Animal Crossing on hard mode
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
Tag list | @randomlyappearingartist | @missmannequin @eldritchmeal
TW : Killing of a animal | Processing meat | Stalking |Skinning | Very poor understanding of farm life. | Will be edited in the future |
| Sorry this took so long, Life has been very difficult for me since April |
05:12
Your woken up by the fox you’ve nurtured that morning scraching at your door, your not sure why, but every night she finds her way outside.
07:25
October 08 | Saturday
Your tea is warm, made from the dried rooibos leaves you harvested from a distant field. The only plant your properly knowledgeable about on this floating rock. Rooibos tea taste familiar but lacks a sweetness you crave. This land although very fruitful with wild nuts, berries and bees with their hives, you have no skills or bravery in honey collection. Mixing the tea with berries didn’t taste quite right, the mixture made the tea loose that familiar feeling of home.
So, no sugar.
It’s been eight days, eight days since he’s been gone and it has gotten frostier, snowfall has begun light, scattered but here. You have always dreamt of seeing snow, hoping to save up enough money to leave your home and experience earth properly. Now you have , just not in the way you expected it.
The amount of night lord ships in the sky has lessened, greatly.
‘The humans on the planet are now compliant to the imperium of mankind’
That’s likely what happened but your still not back into your daily rhythm , your hand are always unsteady now, your mind constantly wonders if he’s around just watching you. You’re not sure how long he has had his eyes on you for, or if he currently is. The Night-haunter, terror of Nostramo knows your here, he watched you for who knows how long. And the only question is when will he be back. This scared you more than any Eldar craftworld sighting could.
You’ve made another jug of lemonade for him to indulge in. The last one you could make in case he returns.
‘He’s a Primarch; he’s probably on his way to his next planet’. The idea that he’s too busy to care brings you comfort. But that’s not in is character is it, Once Konrad Curze has his eye on something, he wont stop till its dead.
Memories of your old life fly by, playing videos of Warhammer lore to pass time. The narrations of 6 hours videos that lulled you to sleep, the books you read. Granted the first book you read was out context, it left you lost and confused, diving into the world with no knowledge of what’s going on. The second was his book. You barely made it past chapter one.
‘Fucking edge lord’ A fair criticism in your opinion, you didn’t read past that. Corpse statue... guts, shit and limbs on the floors. Konrad Curze Chapter one. That was your second book.
Sleep doesn’t come easy anymore.
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08:09
Its quite out, you collect and organise the last remnants of grass, beans and grain for your animals to feed on. Storing them in the secure section of your barn. Making sure to try to get that routine down, wake up, eat, feed, harvest. Feed, eat, then sleep.
You named the small fox Tea cup, she managed to survive Konrads abuse and you patched her up the best you could, and withing 2 days she’s up, slow and still healing but active. That shouldn’t be possible, but most logic you’ve clutched to no longer applies.
She’d been aggressive at first, but with determination, and a few scratches here and there she not made herself comfortable on the small arrangements of blankets and boxes for a bed in the corner down stairs. Choosing rather to sleep in your bottom drawer.
10:28 am
Konrad was right, this place is quiet. Peacefull, quiet.
Every day you thank God, not sure what god? Sky daddy? Chaos or the emperor, but your thankful starter kit you’ve been handed. Long before Konrad arrived, you’ve taken up the task during the summer of sheering the sheep. And eventually figuring out how to hand spin wool with the tools on hand. It wasn’t easy. The best blade for the job was your sickle and as sharp as it was, you gave the sheep the worst hair cuts know to man. Un even, blotchy but after a week you successfully sheered all the sheep. That was summer, weeks ago.
Trail an error with extremely limited wool had you loosing hair from the stress of trying to figure it out. But you did, and now you’re spinning the wool into threat.
Playing Sleeping beauty was no easy task. Especially with the medieval equipment on hand. Eventually find your clumsy rhythm in the process. The spinning wheel was old, creaky, but soothing, the repetition calms your mind, your foot on the peddle stepping to the tempo of your favourite song. This first bit of peace you’ve felt since that night.
An hour into your spinning process you hear an aggressive knock on your door.
‘It’s him isn’t it’ The thought is obvious who else can it be. Moving aside you’re from your stool you mauver past the spinning wheel to your door, and low and behold it’s him.
‘Cael’ That’s what he called himself, the name is not familiar to you at all. Its doesn’t resemble any name you’ve really heard the fandom speak on. So Cael he is.
