom to his red nose. He sniffed deep, then wobbled with delight. "Kupo… a forgotten scent. Flowers once used to steady the flow, to keep bodies from breaking under their own aether. Long gone, or so I thought!"

He clutched it close, whiskers twitching, before scurrying off toward a makeshift alchemy bench of sticks and stones just outside the hollow bark.

Valeria sighed, looking back at her companion. Scarlet slept without even the usual gesture of crossed arms. Tears welled and spilled at the sight, falling onto her pale skin, sinking beneath. To Valeria's shock, each droplet burst into a flare of aether that pulsed across Scarlet's body, rippling outward in waves of white. The glow widened with every tear until even the hollow bark around them caught the light, flickering as though alive.

Her breath caught in her throat. Sleep, she had always known, could mend those near her--but this? Her own grief? She pressed trembling fingers to her cheeks as more spilled free, as though trying to control their flow, realizing such immense aether could harm them both if she were not careful.

Mogwan returned with a vial and caught the falling tears, but Valeria did not mind and thanked him. She carefully brushed more from her cheeks and pressed them to Scarlet's ribs, thumb tracing each uneven break and bruise. With every touch, more light flared, until the hollow bark throbbed with it. The very bark pulsed like a beating heart, and from above, long-dead splinters of the treetop began to knit together, inch by inch, under the rhythm of the surging aether.

The sight of Scarlet worsened the ache in Valeria's chest until grief left her restless. She curled beside Scarlet, careful not to disturb her. The journey had been long, and exhaustion tugged at her bones, yet she clung to the thought that rest itself could work wonders. She never truly understood how, only that it was possible… and she drifted.

Scarlet's red gaze fluttered open, finding Valeria at her side and Mogwan hovering near. Her lips parted, the faint stir of a name trembling at the edge of her breath, but no sound came. The effort faltered, not from pain alone, but from the calm that had settled in her chest. For the first time since her fall, her lungs filled fully--not with ragged gasps, but with slow, steady breaths.

Her vision drifted upward through the hollow's crown, where once the storm had left only splintered wood and emptiness. Now fresh branches stretched toward the night, tender shoots unfurling leaves that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Beads of green aether floated through the hollow like fireflies, their glow stirring a memory of gentler nights long past.

Scarlet's weary eyes lingered on the sight, and in that fleeting comfort she found her respite. Her lids closed, and she sank into sleep, her breath pulsing in time with the aether-laced branches, as though the Wood itself kept watch over her rest. And perhaps, it always had.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 28: Illumination

Farulf hacked through the stubborn undergrowth without complaint, even as sweat trickled down his back. Heat had never given the man issues before, but the humidity of the Shroud cast a suffocating pall over all those who struggled through its domain. A far sight different from the arid environs that were once home. Such memories did not distract as he moved with singular purpose, spearheading a three-person wedge of fighting men to clear the path for the pale woman walking behind them. A more dangerous proposition given the propensity of the elementals to repay insult with annihilation, but as her belly swelled it became more difficult to roam.

She was the will. He the blade. Schemes were best left to one with such vision. The warrior trusted in each gesture that guided them forward along the safest route.

"We got much further to go, Irmentrud?" A tendon in Farulf's neck tensed at that foolish question, sparing a sideways glance toward the blonde man Ago wrenching his sword free of a stubborn sapling.

"Stow it." The reply was distracted as she cocked her head to one side, "I'm listening."

The blonde accepted that light chastisement without complaint. Fools had been winnowed away from their remaining crew. Tempers still flared from time to time, but they knew not to direct their ire toward his wife. The solitary instance one had tried they soon learned the shocking capacity for carnage her magic possessed. To say nothing of the eagerness with which it was employed.

Farulf sat on a flat stone as she appraised the area. That crimson glare sweeping across root and stone in search of something none of them seemed to perceive. He simply enjoyed the profile she cut. Even as she grew heavy with their child it only made the woman fiercer. More driven toward those once distant goals. Motherhood will make her calmer, some had babbled. It was with great pleasure that their predictions were proven false.

At last, a smirk curled her red lips and she pulled back the loose cloth of one sleeve to her elbow. The first time she had done such a thing he had looked on in curiosity, questions held firmly behind his teeth. Moons of those efforts had long since wrung any reaction from him as she unflinchingly sliced open her skin to bleed upon the earth. Content with her offering, Irmentrud spread her fingers to reach towards that blood splatter and wrench aether from the Shroud. A singular thread at first, but dexterous hands split it time and again before the crew's eyes. Each motion weaving them across and through as a vast net of energy formed in the humid air.

Content with her working, she pressed downward. Blood soaking deep even as those threads settled into place. Hooked firmly into the very essence of the Shroud itself.

"A few more locations to go, lads. Then we can get started with you two." A widening red stain soaked through the bandage Irmentrud wrapped around her forearm, an odd pattern that swiftly vanished behind a fresh pass of clean linen. "Ought to convince Farulf to do the same."

He fixed a thin smile on his face as he rose once more to continue their trek, "I need no net. If any try to cast me down to hell I'll grip tight and pull myself back out."

Tattoos covered his hands from the fingertips down to mid-forearm. A working far simpler than what the woman had chosen for herself. But it was one she had woven for him through the long nights one prick of the needle at a time. The weaving of blood that only his could unwind.

"Bold." She laced fingers through his own, stroking at those runes adorning his skin, "But we shall see if I can temper your recklessness with reason yet. Ought to be ample time yet."

He snorted derisively, "A long while given the ineptitude of the peasantry."

"Time enough for one more weaving, then." The mage stroked the fingers of her free hand across her belly. "When they grow old enough we'll see them tied firmly in turn."

Farulf lifted an eyebrow in amusement, "An obedient child?"

It was her turn to snort in reply, teeth flashing in a fierce grin, "I will not abide an unruly child."

