#ansel mill

[the-divine-realms]

Heh.

[the-divine-realms]

Witness Name: Ansel Mill

Age, Identity: 26, Human Male

Occupation: Shepherd

Nation of Encounter: Cascaudia

Reporting Spectre: Safkir Fjorn, 2nd Class

[Field note; “This is the witness report of a young man that had been on a midnight watch after losing several sheep to "wolves". No known geopolitical affiliation. Report taken by Black Knight faithfuls after the issue was handled.”]

You know, the damned mutts never get a taste for livestock until it so bitterly winter that you'd almost rather let them have a sheep or two just to avoid dealing with your fingers and toes going blue. I put it off long as I could, honestly. Who in their right mind wants to go wait for a bunch of wolves to show up? Eh? No one, that's who.

But, times as they always are, I can't just let the herd be picked apart like that or I'll end up just as hungry as them wolves.

It was clear that night, like really clear. Were it not for all that cold I wouldn't have had much need for the campfire but I suppose we can't win em all, right?

I would guess it was around midnight and I had definitely not dozed off after a few too many swigs of rogwin when I heard chaos among the flock. No growls though just this weird... Crackling. Like that zapping when two wool throws rub together but everywhere. I snuffed the fire quick as I could and snatched up my crook. Was I scared? No, I was terrified - Some issues won't just go away though.

I have a love-hate with the rolling hills around here, honestly. Sound carries pretty good, but things can hide a bit too easy. Grass too tall, dips too deep. Typically- I don't like legging through the fields due to the snakes... I really wish it had been snakes, honestly.

Might have taken me five minutes to scramble around the dark in search of the chaos but when I did see it kind of locked my joints up. I wasn't exactly in the comfiest spot but I couldn't get my body to move. First thing that came to mind was black bloods but these... Whatever was happening here was wrong.

The sheep they had was suspended, like how we string up game after a hunt? But there were no ropes, there wasn't even a stand to support ropes. It was just... Trapped there.

There was three of them. Dark robes, because of course they were but... You know, not like the fireside stories. They were chanting but not like how we talk. It felt like the words were grit against my mind.

And then the sound... Changed.

Well, new sounds came about I guess. The sheep it... Began breaking apart? Alive. Horribly alive- as whatever chant they were doing rearranged its body. The sound of its bones being rearranged... I can't.

[Field Note; "Witness needed a several hour break between initial recall of the sheep's transformation process and resuming his debriefing. During this time, Spectres lent themselves to the pasture as extra labor and security."]

So, anyways, I watched and listened with the same abject horror that would grip any of us as a farm animal was anatomically rearranged while somehow not allowing it to die. Whatever magics they were employing were stretching muscle, reshaping bone, and just making profoundly efficient use of the still screaming body.

But the more I watched, the more I comprehended. And the more I comprehended the more I could actually see.

The only way I can really explain it is like ... An oil slick in the air, but made of geometry that didn't seem correct. Honestly, I didn't do so great in school with maths so I guess it could have just been geometry but I don't know. It was an unsettling shape to witness and not just because of the horrifying rearranging of one of my sheep's bodies.

It maybe took three minutes for them to reshape that poor critter into this... Humanoid thing - which somehow was not as weird as the fact that they proceeded to kneel around this strange new being - and I need to stress how strange it was.

It moved like it wasn't sure about how to use a body. Its "voice" gurgled forth in the same uncomfortable grit as the ritual language. Every piece of this thing felt pulled from nightmare yet still somehow entirely incorrect.

I'm not sure if you've ever been so afraid that you forget how to breathe. Nor do I hope you ever have the additional fear of realizing you just gasped because you forgot to breathe for so long. It wasn't really the thing folding its summoners out of existence like Uncle Cal making a coin disappear that stopped my heart, either. Shockingly. Because that was actually horrifyingly impressive.

It was a pair of sheep's eyes looking into mine from afar and trying to be human. It was those first steps it took towards me, where those newly arranged joints it'd never used before popped and cracked with new motion. It was me alone among a winter fog. A crook against a nightmare.

I guess I should have figured something was a little off when I couldn't hear the fellas that summoned it scream. When it got foggy and I couldn't smell the dirt or feel it in my bad knee- but in my defense I was currently staring into the eyes of an approaching affront to nature. Eyes that I raised, at that.

I had other things on my plate, I guess is what I'm getting at, so forgive me for not making an incredibly long point about the fog rolling in. It happened and I'm allowed to miss a detail- Why am I explaining myself in a witness report?

Anyways. Horrifying creature silently approaching me through the newly arrived fog. Shepherd and his crook. Sheep eyes.