“Cael... Good morning” You greet the massive man who stands hunched over your porch canopy his height is intimidating and his sinister aura don’t help calm your nerves. He’s dressed, put together in a sense, older loose-fitting pants and a shirt to pair, both aged old but some form of quality.
Cael doesn’t speak again; his mouth opens and closes as if he’s also trying to figure out his next words.
“Your home is a box” Simple, but to him its a greeting.
“Thanks, I know”
“I brought a gift” The words ring sinister from his lips, the tone cold, flat with no distinct feeling behind, but it came with a small smug but sinister smirk on his chapped lips. There is something behind him, a mass chunk of who knows what.
‘Oh lord’ was it a body? A person? Dead space marine.’
He lets you shove past him and there on your front yard lies a bull, dead on ground. It doesn’t resemble Pumpkin or her lamb telling by its brown and white splotches, and your not sure if its from this asteroid or not.
But it lies dead, on your font yard.
“What the hell??”
Cael looks casual and nonchalant as if he didn’t drop a giant dead animal on your font yard.
“You said I was a bad guest, so I returned with a gift for my host” The bull... is gigantic resembling something more akin to a yak, still alien, the proportions nothing like any earth mammal, legs unnaturally longer, eyes sharp large and piercing and its horns? twisted in spirals, meant to puncture.
In a state of annoyance your move around the entire being. It is massive
“Cael....where the hell am I supposed to store this” The logistics on skinning, cleaning, and harvesting the resources from start to finish already is overwhelming. The Yak? Bull? Bison? has no viewable puncture wounds. No signs of how it met its end but its here now, lying dead, heavy and an eye sore on your land. And the Primarch? He has not one care, wondering past you in your befuddled examination of the best as he makes his way to the chicken coop.
Cael eyes stare at the small weak animals as they rush to hide inside their home sensing his aura.
“Why are they skinny”
“They are not boiler chickens, free range so skinnier” Do boiler chickens exist on Terra? ‘You’re not sure, you’re not even sure how the both of you don’t have a language barrier. You’re to tired to really care, moving back to the yak on your font yard.
‘The fuck am I supposed to do with this’ Its jarring as you go back inside to put away your wool and wheel, pausing the immensely difficult task you were bound to fail at, to do a more stressful task. Reaching for the small knife in your kitchen, you pause by the sickle ‘would it be of better use?’ It might so you bring it along stepping back out to the chilly out door.
Cael wonders around your property, examining each and every living creature he passes by, but with no sense of whimsy, the way best describes his curiosity is macabre. Its sad but he seems unaffected by how your animals reject him. From the rams running back into the barn, To Pumpkin hiding behind your lemon tree.
You bring your focus to the Yak, your cold hands view each blade in your grasps. ‘Might as well’ You gather some leverage and strength, pulling your arm back enough, to have some gravity to your puncture. Aim, draw, strike.
It failed, your knife bounced off the hide like rubber. You try again with your sickle, same result no luck, no puncture, no wounds, not even a scratch. The most progress you got was moving some fur out the way.
You huff, The Primarch now sits on your porch lemonade in hand again. You walk past him, heading inside to grab your axe. Walking past him grimacing at the visible dent he leaves on the old wood he lounges on.
‘It must be some kind of enhanced or mutated yak, something strong and difficult to kill in the 30th millennium.’
You go for the same tactic as before, maybe hacking at the hide will break skin. With all your strength, you pull back, gain your strength and leverage.
“If you wish to keep your hand, hacking the beast will do you no good”
Cael, eats, still indulging in all your harvest as a smirk graces his face at your failure to even dent the beast. The Primarch can’t help but indulge in your stores for the winter, no care for your own food options if he were it eat through it all.
“Having difficulty?” Cael spoke with “This should be easy; you’re a farmer are you not?”
“Well, this Bull has a hide thicker than wood, I can’t pierce the the skin and your....” Your eyes fall to what’s in his hand “I baked that yeastier day” you whine, the next meal Cael found in your pantry was the fresh, baked bread... from the wheat you harvested, your self. Your eye twitches, all he’s done since he’s arrived is give a heart attack and eat your food.
“Look ..Cael you either get your ass here and help me skin this beast or you get out off my and back to the hole you crawled out from” there’s a moment of silence, a beat of quite before he stalks his way over to you where your standing, caging you against the dead beast, and with his raze sharp teeth now in view and a sinister smirk on his face, he spoke
“Or what” here is no plausible threat you can give the night haunted, no attack from you could do any harm, no magic warp powers or any, weight to your words.
