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The first sermon?

Signless, restless and disturbed, tossed and turned in his small and empty recuperacoon, something not unusual for the preacher. Sadly, he was known to have many sleepless nights leading up to a sermon or while traveling to different areas, but this was not the case tonight. He had been out all day for a sermon, a large one at that. More trolls showed up than ever before, leading him to gain passion and determination the more faces he saw. He saw new faces, old faces, and trolls of all ages, the youngest seeming to be a four sweep old child and the oldest was nearly 11 sweeps. He was energetic the entire time this sermon went by, answering questions and promising things achievable if the rebellion won peacefully. Nights so grand as this would typically help the male sleep peacefully, without a second thought or a hint of a nightmare. However, not this time. No, something filled his thinkpan as he laid in the soft material, something he would rather forget. His first sermon, if you could have called it that at all. But, if the mutant hated that day so, why was he stuck on it so many sweeps later? Why even bring it up? Why not leave it in the dark memories he would often push back to keep his strong and confident composure? Simple: he was asked about it.

Signless often made a point to stay after sermons to try and speak with as many trolls as he could, of any age, blood, or state of mind. A troll could request to speak just to spurt hatred and poorly composed insults at him, and the male would still hold strong and say he cared for them and wished them well. In those cases, his sarcastic tone isn’t the most appropriate, however, that was when it was most evident. Many knew the candy red troll could be quite the sassy fella when need be, but tame otherwise beyond a few jokes here and there. From what a select few followers had told him, that was a charming quality about him. That he never truly fought back, but killed with kindness and sarcasm. This time, however, he did not have to face negativity from another troll. Rather, the last one to come to him was a small rust blood, no older than 3 sweeps old surely, with her small mouse-like lusus on her shoulder. She was scared of him, yet sure that she would not be harmed as she asked if even she could be loved like he speaks. He remembers that question lead the male to kneel down and comfort her, but her next question was what brought the preacher to now be restless. “What was your first sermon like?” If it hadn’t been for the sun threatening them all, he would have answered there. However, it was beginning to rise and lead the mutant blood to promise to visit her the next day to tell the story. Who was he to deny his past?

Sadly, sarcasm didn’t always get the man out of trouble. Far from it honestly. The thought of his first sermon brought light to that all too well. As did many others, however the first was the one that scared him the most. The day he was carried home by a stranger because he was barely conscious and bloodied beyond what a four sweep old should ever know. It was enough for his dear mother to become murderous and prepared to hunt down who hurt her young boy, while disappointed as he didn’t obey her. The memories burned into his thinkpan were enough of a punishment in her mind, of course, as she couldn’t yell at her boy in this state. With that in his mind, Signless began to think of the best way to explain it to the young gal that had asked about it just a little while earlier. Quickly grabbing some paper and a nearly empty pen, he was quick to write down this story;

“It was a beautiful day, I had spent it with my two closest friends and my mother in the wooded area behind our cave, practicing a sermon with dummies my mother had made out of rocks and hay once the dreams began. By now, I had been begging her to go out and get the chance to begin sharing with strangers in the small village, but to my constant confidence, she repeatedly told me no. It was ‘far too dangerous for a 4 sweep old that barely stood hip high’ according to my dear mother. She warned me that the world was cruel to those as low as I am considered, but I didn’t want to believe her. Sure, I had been threatened before, had rocks thrown at me, and shoved down so hard my lip busted open, but I wanted to trust that what I had to say was important enough that someone would listen and keep me safe. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Disciple agreed to keep my mother distracted as Psiioniic and I snuck away, helping her reorganize her fabrics and other supplies, as well as clean up after the storm had blown quite the large amount of leaves and twigs into the opening of our cave. I knew I could trust her to cover for us as it wasn’t uncommon for Psii and I to go wandering off to the nearby beach on the other side of the woods. As long as we were together, she wouldn’t even go searching for us out there. That being said, we took the first chance we could to slip away towards the village only two miles from our home, the one we saw Psiioniic in the first time. Once there, we realized just how busy it was. Grown trolls all walking with their heads high, anywhere from rust blood to teal, it was to be expected as the village’s market was known to be busy by noon. It was when all were awake or had a decent break from their designated jobs, long enough to get some shopping done for the next few days. It frightened my friend more than it did me, as he was sure to stay very close and watch every grown man and woman to pass us until we found an area with a fountain and a few benches that I could stand on. I picked a more central bench and stood on the very top with my head held high. It still barely made me the height of many adults around me. None looked over until I began to speak.

The moment I started to mention high-bloods taking care of those viewed as lower, and that word I called love, many stopped in their tracks. Only one stayed at first, listening to me. An older mustard-blood man, who when I would speak, would clearly focus on my words. He even offered me the kindest smile. It didn’t take long for me to gain the attention of someone else however. Someone much angrier and much colder than the kind old troll. This was an olive-blood woman. She shot such horrid gazes at me as I tried so hard to keep calm, but my voice gradually began to shake. I knew the look in her eyes. I knew that I would be in trouble if I continued, but the kinder troll moved to distract me from her, encouraging me to continue with what I was trying to share. He even yelled over the woman, screaming profanities and horrid things about my blood, keeping it so I couldn’t understand it all. But, this brought more attention to me, not in a good way. More trolls joined in to scream about how they wanted to see my mutant blood spread among the rock and coloring the water within the fountain. One even saying they wanted to see my face change color as I drowned under their force. That made Psiioniic stand with me, threatening to hurt them with his powers if they weren’t careful..