[sliptohk]

Prompt #27: Arcane

The Moogle Delivery Service had proven itself an effective, secure means of seeing letters delivered through Eorzea. Whilst the sneaky mischief of the fluffy miscreants made them a menace to some of the goodly people of the land, that same talent for glamours were what them such valuable postmasters. While the common moogle possessed a well deserved reputation as lazy workers at best, and untrustworthy pranksters at worst, only the finest amongst their number were selected to join the celebrated corps first by the Padjal themselves, then later by their fellow members.

Unfortunately, they did not pen most letters. They simply delivered them. Much like the folded, sealed note tucked neatly under Valeria's face when they found her sprawled out on a cobbled staircase. The postmaster slipping in and out like a summer's breeze.

The writing was fairly neat, if filled with flamboyant loops, even if a good number of different words have been scratched out with singular dashes of a quill. Whether as some teasing effort to play with the recipient, or an unwillingness to waste ink or paper, it was difficult to tell.

Dear Underdressed Girl Angry Woman Loud Person Dreamer Valeria,

Your presence is demanded expected requested immediately at your earliest convenience. Bring booze enough for a party! Days Weeks Moons long ones! This is very important. A good variety is demanded requested! It shall occur soon so do not leave us sober!

Also Mourn might be dying is perfectly fine - Mogwan has seen her awake on at least two three separate occasions while bandaging her. He is also running out of bandages so we demand request more of them. Possibly medicine. Mogwan excels at wrapping bandages but he is a terrible passable respectable notable alchemist. There is might be something lurking along the forest paths so just be careful run if you feel the ground start to shake!

If you cannot bring both the booze will suffice.

-Moglin

The letter was sealed with the wax imprint of a kupo nut and several different epithets for Dreamer crossed out until they simply settled for a stylish V.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 26: Bygone

Each day had begun to resemble the previous as Mourn followed those seemingly endless trails of magic. Phantom tingles of that discharged aether still reverberated in her fingers even when she made shelter for the evening. A routine that had swiftly shown the true scale of the work before her.

Earth molded itself at her request, forming deep trenches in the ground to lay out in. Arms crossed across her chest as the ground flowed back over top like a blanket to cocoon her in the soil's embrace. A habit that Valeria had shown clear concern toward the first time the witch had woven them shelter in the Ishgardian cold. It had taken some explanation before she realized just how others could view it as some premature grave. They did not take comfort in the softness of moss beneath them and the familiar scent of rich soil hinting at the possibility for life and growth.

That comfort carried a thread of something else to Mourn when her eyes stared up toward the earthen cover above her. A vague tang of copper as the glitter of barely perceptible strands wriggled about her. Thin as the finest follicle, but innumerable where they lay embedded. Their imperceptible growth went unnoticed when subjected to her direct appraisal, but after the course of an evening's rest it was clear they had extended slightly toward those nearest them. Had she not known them to be magical anchors, the hermit could have easily mistaken it for some sort of magical creature repairing its wounds.

Her musings were interrupted by some unknown presence lurking nearby, small tremors vibrating through the earth when it moved. Though the mass of its physical form paled in comparison to the sheer spiritual weight that came with it. Easy rest after a hard day was banished by that suffocating influence. The scent of copper rose even as those tendrils of energy writhed and swelled in reply.

Whether the source of that network leeching off the Wood, or something caught up in its influence, it had piqued Mourn's interest. Was it confidence in the strength of her sway with the potent energies of the Deep Shroud, or mere arrogance, that saw the witch rise up as earth sloughed aside?

She murmured in rising, "As a spider on its web. Am I fly or assassin bug?"

The moonlight barely penetrated the canopy above, yet the world showed itself in gradients of crimson. A curious experience for the girl, wrongly attributing such a phenomena to the expanse of forest emanating a scarlet glow. She failed to see how her red-eyes shimmered in response to the infestation pulsing beneath her feet.

Whatever visitor had come was near, yet the immensity of its being proved challenging to hunt as Mourn failed to discern its source. Such an overwhelming aura forced the young hyur to rely upon more mundane senses. Smell and sound, to say nothing of that unexpected boon of vision. Even at night the Shroud was rarely silent, yet as slow steps moved her in a slowly widening spiral she remained alert for solitary sounds amongst the unnaturally muted darkness. Beasts had sharper senses than she, their silence would prove more telling.

Trees creaked as they swayed, the occasional pop and crack of ancient sentinels announcing the victory of endless years of persistent winds finally managing to snap branches far above. Their fall heard as they struck each bough on the way down. Soon, an anomaly. A quiet splash as puddles of water shivered in response to a heavy impact. It was still moving at some slowed pace.

"Tarry." It proved far easier to follow those sensations, Mourn correcting her direction toward the nearing mystery, "I shall find you. Better you spare me needless exertion."

It seemed they had taken the witch's request to heart as the Shroud stilled once more. Its essence remained. The witch held fast to her path, finding herself alongside a small pond. In reflex, the waters stiffened to ice beneath her footsteps as she crossed it in the most direct path with her gaze fixed directly forward toward more of those red veins that swelled far thicker than any she had seen before.

They twisted, curling back toward her as something vastly larger curled fingers around one huge oak and leaned out to look down at her. Its mouth widened into what might have been a Spoken's smile even as she found herself skewered by something both new while somehow familiar. Eyes of similar shade to hers were they not blazing with the stolen aether of the Shroud.

They spoke in unison, one voice quietly calm while the other vibrated with barely restrained venom that caused flora and fauna to tremble, "Found you."

It was a laughable sight, that great, wrong thing bending itself down to rest both of its hands on each side of the witch. Its veins lighting up upon contact with the earth as it drank deeply. Its words came clear, even if the weight behind them threatened to flatten Mourn into the mud.

"Farulf, behold our worthless daughter grown!"

While the hermit had expected something foul upon the creature's breath, she had not expected words. So few of the unliving were capable of speech. Even fewer of the unseen able to communicate at all. Yet before her stood a creature that regarded her with such familiarity. Something that only tickled at the back of the mind of a girl that had been orphaned far too young to remember either the face or voice of their parents.