“Or........No access to my pantry”
“You can’t stop me from raiding it”
“But I can stop stocking it”
“You starve”
“I don’t care”
He takes a moment to think, seemingly taking in your threat. “That’s a fair offer”
He walks past your figure to the font of the yak, Pulling a sleek and large blade, from nowhere.
‘Where the hell did he pull that from?!’
It’s not exactly possible to get a mechanism in order to hang up the carcass, your farm although useful was extremely limited.
but the both of you located a rock large enough rock a distance away to pin it with thick sturdy nails it by its legs. Where did the nails come from....Cael.
You push away any unnerving thoughts of the man’s intentions, hidden blades under his fabrics, largely sized nails. Best for your mental health to not question it and live in the moment.
“Are you sure this is how you do it”
You asked curious as Konrad...Cael swiftly slices the being from belly downward, in order to let the animal bleed out. Cutting just the correct junctures, to get the most amount of blood to leak out rapidly.
“Yes, this is the most efficient way to drain the blood, I do it all the time” the tone is casual, like he’s talking of nothing more than taking a walk, but you can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach at the implication.
“.....How often is... you know what never mind”
____________________________________________________________
He continues to make cuts along the legs allowing more blood to drain, he doesn’t care how much gets onto his robs or how some leak onto you. In between you both take a break and he wonders around the property sometimes trailing behind you Sacring away all the animals at your attempts to feed them.
After an hour, your sure at least a notable amount of blood is drained the hard parts begin.
_____________________________________________
At this point your assistance is useless, as Cael is focused and precise with this part, his fingers work in tandem with his knife. Smooth efficient like he’s cutting butter, no flaw in knowing where the cuts should go, no hicks in the casual process of skinning an animal. He rarely regards you occasionally turning to give you a glance. It feels out of place, standing off to the side has he focuses.
Cael stops, looks at you, then back to the Yak....Then Back to you.
“Need help?” You ask taking a few steps closer till your next to the hulking man, even at your above average height you dwarf his tall frame.
“Short one. Cut by the ankles as I pull” The instructions come direct. “Don’t cut deeper than I have” He hands you his knife, its sharp, heavy and metal, not doing your blue fingers any service. You position the dagger as best you can at this height, the only part you can possibly properly skin are the legs and thigh.
Cael smooth efficient finger pull against flesh and you assist where you can at the height your able to, that being said you do a shit job.
“Stop cutting that deep your incompetent baseline” He scolded as again, his supernaturally sharp dagger cuts too easily, and the weight of the weapon makes it difficult to keep your hands steady.
“I’m trying your knife is heavy “You complained back to the Night Haunter.
“Are you just skin bones and air for a brain?”
“Are you just brain and no thoughts?” Your words bite with an annoyed venom. You hear him scoff as he smoothly grabs the knife himself and finishes the job. Konrad was un impressed with your lack of strength and your smart mouth.
_________________________________________________________
21:22pm
It takes hours to complete the full process or what you could manage. The beast isn’t fully taken care of, you did the best you could to process it all, buts there’s more than you had the facilities to store. As for the hide it dries outside.... or freezes? Its not exactly the season of skinning animals is it. Neither is it the season for dried meat.
Cael is strange, he doesn’t in ways resemble the night haunted that has been described in the books, he’s extremely lenient with your disrespect, and teasing, and so far? Hasn’t touched you in any way. Granted you don’t want to be skinned and ordained on his power armour you mind can’t help but wonder at the Primarch’s intentions.
“I can’t store all of this” Your chest freezer is filled to the brim, way past its maximum compacity. Leavig the wheel barrow in the corner overflowed. ‘Yeah, I’m not dealing with the left overs’
Tall dark and sinister has done his part, now he casually lounges in your home, having his way with probably the liver . “Eating raw meat is bad for your gut” You huff out trying to use your full weight to close your chest freezer.
He pauses, as he sits crouched by your side, relaxed.
“I do this all the time”
“Doesn’t mean its not normal.... you could wait for me to cook something up” The patriarch doesn’t stop chewing on the meat, no care for your advice.
“Effort like that is arbitrary, food is food I get my nutrition, I’m satisfied”
Even with your weight on the chest freezer, it can’t close fully, so you make yourself comfortable on top of it. Allowing the silence, you settle between the both of you. Cael doesn’t care for your lingering look. But in the silence, you take in his appearance. Cael looks tired, heavy dark bags under his eyes. He looks close enough to the concept art you’ve seen circulate around online, but nothing compares to the real thing. “Who are you Cael?”