I couldn't make myself run away. Trust me, I wanted nothing more in the entire world than to simply not be dealing with this- yet here I stood. Frozen in my own pasture. In my own mind and body. This wrong was going to close the gap and I had apparently dismissed the concept of flight.

It did, by the way, close the gap. Step by weird, gross step. The strange geometry of its sheep skin body shifting in super uncomfortable ways as it got closer and closer-  and then it grabbed me.

By the head. Definitely messed up my hair, very rude behavior. More to the point, though, when it grabbed me by the head I could feel how badly it wanted to fold me away like it did those weirdos that created it. In my mind. In my skin. Like how you can feel the way gravel sounds under your boots. This unfortunate thing wanted to erase me.

And- listen- I don't know if you've ever faced the potential of having your entire existence erased from reality but it's not as crystal clear a moment as you might hope. I wasn't sitting there hoping it wasn't going to hurt or mourning that bottle in my satchel I'd never be able to pop open- no, no.

I found myself, in those slowed down moments approaching what I was sure was going to be my death, worried about how Cal was going to keep tending to the sheep without me. About who was going to thump the tax collector upside his thick skull when he uses imaginary maths on our dues. I had bigger fish than whatever this creature had in mind, is what I'm getting at.

So, I don't know if you've noticed yet, but I tend to say more than I think so as all of this was going through my head I looked him in those uncomfortably sheep eyes and said-

"I really, really can't deal with whatever you got going on right now--"

[Field note; “This witness quote can unfortunately be corroborated.”]

To say it didn't seem to know how to react would be an understatement. I don't know exactly what confusion in a sheep's eyes would look like if it was trying to pretend to be human, but I assume that it would be something along the lines of what I saw as it processed my statement.

But it didn't let go- and as I tightened my grip on the old crook to ground myself I just knew I was looking into the eyes of a being that did not understand the struggles of a taxpayer.

So I whacked it across the "wrist" with my crook, because I can excuse livestock theft but draw the line firmly at tax evasion. Honestly, if I have to help pay for the Kingsway upkeep then so does every unholy abomination that weirdos bring into the world.

It was very clearly not even close to enough to hurt this thing, but did confuse it enough for it to let go, which thankfully seemed to unfreeze my legs. This was a very unsettling time to realize the creature smelled like barbeque, by the way.

This is where things get a little fuzzy in terms of what actually happened versus what this ominous construct of my livestock forced into my psyche- which I cannot imagine is not at least a bit bruised by now.

I know that I was running for a very long time considering the constraints of my pasture, and I also know that the creature was not particularly concerned with catching up as it seemed to just be there whenever I turned around. Like when you think you've finally shaken off that one gossip at the market but- jump scare! Did you hear about Agnes' affair with the Vodicaan lumberjack? Juicy stuff...

Sorry, I was trying not to think about the grotesque monstrosity that brought us here. Did you know that it apparently can pull concepts out of those it manages to fold out of existence? Because I sure didn't until it tried to speak. Big, big emphasis on try.

If I had to place an educated guess as to why it struggled so hard with its attempt at speech- it would be that it got the idea of talking from one of the cultists but not muscle memory. Which sound crazy, but hear me out- okay?

A blacksmith could tell me the process of making a pitchfork in as much detail as one could possibly give- but because I've never worked with metal, or even heat like that, I'll have about as much chance at crafting a proper tool as I have burning off my hand in a horrible forging accident.

Apply the same logic to the creature as it gurgle-bleated nonsense in my direction and... Well, that's one less unknowable thing about whatever this... This was.

If you're struggling wrap your head around all this, imagine how I felt standing there- Unable to run away, clearly not strong enough to physically fight this thing, and now apparently unable to communicate with it.

I wasn't the only one frustrated with the breakdown of communication, though. I'm pretty sure, at least, that the thing was frustrated with its inability to form words. Like it had something very important to say or ask, but literally couldn't find the words. Probably would have been fascinating to someone who could really pick apart it's behavior but I was a teensy tiny bit more concerned with what I was going to do if this perceived frustration got out of hand.

I didn't particularly care what this paradox in sheep flesh had to discuss. I know, what if it had some super cool secrets? Okay, but what if it had figured out how to fold me out of existence like those three idiots that summoned it? Exactly, no thank you. So, what to do?

Obviously, I played pretend like I knew how to kill it and I charged- Crook beared like a beating stick.