A mocking laugh escaped the being as it tilted its head slowly, mistaking the furrowed brow and answering silence of the hyur as cowed deference, "As then. As now. Wordless. Guileless. How could we spawn a child so frail? So weak? Where is your cunning, Cäcilia? Where is your power? Such feeble hands fumble with my works. Useless efforts suit you."

Such address evoked nothing in Mourn, her unblinking stare not leaving the monstrosity before her even as she spoke in monotone, "You mistake me for another. You mistake your infection for immortality. It is in the nature of the unnatural to err often."

"A boast? Had it any fire it might matter! Your hearth is naught but cold stones."

It reached out one massive hand, large enough to take the hyur entirely in its grip should it so choose. Instead it settled for tapping a single finger to their chest - sending them back several fulms to thump down heavily on root and stone. The hermit winced at the sharp edges digging into her back, starting to rise once more before that fingertip pressed down on her sternum with gradual pressure. Sinking her into the dirt as it parted to make way for her.

Though strained, she spoke to the abomination, "You deny the inevitable. The Wood shall not have you. The great wheel awaits."

The being scoffed all the louder. The fingers of its other hand tightened around the trunk of a tree, a horrible crunch as it wrapped tightly until the elder splintered and shattered to fall to the earth with a resounding shudder. Its palm pressed hard to its shattered bole as an ancient life was swallowed pulse by pulse.

"I have razed temples. Slaughtered warriors. Smothered the children of my enemies in their crib. Great foes lie dead in my wake, yet you think plants my bane?" Another mocking laugh escaped its inhuman throat as it twisted its finger against Mourn's chest, "Learn your place in the mud, Cäcilia."

As the pressure rose, the witch lifted her hands to grip the offending digit. Curling her tiny fingers in turn as she sought out that central, pulsing cord of power. It reacted, just as the smaller mesh had beneath her touch. Some shared echo in the blood that had shaped the curse that let her sever the flow with a resounding bang of released aetheric power. The finger smoldered, lost to its first knuckle in an explosion of dust as the creature pulled back with a shriek!

A momentary reprieve as it swiftly snatched up Mourn before she could stand, tightening enough for joints to protest and bone to creak. Slowly, the segment was already weaving itself back as that huge face thrust itself down into the woman's own and roared with horrifying force.

Blood oozed from the mortal's ears as something ruptured before the force of its dreadful scream, "Ignorant filth! If my motherly mercy does not please your palate then drink deep of my malice!"

A twist at the hip as the witch's battered body was lifted and hurled with incredible force into the darkness. Wind whistled by until the first branch smashed into her back to slow the speed of her flight. It tore a gasped yelp from Mourn before she bounced off the trunk of a tree which forced the breath from her lungs. An unpleasant battering as she struck each bough on the way down when her forward momentum was arrested and she swiftly fell back to the dirt again. It was a far worse experience than she had suffered before as her body screamed in pain from every cut, break, and abrasion even as she found little breath to voice it.

So focused on the way the world seemed to shudder and throb from the weight of her own injuries, she did not feel the heavy impacts of the gargantuan beast moving once more. It was little more than the instincts of a wounded animal that saw a thin plea form in her mind as the ground beneath swallowed her up in reply. A far less pleasant state than when the evening had begun, as the muffled screeches of the rampaging monster above sounded as it scoured the surroundings for any signs of its rebellious daughter.

Mourn was uncertain just when its efforts ended as her mind faded slowly into unconsciousness. The coppery scent of her own blood hanging heavy in the cramped space.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 25: Gil/Gold

It was an odd experience when Mourn first offered her service at the adventuring guild. Tauwine had spoken highly of the establishment, particularly in the way one could most easily find themselves attached to groups, or jobs, that best suited their skills and experience. Something that would only serve to progress one forward along the road to further refinement of talent. Even with such limited exposure to the people of the world, this did make sense to the young hyur at a primal level.

There was no complaint when a task to tend to sick and wounded soldiers was assigned to her. Simple herbal poultices had seen to the minor incidents, while Mourn's own potent stores served well for those more grievously wounded. Some had not survived long enough for treatment. Given the state of their injuries it was clear that even a timely response would have been futile. So she simply murmured to herself as she turned her attention to the next patient.

"No season ends forever. Winter falls upon you. Spring shall rise again."

She made some effort to contain her habit of speaking such thoughts. Finding them bouncing off the tip of her tongue often saw them land upon those unappreciative of such idle sentiments. They did not find it to be as encouraging as she, it seemed. Their grief was a landslide that threatened to bury them in their sorrow. Yet in some mockery of the name she had taken, she had never learned to mourn. Among so many other things.

Blood stained her pale skin when the final recipient was tended to. Strength faded as aether was given time and again without making the effort to replenish her stores. To relax during a time of crisis was to fail those who simply needed that touch mere moments sooner. A life of service commanded Mourn use her candle to light those about her even should her own flame gutter near to ash.

"A debt is not washed away when one joins the river. It gathers as silt."

Lively water giggled to the hermit from the stream outside. A coaxing finger urged it to rise in a tight coil of flowing water. She shifted her body to let the soothing cold embrace her as it sloshed through her garments and tore away dried blood, dirt and sweat. Playful spirits that were always pleased to rise up and embrace her. The witch offered a small bow of thanks to the dancing element as it settled back into the stream once more. No droplet left behind as it sluiced though the weave of her fabric until she stood dry once more.

A short walk saw her back to the representative of the guild slouched down in their chair. Though they may not have offered magic to the task, it seemed as important that one make scratchings upon sheets of paper to ensure a job was done to the client's expectations. It was all a mess of swirling markings to Mourn's eye so she instead focused that unblinking stare upon the man's own eyes.

"The deed is done." She was uncertain if there was anything else to say, taking a few long minutes to mull over the thought of what else she ought to say.

They seemed a polite sort, giving the young mage time to consider. When it became apparent they would not speak any further on the matter, he spoke up with a calm, gentle tone, "Your work has not gone unnoticed, miss. Exemplary pay for exemplary work."

