"This is new, right?" [Reboot]

[Solsticegelan]

Why do I keep doing this. Seriously, why? I was half-tempted when I looked at "This thread is more than 5 Months old." to just reboot this again, but decided against it. I'm just starting this one up rather than both SB and SV threads, give Beatrice her time in the spotlight. I... I would apologize, but by this point, it would sound rather hollow, wouldn't it? So, here's hoping Beatrice gets to find her sister this time.

-0-0-0-​

Safety comes before satisfaction. As no doubt pleasing as it would be for you to eat the rabbit raw, you would prefer not to contract a deadly disease miles from civilization, thank yourself very much. Cooking it was most certainly a viable option, especially considering your actions the previous night.

Burn it all

The hard part would be making sure there was enough rabbit left to eat. The sensation of fire flickering between your fingers, welling up from the palm of your hand… it had been euphoric, a drug onto itself that you would gladly embrace again. Watching the flames dance away from your fingers, well up around you and burn until nothing remains? If you let yourself, if you wavered, you would gladly watch the world shrivel to ash around you.

Eat until not even Ash remains.

That terrifies you.

Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to conjure the fire from your bloody palm. That little voice in the back of your mind, the one urging you on, is simply another terrifying reminder of the intensity they bring. Minutes seem like Months as you sit the rabbit between your crossed legs,

You extend both of your palms out and above the rabbit, finally ready to move on, to cook this Rabbit and fill your stomach. The smell, though, the scent of it's savory blood…

You pause, and hold one of your hands to your mouth. A single lick couldn't hurt, right?

One now less bloody but still wet hand later, you were ready.

Control Roll: 90 +1 = 91. Success beyond Success!
5 HP restored.

From your right palm rises a single, murky drop of deep red blood; in the second before it ignites from within itself, you catch but a single whiff of it, and it is intoxicating. No wonder you went so crazy when you first tried this, barely aware of the smell of blood and death. You must have been overwhelmed, both by the inner warmth and utter bliss offered by the combination of the two.

You stare at the tiny flame in your hand, so eager and willing to burn, to blaze and brighten the world so that it couldn't be snuffed out. Every flicker was a part of you, every petal of it's tongues an extension of your fingers.

Bit by bit, you ordered the flower apart, it's petals spreading to each of your fingers. For a short while, you play with the flames, trying to figure out with what method you could cook this rabbit. Boil it? Fille it?

...You're certain you used those terms wrong.

Regardless, you learn much about what you can do with the azure lotus in your hands. Ball it up, shape it like an arrow, make strings that tighten or loosen at your will. Focusing hard enough, you could make it adapt a shape if you tried, forcing it perfectly still in loose forms that remind you of a child's clay playthings.

For some reason, you can't help but make a flying bird each time.

Intelligence Roll; 67 + 7 = 74. Success!

Finally satisfied, you come up with an idea for cooking the rabbit without also burning it. Clasping both hands together, you slowly begin to stretch, latching the flame onto each of your fingers. Twisting your hands and stretching your fingers, you begin to twist each strand together, until by the end of your complicated motion, you have a series of large knots.

The Fox, who had been watching so silently you had almost forgotten about her, seems curious.

"Curious, hm?" You ask, holding your hands up. The fox's eye's follow. "Watch and learn, because I can't quite say at what point I learned such a useful skill."

And like that, you pull the knots apart, and with no small satisfaction you watch them unfurl into a loosely woven net. Now the Fox watches with what you feel to be admiration.

...Or you could be personifying a wild animal out of starvation-induced insanity.

Either way, you make sure the net is carefully lowered until it's on top of the rabbit. Smoke drifts off of it slowly, and fat begins to sizzle from the legs.Cooking it is a long, slow process, which involves the careful removal of the net as you flip the rabbit around with your feet. Halfway through your mouth waters so heavily that you're confident if you didn't keep it shut, saliva would slide out.

Finally, Mercifully, you finish your work. It is with no small regret you banish the flames, your warmth diminishing just a bit the moment you relinquish what you had already seen as another limb. Nodding to yourself, you feel the weight and gravity of the situation set in. Dangerous, those flames were. Delicious, this rabbit leg was.

And so was the second.

...And so was the third.

Without realizing it, you've shoved the rabbit up to your face, or perhaps you've shoved your face against the rabbit. The surrounding landscape blurs, as does your sense of time. All you focus on is eating the rabbit, devouring it whole. Flesh, Bone, Fur.

At some point, even words lose meaning, those things loosing definition or differentiation in your eyes. There's some part of you, screaming and growing closer, that decides to note how much better your meal might be had you kept it raw.

Soft, silent padding sounds force you to look up for a single second, to look at the Fox who now stands above you. Somehow, it seems taller than before, expectant and smug all at once.

You go back to eating, and slowly, you lose yourself. One second, you are aware that you are eating. The next, you lose even that, blackness creeping in from the corner of your eyes.

[X] Lose Yourself
[X] Embrace Yourself
[X] Fight against yourself.

