Surrunilutat Kekone nem Au’onatekone (mimzomworld x Old Spruce Inn)
The Blood Drinking Path with Spruce
Contains: revenge trip, euphemisms for death (mimic cultural thing), Nightcaller not understanding sexism, eating a human’s brain (mimzoms are mimic zombies for a reason), and my conlang. (translations at the bottom)
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Getting in the way of an angry wanuxalu is a horrible idea, Nightcaller knows, but that isn’t thons plan. They’ve been slightly strange, at dinner, and they smell like a forgecraft-hunter who needs to test their newest blade.
Spruce is a wanuxalu lured out to face a threat. You never want the grand den-parent lured out, not one who is clearly an ikilawo ekan onatinaka.
Thons hunting bag is ready. The blood wasn’t really a hunt, but thon is still wearing the leather-iron hunting clothes. Only some—just the chest piece, arm guards, and cloak—but enough.
Different boots, clack-step boots, for inside, but they’re similar enough.
Their hunt-pup, Atlas, isn’t there.
Atlas isn’t there, but thon can see the traces of him on them. Can see they were the one to teach him.
“Mo surrunilutat kekone, wanuxalu Au’onatekone?” Thon asks. Remembers they’re prey. “On a blood path, wanuxalu Spruce?”
“A blood path,” they say quietly. “A path of revenge for another, yes. You met Oscar. I know who did it. And tomorrow comes his judgement.”
“Iromunewa nem wanuxalu Au’onatekone,” thon says. “Justice through… leader? Shepherd? Spruce.
“Seems a shame to waste a soul.” They won’t eat him. Prey buries souls, fights to live, and the people here are more prey than predator. Fight to live, and do not eat their ksaxa.
Of course, wanuxalu’etsu can leave their ksaxa to rot.
On the approach, thon cackles in the voice of the all-hunter. An inhuman laugh, made intimidating by the layered voices of those whose time is empty.
Spruce can take the hits. Spruce can fight. Nightcaller can put the fear of a predator into their souls, can scream like the wounded and echo the cackling screech-laughs of thons fallen kin.
Sure, thon has a spear and a dart gun.
Sure, thon has armour.
But thon is a lorekeeper. A storyteller.
A storyteller who has no problem staying back until Spruce has handled the preacher.
A storyteller who knows better than to argue with a worried wanuxalu to tell them thon could parayze him easily.
A storyteller who cackles in the all-hunter’s layered voice from behind thons veil.
“Return,” thon says, in the all-hunter’s layered voice. “They return, for you, and now you must listen. They return, for you, and we must watch you fall.”
The door, kicked open, reveals a bound and burning pup. Thon forgets Spruce’s instructions, and growls a proper rrukaraya, baring thons teeth. Uses thons claws to pick the locks and pry away the burning metal, and scoops em into thons cloak.
The moment eir teeth are free, ey bite thon.
“Xosaxalu, ki’ikik sirr. Ane rrauaksir ue, rrauaksir ue, aksir ue, ki’ikik surrunilutat. Xosaxalu,” thon murmurs, walking towards the fallen door to keep em out of the way. Lets em hide emself in thons heavy cloak. “Ue krrakat iko’en yene. Io’a. Io’a kekomi, ki’ikik sirr. Krrakateyen sirr.”
Projecting thons voice to echo on the walls, thon says, “Return. Fall, and forget your life. Forget your cruelty, forget your wounds, forget your hate, forget your guidance, forget all that you were, and be something else.”
It is a call for change. A call for justice. A call for the end.
In its original language—axanu lelata—it is all three, depending only on context.
There is no mistaking context here.
Spruce drags the preacher out into the square.
“I told you I would be back,” they say.
Thon echoes, from the shade. Krrakateyen insists on shade. “They return, for you, and now you must listen. They return, for you, and we must watch you fall.
“Fall, and forget your life. Forget your cruelty, forget your wounds, forget your hate, forget your guidance, forget all that you were, and be something else.”
His last words mark a failure. Speak too directly of the all-hunter. Thon echoes them anyway— “Kill you, kill you, kill you, kill you, kill you, kill you, kill you, kill you, kill….”
“Dead?”
“Very, pup.”
“Na’akoma onune, alu sirr, na’akoma onune,” thon murmurs. His unbreathing soul should rest, so it may forget its cruelty.
“Your preacher is gone. I am dissapointed in him,” thon says, in his voice. Something close to his voice. A light, kind thing related to his voice, that projects like an echoing pack-call.
“He was unworthy of you.”
Looking into the forming crowd, thon tears off thons veil and speaks— “Your predators, the blood-drinking people, don’t even have to consume your entire souls. They are not required to, as I am. If they threaten your lives, then yes, end them swiftly and feed them to the earth. But let them end. Let them end, as painlessly as they can end, in hopes you’ll be given the same mercy.”
Thon breathes. Many of them, so many of them, are fully grown. Fully grown without yet knowing their relationship with the world itself.
“I will return, one day. We will. And I will show you the mercy you show your predators, understood?”
Arguments. Immediately. Thon cuts them down with solutions, and glares at the one who asks, “How else would we teach our children to defend themselves from monsters?”
“Do you not know how to teach? Do you not know how to teach? You have blades and knowledge and hands to make models with. You have blades and knowledge and bodies near-identical to those of your predators.