She furrowed her brow, looking toward the small pouch held out to her. To the man's credit his patience did not crack as it took quite a bit longer for Mourn to realize the container was part of some greater gift offered to her. It sat there in her palm once he had managed to get the unintentionally uncooperative mender to hold out her hand.

"Coin enough for meals and an inn room for some time if you spend frugally." The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her. She did not emulate the expression, simply lowering her head in thanks once more.

"Good bye. Until my services are in need once more."

Once she had found a quiet spot beneath the trees to sit, Mourn opened the drawstring on that pouch to lift one of the coins out. The concept of currency was not alien to her, but the experience of possessing it was certainly a foreign one. It was nothing but weight so far as she could tell. No magic to change seed to fruit to feast on. Should it turn to a molten state it would not sustain her as water would. What could such a thing grant her that she could not claim for herself?

Age had only seen strength wax full. There was no need to exchange such things for food or drink when the wild was happy to offer it up should she ask. Perhaps clothing? Though even then, bushes and trees were only happy to offer a cloak of leaves to garb herself. Some spent it on companionship. The most indecipherable of concepts to the hermit.

As she toyed with the coin, a small boy watched on. Their gaze fixed on the piece held between her fingers as her head shifted from one angle to another in her appraisal. He inched forward in silence until he was nearly seated on the earth beside the witch. A body shaped by hunger that reflected in those innocent eyes.

"May I be of assistance?"

When the boy turned at her words, he fell backwards onto his rump at the stare directed at him. As if afraid it would dissect him with a single red-eyed glance. In the end he proved more brave than some, as he pointed toward the coin. "Can I have that?"

Mourn held it out toward him, "If you wish it."

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 24: Behemoth

It was a simple garden of cabbage. To call it Etgar's pride would have been an exaggeration, but it did serve to provide some reliability in a forest that could often prove hostile to mortal existence. Best to live simply rather than risk the ire of the elementals with ill-fated trips away from the clear paths. Such excursions into the deeper wilds were best left to herbalists and hunters more adept at reading the whims of the wood.

A light wind blew in fitful gusts, whirling the muggy air of that humid wood down the small paths of the sleeping village. Fallen leaves picked up to lift and fall, many gathering in the small fenced off areas the residents kept for their own personal vegetable beds. Amidst it a fine dust the glittered in the moonlight.

It coalesced slowly, small pops of aether sizzling as first fingertips formed as if made from thousands of grains of sand. They thickened as those dancing sparks fused into place up to the first knuckles of one hand as it dragged grooves through the dirt in defiance of something forcing it downward. The further it raised itself up the swifter it became whole. Arms weaving themselves together even as the crown of a hairless, featureless head rose up.

That smoothness began to alter as contours of a face began to emerge. Lips formed only to stretch into a snarl of defiance. It moved as if speaking, but no throat existed to form words at the start. Those fingers no longer set grooves as they were drawn back, they reached out further to claw the partially formed body free of the dirt. A skein of red veins flickering within the hollows of its body as the curve of breasts gave it the impression of femininity.

"Nnnn…." The vegetables withered in their gardens, the strands of scarlet devouring the very aether from them to fuel the thing's growth.

There would be no mistaking the thing as human, even as the rest of its shell fully solidified around a gradually thickening interior. It staggered forward on feet that manifested as its legs drew themselves up from the earth, only a momentary pause for the creature to reach down and pull free the vengeful, spectral hands working futilely to drag them down. Even as they struggled their aether dissipated into a formless mist that the monstrosity breathed in.

It moved with purpose, unerringly through the village until it looked down toward the home of the headman. Gorging upon aether flowing up through the veins connecting each lifting foot to the earth, the creature stood well over eight fulms. A far sight more than it had been before. Arms spread wide. And when they proved to not be wide enough, the entity simply willed itself to fulfill its need. Nine fulms. Ten. Expanding until it ran its fingers down the thatched roof to the wooden boards below as it embraced the structure. Scraping along it in long strokes of those hardened fingers.

"Iiiittttssss laaaaattteeee…" Words proved difficult after so long unable to utter them. Memory remained, but the body struggled to fulfill the demands of the spirit. Though it did manage to struggle one."Nnnneeeeiiighborrrrr."

Etgar had not felt the wrongness of the night, but the dreadful sound of scraping across his roof woke him with a start. His wife still dozing beside him - blessed with a failing auditory sense that did not register that awful sound. A half-shuttered window gave some hint of a great creature moving slowly outside. Its greeting alone turned his blood to ice, but as one blood red eye lowered itself to stare through that opening he could feel his heart pounding with painful urgency in his chest.

"Kkkkkiilllleedddd meeee. Nnnneeeeeiiighborrrrrr. Forrrrrgiiiiive yyyyyoooooou. Whaaaaat neeeeeiiighborrrrrrsssss doooooo." Lips parted into a sharp-toothed smile. "Wwwwweeee'llllllll beeeeee neeeeeeeeiiiighborrrrrrsssss foooooorrrrrreeeeeevvvverrrrrr."

It curled its fingers, the sound of slowly splintering wood surrounding Etgar as it began to peel back the roof of his home. The cacophony loud enough to wake his wife at last even as her drowsy mind struggled to understand the scene before her. Neighbors stirring to wakefulness in turn as grasses and brush died around their homes. Flowers dropping to desiccated remains as the creature luxuriated in its swiftly improving faculties.

A sudden wrenching pull made it stagger with a grown of pain. Such sensations it had not expected to feel again. Something far away tugged insistently at its very essence. Not unlike the feel of pulling free a nerve to pinch and stretch without regard to the agony it caused. Their works had been flawless, such weakness should not afflict it. Yet memory tickled at the back of its mind and that smile died.

"Trrraaaaitttorrrrr… Blllllooooooddddd offffff mmmmmyyyyy bllllooooooddd…"

Ignoring the cowering pair holding each other tightly in the moonlight shining down through the rent rooftop, tt turned with urgency. Each step coming more surely as it felt the hooks of its curse detaching from the heart of the Shroud with almost admirable persistence. Far too slowly to threaten her. But it had never been one to let a minor irritation become an existentional threat.