That’s when the first attack happened, that’s when the first woman went up and shoved him off of the bench. I heard my friend cry out, and my entire body froze and everything went numb. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of him to shield him from the next smack, landing right on my left cheek with a painful sound that echoed. I wanted to cry, but I had to stay strong. Instead, I told her how she clearly never knew love, that someone so unkind as her was that way because she was alone. It didn’t go over well. That’s when another troll punched me in the gut, leading me to hunch over, and before I knew what happened, the olive-blood kicked me in the nose and knocked me back on top of Psiioniic. I just kept trying to preach, but by then I was crying so hard. My mother was right, and there I was, so young and so sure that was the day I would die. The sight of gushing blood from my nose seemed to flip something in the two attackers minds as they pulled hair out of my head, scratched my limbs and tore my clothes by any mean, saying a mutant didn’t deserve such luxuries. That I didn’t deserve life. By the time they were done with me, my dear friend that never moved far looked as though he rolled in mutant blood mixed with some of his own. I couldn’t stand, speak, not even see from my left eye as the sky above me swirled like a hypnosyst’s tool to take over my thinkpan. On my mind wasn’t Psii, wasn’t if my words reached anyone. Every thought was about my mother, will I see again or will she find me dead?

In a painful squeak, I called for help. Psiioniic yelled for it, but everyone ignored us. The kind mustard-blood from before had been beaten as well. Not near as bad, but his nose was quite clearly broken now and his lip busted. I passed out after seeing Psii run off to speak with him, and the next thing I knew, I was home in my hallowed out recuperacoon. My mother above me, tears streaming down her cheeks as she was clearly bandaging my legs and looking over every bruise, mark, and cut. I could hear Disciple crying as Psii told her what happened, the last including that the kind old mustard-blood died from blood loss, being attacked again once he picked me up. He used his last bit of life to bring me home. His last words were to my mother that he believed that I could change the world, and that for him I did in his last hours. That saving me was the best thing he did, and after death he would continue to serve my cause.”

That was where Signless had to end his writing, the ink had run out and his eyes were too clouded with tears as he thought of the kindness shown to him by one man. If it weren’t for that act, he’d be dead. It didn’t take long for Psiioniic to come in, as Signless wasn’t the quietest crier, hugging him and reminding him that it was necessary. That it was why the sermons continued back then. For that mustard-blood, he was who brought them all that starting hope. The preacher agreed as he slowly calmed down, falling to sleep as his friend too returned to his own bed for the night.

Both woke early the next day to make the trip to see the young girl and her mouse mom, but upon arriving, they saw a destroyed hive. It was small and fairly kept when it came to the area around it, but broken into. The door kicked in and windows shattered, proving whatever had happened was intentional. As Signless walked in silently, he was afraid for the worst outcome possible, but a small cry could be heard from one of the blocks. The young girl was left curled up in her toy pile, the blood of, what he assumed to be, her lusus on her hands as she cried. At first the young troll didn’t notice the male, but ran to the preacher the moment she saw him. It took some time to calm her down, but when he did, she told him what had happened. Her lusus was shot down when they were coming back from the village. A large man that towered over her picked up the guardian without another thought of the girl until she screamed at him, causing the troll to turn and sneer at her. He had forced her home, kicking the door in when she refused to wait here without her guardian “He had two long scars on his face and a cold, blank eye.” The girl cried. .

Of course it was him. It was always him. Why couldn’t that stubborn old troll use other ways for the mutant to know he was back in town? Damn Dualscar, that old friend of Signless’ against what anyone outside of his closest group. He knew who he needed to go find today once she felt safe once again, and knew the preacher would do what he could to ensure she would grow up to be a strong young troll. He told her the story she asked for and ensured her all will be well. With a blank look in his eye, he headed to the shore after, close to sunrise, alone of course. He wasn’t going to risk being seen by someone he didn't want to run into. Instead, he went to the cabin on board the so horrifying Orphaner’s ship, opening it to see his old friend hunched over the desk, working away. It wasn’t shocking.

|hah,, I can’t type for Dualscar so here it is. I really hope someone enjoys this.|

#Signless #Vantas #Signless vantas #homestuck #homestuck writing #dualsign #dualscar ampora #roleplay

Canon call

Im a Signless Vantas, who went by Kankri among my friends and family, looking for a Dualscar Ampora. He captured my family and myself and kept us prisoner on his ship traveling to where my punishment would be held. I caused as much trouble for him as I could while preaching my idles, and even in one incident took a finger off of a crew mate who thought they could try touching my face. I also, at one point managed to escape being captured [before the ship] by turning on my heel and jumping up for a better angle, and managed to hit him right in the gills with a hand to stun him, and then continued to run for safety. Despite my preaching I agreed that sometimes violence was needed and used it only in times where I felt threatened. He did manage to capture us though, at a later date, as stated already- the details on how he managed to capture me though is foggy still. If any dualscar remembers this, please message me at SplinterDirk.tumblr.com, Thank you.

@splinterdirk