“If you cannot teach your pups to defend themselves, then you are worse than incompetent, and you find another teacher.”
Thon appoints a new leader. More arguments. “Fine. If you will not listen to one woman, then the council shall be all of them.” Thon laughs, more closely imitating the human sound. “If they are meant to serve you, then they must lead. How else would they be able to give you what you need?”
Rumbling another growl, thon says, “You could have allied with your monsters. Given them blood in exchange for protection, used your cursed metal on yourselves to protect against unwanted bites.”
Like the not-wolves humans keep to guard their livestock.
How did these pups not think of that?
Nightcaller returns home with a vampire pup, plenty of food, and a bag with the preacher’s head in it.
“Come, pup. We must gather blankets to make a nest. For a… ‘sleepover,’ I think Bugchaser calls them.”
So they do.
“Mo xalu, ki’ikik Ksatinaksir?” Oscar looks up at thon. “Still alive, they who keep picking at wounds?”
They say something about being ‘un-dead.’ Ksaksaxalu, which is worse than nonsense, but at least they’re better. Onunaksirr, maybe.
It takes about three trips to make a proper nest.
Nightcaller sits beside it, scooping the soft, creamy brains from the preacher’s skull. “Same way I’m going to kill you!” thon echoes once, twice, thrice, quadrice, quintice. Quieter, fading, but in the same tone as the preacher. His last words.
Thon cackles. “Did you? Did you succeed, Bradshaw? Is Spruce alive?”
Oscar stares at thon.
“Why?”
“Spruce wasn’t going to eat him. And I like the taste.”
“Revenge,” Krrakateyen says simply. Thon chirps, patting em on the head.
“Oh. Oscar, this is my new pup: Krrakateyen. Krrakateyen, Oscar and Katy—Katy who is not here—are both vampires like you.
“I found it in the ‘church’ and it bit me. It’s adorable. Its name means thinking-bite, and it likes the shade. Apparently vampires can’t go in the sun. Katy must have thought it obvious—I never see her in the sun, and thought it was for normal reasons.”
Curling up in the nest, thon yawns.
“M’normal,” ey mumble, tucking emself into thons arms.
If thon wakes up with both Bugchaser and Krrakateyen draped over thons body, well. Oscar’s confused stare makes it more than adorable. Ey’re freezing, she’s warm, and thon is apparently a furnace. It’s the natural order of things, really.
Axanu Lelata Translations:
basic pronunciation: /x/ = h as in have, double r = rolled r, letters always make the same sounds. Good luck because I’m not doing the approx. pronunciation for whole phrases, and I’m not breaking down repeat words in phrases. (a’alu = alu because Nightcaller’s dialect is. different.)
Ikilawo ekan onatinaka: hunter that fixes, hunter who brings new beginnings [ikilawo (hunter)] [ekan (for, do)] [onat (beginning) + tinaka (mend, repair)]
Mo surrunilutat kekone, wanuxalu Au’onatekone: on a blood-drinking path, matriarch/pack-leader Spruce? [mo (question)] [surrune (drink) + ilutat (blood)] [wanuxalu (leader, matriarch)] [au (stong) + onat (beginning) + kekone (path)]
Iromunewa nem wanuxalu Au’onatekone: justice from/of pack-leader Spruce
Ksaxa (k-sah-ha): unbreathing, euphemism for dead [ksa (no, negation) + xa (breathe)]
Rrukaraya (rue-kah-rah-yah): growl, fury
Xosaxalu, ki’ikik sirr. Ane rrauaksir ue, rrauaksir ue, aksir ue, ki’ikik surrunilutat. Xosaxalu: calm, pup of mine. I’ll guard you, protect you, keep you, blood-drinking pup. Calm. [xosax (lungs, breathe) + a’alu (soul)] [ki’ikik (pup)] [sirr (my, mine, to claim)] [ane (I, me)] [rrauaksir (guard, protect)] [ue (you)] [aksir (have, keep)] [surrune (drink) + ilutat (blood)]
Ue krrakat iko’en yene. Io’a. Io’a kekomi, ki’ikik sirr. Krrakateyen sirr: you think before biting. Yes. That’s good here/now, pup of mine. My Thinking-bite. [krrakat (bite, crunch)] [iken (far, distant) + o’one (close, now)] [yene (think, know)] [io’a (yes)] [kekone (path) + koma (here, now) + i’i (one)] [krrakata (bite) + yene (think)]
Axanu lelata (ah-ha-new leh-la-tah): the mimic language [axanu (people)] [lelata (speak)]
Na’akoma onune, alu sirr, na’akoma onune: return to the earth, soul of mine, return to the earth [na’at (again, repeat) + koma (here, now)] [onune (down, ground)] [a’alu (soul)]
Mo xalu, ki’ikik Ksatinaksir: still alive, pup Openscar? Lit. Question: breathe-soul, pup who refuses to mend? [xa (breathe) + a’alu (soul)] [ksa (no, not) + tinaka (mend) + aksir (keep)]
Ksaksaxalu (k-sah-k-sah-ha-loo): undead, not-unbreathing [ksa (not, negation) + ksa (not, negation) + xa (breathe)]
Onunaksirr (oh-noon-ack-seer): Deathclaimed, lit. Earth-keep [onune (down, earth) + aksir (keep)]
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Old Spruce Inn Masterpost | Nightcaller Masterpost