"Hhhhhaaaavvvvveeee mmmmmyyy atteeeennnnntttttttiiiioooonnn nnnnooooowwwww."

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 23: Vitality

The creature shifted its malformed body in ways that defied the physical realm. Arm-like appendages splitting into dozens upon dozens of fingers that bent back in upon themselves to form a singular orb of shadow once more. Perpetually in flux, as if it were testing just what it truly was. Or even could be.

It was far too unrealized to influence the material.

Had it been only one of those unseen beings, Mourn would have paid it little mind. A paranoid woman would have seen dogged efforts to stalk her in those mindless efforts. The hermit could hardly conceive of such a thing. Though other thoughts did rise in her head at the sheer volume of those beings gathered in a singular spot. Milling about and through each other as no bodies served to impede their freedom.

"Perhaps all children start as you. Learning how to be while wrapped in layers of flesh day by day. Once we may have been kindred. Once again we may reunite." Mourn was often given to such existential musings in her solitary travels. Speaking to the world even if it offered no rebuttal in turn.

The call had been silent for some time. Left to her own whims, she found a glitter of red veins pulsing through the woods. A familiar sight. A familial one. Even if the great spirits were silent on the matter, that parasitic network drank slowly on the world it infested. A near imperceptible bleed of aether that the unformed creatures had gathered about to feast on the barest scraps left to linger from those innumerable wounds. Without other Spoken to distract, the hermit had long since come to perceive of those minor deviations in the natural flow. Hearing the moment the world's heart beat one less time in the span of a bell than it had every other day of her life.

Running hands through earth that parted like water, the witch gathered those strands into her fingers and wound them tight pass by pass as she proceeded through the forest. Inaudible pops and sparks of foiled magic that went unseen to a pair of Keeper huntresses crouched low in the brush. Eyes sharp and weapons drawn in suspicion over the odd young hyur walked through the woods in dark rags. One hand looping in slow motions as if wrapping the other in some unseen thing. They merely hissed something between them, before moving off with a quick rustle of branches.

Mourn did not notice, as focused on the task as she was. It was a fruitless effort to explain herself in times past, and she found it difficult to argue with the rationale of those who lacked her sight. Only a mad woman would claim to hear voices none others had. Only a mad woman would see things slithering through the cracks of the world that others could not perceive. No sane person would see visions of events and emotions from beings that did not speak in something as fallible as spoken word.

It was certainly convincing enough to her. Though she was admittedly ill-suited to charismatic defenses of her own inconceivable behavior.

Even if it pulsed with stolen vitality, it did not fool the hermit. There was no death for it to experience as each step dismantled the invader more swiftly than it could spread. It was little more than a curse that had been left unbroken far too long since the moment it first slithered down from the scarred branches of an old oak tree.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 22: Lugubrious

The wagons moved slowly through the mountain pass worn narrower by the passage of time. Ilms sheared away by wind and rain until there was barely space enough for a single cart to pass. Tempers often flared when voyagers came from opposite ends of the long path and fell to arguing over who should back themselves in the direction they had come. A tedious trek until space opened enough to let another by.

"Just like that. Its over. Its bloody over." A man sat in the near empty wagon of one such cart, crusted bandages wrapped around hastily treated injuries. "All that shite we worked for."

The others ignored him as best they could, just weathering the way the trail made them bounce on the hard-wood benches.

"My house? Burnt to the ground by those traitors! My bloody wife ran back to her family! Claimed she was finally free of me!" He turned to spit in disgust over the edge of the fall off.

The lone woman amongst the crew raised an eye towards the speaker, red as fresh blood. If he noticed the glance he made nothing of it despite the sudden silence as she stopped whittling at the chunk of dried wood in her hand. It was nothing recognizable anyway.

A loud slap of his open palm on his knee only further irritated his travel companions, "And for what? Bloody imperials to get the keys to the bloody gates? Theodoric was a right bastard, but he was one of ours! Saw to it we -"

"Farulf, give me silence." Her words sliced through the next complaint. One they had already heard time and time again from the windbag stuck traveling with them.

The tall man had no hesitation, lashing out with a solid fist across the the blabbering fool's jaw. They wavered where they sat before Farulf gripped one boot and upended them up and over the side of the cart. There was barely even a scream as the man fell off into oblivion over the edge.

She let out a mildly irritated snort at the sight, "Bit more ambitious than needed. Short on hands already."

He only offered a thin smile before settling back down beside her, "He irritated you, love. And we have days left to go. Rather silence than a man that keeps singing a song we don't want heard."

"Look at that." The pale woman smirked at the murderer, "Put me in a better mood already.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 21: Posture

Etgar had never asked to be the headman. For a village so small it seemed an unnecessary role for the long years their small settlement had existed. Gridania had never bothered to send anyone out their way, even if it might have been nice to have a Wailer or a Quiver drop by for a friendly visit. Just a little acknowledgement they existed. He had to admit to himself it was a far more recent attitude over fully embracing their independence in the Shroud. Seemed it was a time for change.

The trail out past the outskirts of the village was not an easy passage, but he was born and raised in the forest. It only added time to the trek rather than discouraging it entirely. He was the headman. There were duties that need be seen to.

Strangers were not a common sight, but there had been talk of new arrivals setting up out by the old Holt place. While Etgar knew for a fact that the old widower had no family left to come milling about their home after they passed, clear signs of Spoken activity were announced by footprints in the mud and branches cut too clean for a beast to have snapped them. Though he had never doubted the speakers it surprised him all the same that anyone would have business up at the rundown cabin.