Cael paused, taking a moment to think of an answer. “I’m........ a hunter” That you can tell is a truth, an honesty to the lack of information he gave.
‘is this Konrad Curz?’ His aura is anxiety inducing but that was the first time, after meeting in a dark forest. But now, its quiet, there’s a nothingness to him, likes there’s an absence of life. You remember 40k lore, the videos essays, the book you read, the reddit post. Mybe this isn’t the 40k you read about.
“Well, you’re a good hunter...I guess.” You’re not the best conversationalist and you’re not keen to speak to the super weapon gnawing away in your home. “The beast we.... proceed today looked like a challenge”
Cael, looks to you and as your eyes meet his fall away, avoiding your gaze. “What’s your name” His words have a stillness to him, sounding forced. Like its rehearsed.
Replying honestly, you told him your name. They syllable leaving your lips with the feeling of being unreal. And what felt even more unreal was you you heard him whisper your words to himself. Its been a long time since you heard your own name.
“Where did you get this yak Cael” The inquiry is the only thing you could think to ask the ticking time bomb of a man. The egg shells you’re walking on glass at this point. The Night-haunter doesn’t reply. Not much of a talker, it seems, which is strange he tended to monologue in the books. Cael, falls to deep thought often, falling in and out of the moment at time.
‘Is he in deep thought or is he foreseeing the future’
Your eyes fall to the buckets and wheel barrows of flesh sand meat that you’re not able to store at all. “I guess you can take the rest of this meat home with you”
It’s hard to move around the small kitchen with him in it, the cramped space claustrophobic as you get the stove fire started a beginning chopping up some carrots. Making some soup to compliment the bred that He left over. A simple and quick dinner.
“Try some of my cooking you might like it, you already like that I have stores in the pantry... help yourself. “Will you be back tomorrow”
“No”
02:00 Am
You’re in bed, Cael left with a plate of dinner, and 60% of the meat you had gathered together and just as your about to fall a sleep, you realized.... how the hell are you going to eat meat that’s possibly tougher than a rock. Game meat is not something you’ve ever prepared.
03:00 Am
The Night-fall
Sevatar is, intrigued, Konrad disappeared for a week. The best he could track is that Konrad made one trip to the world below, and soon after landed on the empty asteroid below, for a full 96 hours. Only for his lord to return home covered in blood, with trays of miscellaneous meat.
Odd behaviour is not new to his father, Sevatar had been accustomed to the Primarch disappearing for long periods of time. He doesn’t even question it.
Konrad spoke to a near by serf “have the serfs store this for me”
Konrad Ignored the eyes of his first captain “I need two small heaters and a generator” The spoke to the same serf. A direct order, there’s no zeal to it, it lacks the usual energy that he emotes with.
“yes my lord i..i..i shall prepare them for your chamber” The terrified serf was quick reply a quicker to turn but before he could leave, Konrad spoke again.
“No... it’s for my next trip”
Sevatar could do nothing but look at Konrad with an eye of suspicion. Some thing isn’t right, but it’s not his place to question.
“Evening farther” is all he could say to welcome the Night haunter back to his ship. His father ignores the greeting walking past the Astartes as if hes not even there . Its quite jarring to see Konrad act as such, making order with no explanation, especially an order that in and of it self serves nothing to a Primarch.
‘why two heaters?’ Konrad himself could care less if it were scorching or frigid.
The demi gods eyes are glazed over as if his mind is not present, Sevatar observes, but as he takes in a breath the moment Konrad walks past, under the usual Primarch scent, lies something else his scent and stench he smells.....food? Not like the corpse starch from lower hives or meal pulp rations he’s accustomed to.
A fresh cooked meal.
‘Did father kill someone and steal their dinner?’
03:34 pm Three days earlier
Your wind chimes no longer ring at this hour. The air in your cabin is warmer that outside but still enough for one to catch a chill.
He watches, arched over your bed, blocking out the twilight.
The nuisance of a pest is discarded outside leaving the two of you alone
A cold finger hovers over your exposed cheek. He can feel you, hear you, his senses sharp enough to capture the nuances of every small movement. Heat beats, slow breathes, the rapid movement under your eyelid as your deep in REM sleep.
The talon for a nail that sits on his hand run down your cheek. A razor-sharp nail trails over your cheek shaping the curve on your face. savoring every small scar, mole or blemish on your warm fragile skin.
‘So fragile, skin that cuts like paper’