The fog was already twisting when I began closing the gap of my own, misplaced gallantry. Which, frankly, took even longer than it seemed to take running the other way. I am not a fan of reality dilating abilities at all, which is not a sentence I expected to need in my life but here we are. But anyways, fog--

I already knew I wasn't alone in the encounter, I could see it in how the fog was changing around the creature and I. So I charged. Charged as hard as a shepherd's legs can. And I cracked that thing atop the head hard as I've ever swung a stick. A beautiful success, were it not for that little... Detail about things being fuzzy...

As it turns out, I guess, I broke out of the creatures illusionary trap by opting to run towards it? Which would not have been as much of an issue had the Black Knight of Cascaudia not been standing by silently... Specifically behind reality me, thus becoming in front of... Yeah... I whacked the Black Knight upside the skull…

In my defense, he is the Black Knight. Even under the circumstances, I don't think there's any way to make my hitting him my fault. Thankfully, and also with many heart felt apologies, he agreed - though in retrospect probably to shut me up--

[Field Note; "Witness was reminded that his was a debriefing not an emotional analysis of command's behavior. After several minutes arguing about setting the stage and giving the experience its due weight, Spectres relented to allow Ansel Mill to continue his overall recalling of the encounter."]

Anyways, there wasn't a whole lot of time for picking apart cause and effect or who just nearly concussed who as the Knight promptly moved me from in front of him to behind his being with an impressively strong grasp on my coat before drawing his blade and standing before the creature.

You know what's funny? Not funny like 'haha, what a great pun, Ansel' funny, but like 'odd way the brain works' funny. I know the Knight said something to that thing. I know it gurgle-bleated something in an attempt at a response. For the life of me, though, I cannot remember it.

Whether I was focused on the fact that he was actually here or, y'know, the whole livestock anatomy being rearranged thing- I just did not take in any of the information. Probably for the best, as I don't really want to deal with knowing what he's up to.

At that moment, at any rate, he was the shield between me and that creature. That creature that seemed to grow more frustrated with each passing moment- that seemed to be trying to conceptualize how to combat what was before it. I was watching in real time as this inherent wrong in my pastures shifted from confronting its 'prey' to confronting an 'enemy'.

There was a very long stillness, by that point. Long enough I caught myself wondering if my tremendous blow had weakened my savior's mind to the sheep-creature's influence. Thankfully, I was mistaken and the Knight acted.

It was really fast, honestly, and from the dirt and even the unnatural fog around us. Several phantom limbs emerged to keep the monster rooted. Not quite see through but definitely not just random, animate limbs that someone misplaced.

Suffice to say it did not care for that concept as it began loosing the most tooth rattling and heart sinking screeches into the night sky. If its "voice" was grit on my mind, its screams were gravel. Disorienting. Unsettling. Everywhere around us but from nowhere in particular. I'm not sure what the Knight felt, but I thought my head was going to collapse in on itself.

I wish I could tell you how the Knight did it. I wish I could choose not to tell you and just enjoy the cool moment myself - But I just ...

There was so much red light, right? And the pressure in my head from that thing screaming... I don't know. I just can't... Tell you?

I know from context clues that the creature's dead. I know from paperwork that the sheep I lost are going to be paid for. I know from that typical pain in my middle knuckle when I grip my crook too tight that I'm not dead- but...

I don't know what the Black Knight did to destroy that monster. I don't know why it's been almost a day since this happened and I can still feel the thing's scream in my teeth. I don't even know if I really believe a sheep can do all that, to be blunt.

Now before I let you go, I've been asked by these very polite (albeit spooky) agents of the Black Knight to ruminate on how I managed to resist this thing and it's apparent disregard for the laws of nature.

[Field Note (pinned to report after the fact); "We absolutely did not ask for this shepherd to offer theories, but the witness was insistent that they leave the insight for future investigators."]

The short answer? I don't know, man.

I was just trying to make sure I didn't starve til spring. I still had to be ready near dawn to handle feeding chickens, I still had to worry about that door between rooms at home- The one that creaks really weird if you don't support the weight of the door as you swing it.

The longer I sit and think on this whole thing, the weirder the creature and twisted magics around it feel. Everything about the night was just wrong, and I didn't like it. Still don't like it and I would better a full rogwin skin I will not, in fact, like it in the future.

So anyways, now I have to go and try not to focus on the potential unraveling of reality around my farm and this administrative nerd is watching me like ink is the next luxury behind gold so- Watch out for weird folks turning your sheep into horrifying flesh monsters, I guess.

(Long form posts and stories are being catalogued on Wattpad, of all places, and can be freely browsed at the attached link.)

A collection of witness statements and field reports from reality-defying encounters Ansel Mill faces in the Divine Realms. [Field Note (Aut