That surprise only turned to concern when he rounded the final rise toward the rickety cabin to see a pair of hyur hanging around outside the place. A tall, brown-haired man looked up toward the roof in consideration. Clad in leather armor that seemed a bit more patchwork than a soldier ought to have, his belt hung lower on one side from the weight of the longsword secured to it. It was certainly no hunting knife. His sharp eyes picked up the frayed purple threads from where some emblem once emblazoned that jerkin. If he were to hazard a guess, he would have taken them for Ala Mhigan, even if the more pressing matter of their business was not so easy to identify.

Near him, a lovely woman rested herself on the stoop, clad in snug-fitting, dark leather breeches, and a looser blouse. Glossy dark hair was tied back in a tight knot, granting him a sight of lips near as red as the woman's eyes. He had not met a great many people. Never recalled ever seeing a hyur with such a shade. The pale-faced woman sat still as a statue up until the point Etgar stepped out from the woods. He never even saw her eyes shift - only the sudden weight of appraisal as he found her gaze set upon him. There were knives at her waist, only made more clear by how she shifted her hips when greeting him.

"Morning," She stretched out the word languidly before finishing her sentence, "Neighbor."

The man never even bothered to look toward him.

A touch more wary at the sight of those armed strangers, he raised a hand in an nonthreatening gesture, "Good morning, miss. Condolences if you came this way to see Old Demlin. Either of you know the poor fella?"

"Condolences? That mean whoever owned this hovel croaked?" There was a hint of mocking amusement in the brunet's voice, "Saves a bit of trouble. Send us a carpenter. It'll save even more."

A flush passed through Etgar's face. Hard to tell in the moment if it were due to the insult in that tone, or the dismissive way they spoke of the deceased man. He failed to keep that heat out of his reply, "Damned interesting way you ask for help, fr-"

The woman rose in a smooth motion, the sudden movement interrupting his retort. She seemed a bit shorter than himself and he could make out the clear swell of her stomach in how that loose cloth fell on her. There was no smile on her face as she spoke in a voice that seemed accustomed to getting its way.

"We weren't asking. Send a carpenter." She placed more emphasis on the word as she repeated, "Neighbor."

"You can't just move into someone's-"

There was finally a quirk of amusement on her face as she looked across the short distance between the two of them, "We have. You looking to make something out of it? Because I can tell you one thing just looking at you. Those fingers of yours look awful worn. Awful calloused. But look close? And even from here I can smell there's nothing but dirt under your fingernails. Mine?" She curled her fingers in exaggerated appraisal, "A hell of a lot of blood. So you ask yourself real carefully - do I want to test my luck?" That piercing stare froze him as she coldly added, "Neighbor."

Cold sweat raised on his brow as Etgar took some time to compose himself. This was not the sort of people he wanted so near the village. Not without Gridanian eyes looking out for potential trouble. There were certainly a few of their community that were good with a hunting bow, but they were no fighters. "I can ask around."

"Ask quick. Send them tonight. They can bring a bundle of firewood on the way. I know how pissy the elementals get about fumbling through the brush." The other man had already turned back toward the shack, dismissing Etgar entirely as he spoke. The villager found that much preferable to having either of their regards.

The pale woman rested her hands on the pommel of her knives, tapping long fingers against them in a low patter, "Happy to ask in our own special way if you're too incompetent to make it happen by nightfall." Yet again, she irked him as she made that innocuous word into a perceived mockery, "Neighbor."

Etgar offered a curt, silent nod before turning to rush back down the trail to the village beyond. Utterly unaware that their dealings with those threatening squatters would only worsen through the coming years.

~~~

It had been over ten years since the headman had last visited the old Holt place. Woodwork had long since returned to the poorly kept state of disrepair it had once held, as wild growth erupted all about the yard. Moving with more confidence than he had that day so long before, Etgar approached the door to rap his knuckles against the frame. It shook with each impact as the latch rattled. If he had been inclined he would have been able to simply lift that latch with a small stick pushed through the gap in that entryway.

There was no need as a younger image of his tormentor slowly creaked the door open enough just enough to look at him. Shoulders leaned forward in a slight hunch as one red eye bored into him without a single word offered in greeting. She merely peeked out around the entrance. Even after all that time the familiar shade sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

"Girl." He offered a clipped greeting, not bothering to name the young woman. "Vera has completed her training as a mender. Your presence is no longer needed."

"Ah. Then let me know when I may be of assistance." There was no emotion in her tone as she began to slowly close the door once again.

Pressing fingers against the worn plank, he held it from closing entirely, "No. We do not want your presence around the village. Take what you will, but be gone by today. Do not make us ask again if you're still here by nightfall."

It was a petty feeling of satisfaction that filled Etgar as those same words that had emasculated him were now his to speak. An empty victory given the years of shame that followed. And an utterly meaningless one to the girl he spoke them to, who had not even drawn breath at the time they were uttered.

"I see." The latch rattled once more as the door closed, though it did nothing to mute Mourn's words in response, "Then I shall go."

There was some small twinge of shame in how easy the task had been. Even if the girl had never shown the same temperament it would have made the moment far sweeter to the aging man. There was nothing else to say, so he simply began his walk back to the village. Happy to share the news that the Holt homestead was empty once again. Things would finally be how they once were.

Old wounds split open again as the village held a small celebration that evening to air their long harbored grievances. Unaware of the swiftly beating wings of invisible visitors absconding with several bottles of their spirits into the darkening Shroud.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 20: Gauntlet

Ellory crossed her arms, a serious expression forced onto her face as she loomed over the stoic miqo'te, "Its tradition."

The rest of the crew nodded in agreement. Masking the dour look across her own. It was less impressive in their case as they were more prone to such expressions than she was.

"I will not fail." The seeker prepared herself, tail lashing in anticipation of the challenge before her.

"My trial comes first. You down that ale." Ellory gestured toward the drink in question, before jabbing a thumb at herself, "Then you recite a lovely little ditty about me."

"Ours is next. You finish that drink." The twins, River and Crater, split their sentences between the two. A shame they did not split the next glass as a pair of them awaited the rookie. "Then you pull our axes out of that barrel."

The edge of the weapon bit dip, sure to be a challenge with how firmly wedged they were into place.

Oliver waved a hand dismissively, "Mine third. Drink, then… twelve, just recite an oath to Wilhere's crew. I don't care."

At least in his case it seemed the next drink was not alcoholic. But that was no guarantee it weren't some horrid mix he had concocted in Gridania. The last of their party offered the faintest hint of a smirk as her turn arrived.

"Drink." Arlette ran a finger around the rim of the glass she placed down for the final step, a glistening film following the motion. Ellory did not ask what she had added to the glass. She trusted the woman not to poison the young seeker.

She held up the coin Wilhere had given out to other crews gathered in the tavern that evening, a playful little game to welcome new mercenaries to the brotherhood. Reaching down into a writhing sack, she deposited it at the bottom, "Retrieve."

Removing her hand with no hint of just what might be lurking within the bag, the highlander woman gestured toward the next table, "Proceed."

Already the next company were looking on in anticipation of their own sport with the new blood. They were game for the challenge, snapping off a salute before snapping up that first drink to start throwing it down at speed! Ellory finally let the smile crack across her face as she leaned back to watch the fun. Remembering her own initiation years back.

"Just don't do this every night, kid! Don't wanna get a belly like Wilhere's from too much drink!"

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 19: Champion

Four sweat-stained travelers crested the final ascent, caked in mud and ash from dying censors that were cast aside long before. Even their slight weight was an unwelcome burden as they came nearer to their salvation. Trees thinned, giving rise to thicker bushes that thrived as the behemoths above spaced themselves far enough apart for nourishing sunlight to filter down between their leaves. Bathing the forest floor in shadows that elicited nerves twitches whenever one moved in the winds high above.

Some distance behind them, Mourn emerged from the woods at a much slower pace. The brief rest earlier that day had done little good. Each step was a struggle to drag her feet without tripping on some obstacle strewn across the earth. Had she been more rested the party ahead of her would have been numbered one more. Instead, another had been claimed by the Shroud.

It was merciful that the others did not know what had occurred. Best they believe it the work of unruly nature, rather than the reality that followed along in their wake. Cuts and gouges left a trail of blood behind them that the hyur tried to scatter. An impossible task as its scent and warmth lingered for those attuned to such things.

She was not alone in sensing that absence shadowing the group. Priorities changed swiftly among the great spirits. An oddity for things so long lived to possess such fleeting attention spans. Unless one thought along the same paths as they did. Greater regard given toward those which most threatened the natural order. Poachers and scavengers did not compete with the ashkin that had sniffed out their trail.

Mourn found the thought of destroying an unliving abomination far more palatable than wanton murder. And thus the spirits forgot the days long haranguing they had subjected her to.

"Suppose ya ain't a liar, witch!" The one they had dubbed captain spoke. They had not offered their name. She had not asked it.

Even the normal monotone she spoke in carried the strain of her exertions, "I am not."

They were more energetic than her, the lot of them scrambling up the steep slope to finally emerge from the treeline with exuberant shouts and sighs of relief. Some spoke of tales woven by grandsires that once braved the Shroud many years back, driven on by the dreams of their glorious empire. It was all unnecessary noise to Mourn as she found a mossy rock to slide down against. Soft plant-life serving as a wonderfully soft seat. Her stare did not miss the way those survivors lingered near where she rested, their leader most attentively of all.

Even as she spoke, there was nothing left to offer, "Do you require further assistance?"

"Funny ya should mention it…" There was no mirth in their words. It must be a different sort of funny than that which the moogles preferred. "Lotta stuff worth a pretty penny in that stretch o' wood. Yer deft at trailblazin'. Figure we can use ya on a few more trips."

"I shall not lead another to their end."

The brawny woman rolled her shoulders with a toothy smile on her face, "Use ya, lass. Not askin'."

If she had mentioned the form lumbering its way through the woods it may have avoided the whole affair. Or at least delayed it until after the deed was complete. Mourn had kept silent when they seemed more likely to flee, but now that they seemed poised to unwillingly subject themselves to further danger it was the moment to revise.

"Premature relief. Hunger comes on eager limbs. Will you greet it with necks bared?"

A tree shook as something great shouldered past it. A tremor through the earth as limbs trembled and leaves rained in a rustling shower. The colors would have been lovely if their fall were not a precursor to something dreadful.

"Somethin's after our arses?!" The woman stepped back. She ought to step back leagues instead.

"You are warm. Alive. It loves what you can offer. It hates that you alone possess it. As your companion once did." The witch shifted in her seat. Had she the stamina to do so she would have risen as well.

A dark cloud crossed the woman's face, the natural suspicions of one who had betrayed many for their own gain, "Did ya lead it to us? Some last little trick for stompin' through this godsdamned deathtrap?!"

That look of betrayal was met by Mourn's own red-eyed stare. A silent contemplation as she looked on wide-eyed while the thing grew ever closer. She could almost hear its rancid breath as it exhaled harshly enough to send a flurry of leaves before it. "I shall not spill blood. I shall not take lives. My path shall not lead to your demise. Ill choices will."

As the hermit blinked slowly, it proved exceedingly difficult to open her eyes once more. The promise of death did not encourage her eyes to open once more. Just the calls of duty to those lives, great and small, that such a creature would dare threaten.

The final thanks offered her by the captain was spit on the hem of her robe, before she turned to flee with her men. An arm flailing in the air frantically for their attentions, "To the hills, lads! The bitch stirred somethin' up behind us!"

A disrespectful falsehood. But so long as they acted in ways to protect their fragile lives then Mourn would not begrudge them the lies spoken to save them. Even those would be soon lost in the thundering sound of legs churning up the dirt they stormed across. A tang of rot preceded the creature that tore through the brush, even as it fought back with those same blades and hooks they had turned on the fleeing mortals. It did little good as rusted metal covered its back and skin tanned to toughened leather filled the gaps that amalgamation of armors left.

Nothing but a grotesque mockery of a centipede, as its long, fat body reared up on a dozen back legs and raised its gnashing claws to the sky. With all the years of wear upon them it was impossible to tell if they were a farmer's tools, or weapons of war long since left to weather by long dead owners. A maw lined with rusted daggers or trowels for fangs clanged against each other as it chewed nothing in anticipation of its meal to come. Of its eyes there was nothing save an unbroken stretch of hardened skin, and a broad flaring nose.

The way it snuffled and snorted reminded Mourn of the porcine visitors that would ravage vegetable patches and nesting grounds. Though this was a bit larger than the boars she tended to come across. It was an absent thought, even as another crossed her mind. Worn to the bone and seated so comfortably at the very edge of the woods, her strength waned thin. This was not an encounter she could win with only rock and flora at her command.

"I can feel you turn beneath me. Lull me to peaceful rest until my time to live comes once more." Death was no great thing to fear as it loomed near. Focus turned toward the easy prey rather than more energetic morsels making their way towards the horizon.

"Those jerks are gone, kupo!"

"Tailturners, all of them!"

"No style. No guts. Good riddance!"

"Enough chatter! There's work to do and maidens to save, kupo! For the procurer of fermented fruits!"

Was it those heady herbs dulling Mourn's senses that masked the quartet of white lightning bolts now falling towards the ashkin? Or had they even evaded her attention on the voyage through the Wood? She did not question it as they struck with coordinated blows against the monstrosity before them.

Some considered moogles cowards. They were mostly correct. But as the bulky creatures whizzed about on furiously beating wings there was no mistaking their valor. Spears of tree branches tipped with dripping thorns pierced the shrieking creature as they whirled like daredevils through the open air beyond its reach. Precise dives blazed toward openings left by their comrades as they tormented their blind foe with an onslaught of minor wounds and debilitating toxins.

"Fine flying, boys! Now give them some nuts, kupo!"

The largest was undoubtedly their leader, commanding their attentions when he spoke. If it were not clear by sheer size alone(the greatest mark of strength among their clan), the sight of their shining silver knight's helm would have proven it. Their pom shone with magic as they lead their smaller troupe forward to hurl small sacks of kupo nuts into its screeching maw. The precious nuts tumbling through the air for that brief moment before they vanished into the creatures gaping jaws.

A touch of life within a carcass long since devoid of it.

"Ah." The hermit stirred, reaching out toward that sensation even as those heroic four continued to harry the great abomination. "A treasured sacrifice in fertile soil."

"Make sure you pay us back triple for this!"

"Twice triple!"

"Just give me a bottle of Mun Tuy and we're square, kupo. Double fermented."

"Just an equal measure is fair to me!"

Mourn obliged, reaching towards that absence to coax life. The fertile soil was only too happy to offer up its aether to fill that emptiness above it. Eager for the sensation of strong roots to stretch deep and grow strong. Flame offered up the warmth and light of distant stars to nourish those small seeds with strength and courage to emerge from their rigid shells. Water granted its life-sustaining vigor to feed the rapid growth from seed to sapling.

The creature lashed about in a fury, but there was little it could do as exploding root and limb stretched its tough skin to its limits. A ghastly sight of those rapidly growing nuts splitting and separating its staunch external defenses until metal popped free with an audible ping and its movements began to slow. Deepening, strengthening, embedding themselves into the earth even if it had to rip through weathered flesh to find it.

That lifeless insult to the great spirits twitched and scrabbled in an effort to free itself from its assailants until finally it grew still as its insides proved far more susceptible to attack than its exterior. A small grove of kupo trees sprouting happily as they tore free from its weathered hide to expose unfurling leaves to the sunlight and fattening kupo nuts from their boughs.

"My thanks." Mourn offered quietly to the cheering warriors, before finally slipping off into a long overdue nap.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 18: Turn

The unruly band tested their luck at every opportunity - whether out of some profound lack of self-preservation, or a woefully misinformed conception of what stood against them, it did not stop them from testing Mourn to her limits in the thankless task of keeping the lot of them alive. They seemed as bent on their own destruction as the spirits were. It would have made matters far simpler if they could have bonded over that shared interest with a mug or two like old companions.

That unearned arrogance continued through the afternoon as the hermit lost herself in a blur of activity bent toward their survival. Yet through each new burden upon her back, she did not give in to the growing demands of the Wood. A modicum of respect would have served them well.

But their own actions saw their number dwindle by one.

A lean, bearded man scoffed at the roundabout path she had laid out. Circumventing a small pool of brackish water would only add more time to an already grueling traverse through the hostile wilds. Trusting in his own reckless decision to wade across, he ignored the warnings following his trail.

"Return to the fog. Their eyes are clear. Your passage marked. No smoke shall obscure their waters."

With a half-twist, the rude fellow raised a middle finger toward Mourn even as a pair of his companions began to follow him into the water. They were lucky to have only taken a step. He was doomed for forging further ahead.

The stillness shattered with a scream of pain as something large and hairy erupted from the waters. It snatched the man up into the air several fulms, before slamming them back down with a tremendous spray that ended their last cry. Even submerged, a battle raged as the surface frothed with unleashed violence. The foam took on a reddish hue, but failed to leave any lasting impact upon the scene as the bubbles swiftly ceased with nothing to show a man once lived save for the horrified expressions on their companions' faces.

"A taste of that which you have made your enemy."

Mixed expressions of loathing and terror met the witch, who offered little expression back. She was already tired. The loss of a chosen ward only added to that weight. It was not her will or actions that took his life, but she had still failed him. She continued along, indifferent to the presence of their censors. It was far less likely to bring about her end if she ventured beyond the incense.

Footsteps came more carefully in the wake of such horror. A battle would have sat better with them. The illusion of potential victory was more palatable than the sudden, fatal event that had torn their confidence to tatters. Murmured whispers of returning to the campsite passed back and forth even as Mourn recognized the futility of such thoughts.

"Quiet steps serve better than spoken fantasies."

Her oddness repelled people. But they lent more credence to her words when the repercussions of ignoring them were made so plain.