​

 

[Solsticegelan]

When the creeping darkness at the edge of your vision starts to encroach on the edges of your mind, when you realize your eyelids are dropping and your mind slowing, you don't stop eating. After all, if you feel tired now that you have a full stomach, what reason might you have to deny your body's urges? You're warmed, you're fed, and you're in the safety of an animal that decided to feed you.

But then, you look up, at the looming face of the fox. So close yet so far from you, it seems larger than before. Now more than ever, the human emotions on display by the Fox are all too smug for your liking. It's as though she's saying Yes, keep eating; I knew that this is what you would do. In the back of your mind, the unsaid taunt was followed by a haughty laugh, unhidden and mirthful.

For some reason, that pissed you off.

You want to stand up, to act with dignity, remove your knees and elbows from the dirt beneath the snow. But you can't feel your arms, don't know how to move your legs anymore. To stop eating would be the first step, but your mouth feels strange, sloped, like it's not yours anymore. So, you keep eating, eyelids growing heavier.

Ha.

The rabbit… it's smell is so intoxicating, the further away you get from what you cooked. It's… it's so hard to stay angry, with this smell in front of you.

Ha.

Why haven't you finished it by now? Hadn't you been going at it for such a long time that the minutes slipped away without care?

Ha.

Why is that fox still laughing?

…Haaaaaa.

No. Not like this. You were mad earlier, weren't you? Mad enough that you were willing to put aside all else. What did you forget? What's changed? It's all so hard to make out, in the haze of your mind.

Finally, it snaps into place. What you were doing, the composure you had lost. Would you really let yourself fall further? Be distracted by idle gifts obviously meant to place your attention elsewhere, a tactic frequently employed by misbehaving siblings. This wasn't exactly one of your sisters, now was it?

A plan. That's what you needed. A plan.

One moment, you're gobbling down yet another chunk of meat. The next, you allow yourself a quick, vain moment as you pause, to look up at the fox. She seems confused now, as though she didn't expect you to stop eating.

Good.

The reason you would call it a single, vain moment is simple. When the fox met you, eye to eye, you imagined your eyes igniting like dark coals when you shouted and leapt at her.

Attack: 96 + 15(AGI) +10 (Surprise) = 121. Hit!
Attack: 30 + 18(AGI) +10 (Surprise) = 58. Hit!
Damage: Hit 1, 20 Damage (5*4). Hit 2, 20 Damage (5*4). Total: 40 Damage.

Something isn't right, though. You can't hear your shriek, only the nearby crowing of a bird. A loud, vengeful shriek, befitting your sudden retaliation. Far more correct in your eyes are your talons, cutting across the Fox's face as your wings explode into motion.

You aim for the eyes.

With a shrill yip, the fox leaps backwards, it's face now marred by your talon marks. But… that's not right either, is it? You don't have talons, or claws, or wings… you have feet, and hands, and arms, not…. Not…

No, deal with that later. You're rage incarnate now, against the fox that still seems far too large for her kind. You feel blood dripping from your feet, fur dropping down. You try to cry out again, but it's overpowered once more by whatever bird it is that's screeching bloody murder.

You tried tricking me! You wish to declare, leaping up. Your wings flap as you prepare to dive. In some cruel, hateful way I have yet to understand!

Yet all that you hear is the nonstop cawing. It fuels your rage, your desire for something to be at the receiving end of some punishment for once in the short span you would dare care your life.

Attack: 25 + 14(AGI) = 39, Miss.

The fox tries running, dashing off into the forest. You don't give up your chase, claw and snatching at her, but she shakes you off. She's too fast, too nimble, using the trees as cover because you can't fly well through them.

Why are you flying? How are you flying? That's not the why things are supposed to be. You're supposed to be kicking her, punching her, not tearing her to bloody pieces. Even if your anger calls for it, your mindy is too foggy to say for sure.

Cmon, Beatrice. Shake it off.

There's a proper way to this.

You won't give in.

This isn't right, isn't natural. You need to do things…

…properly.

With a silent crack, you're descending, falling on top of the fox, and you have just enough grace to try kicking it, sending snow flying in every direction. Your erstwhile foe, however, slides away, breaking out for a mad dash further into the forest.

You stand there for a second, watching her run away, tracks clearly visible. She doesn't stop, not even to look back, as she vanishes in the distance. That's good, because you're sure that your body is shaking, your mind a swirling mess. You wait for a sign that the fox will come back, try to smell it now that it's hurt, but find nothing.

A full minute later, you collapse in a heap where you stand, confident she won't return.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until you let it go, the sigh of relief transforming into a series of half-strangled hiccups. A hand to your lip as you hiccup reveals to you lips, your lips, not whatever it was that happened to them earlier. You fingers, and not your wingtips.

The hiccups transform into full on hysterical laughter as you lie there.

"Never again!" You choke out between laughter. It's not a good laughter, not anymore. It's the kind people who've snapped let out before they do something dangerous. "Never again." You affirm to yourself. The words feel odd, as though you suddenly needed to reacquaint yourself with your voice.

The bird's cries no longer fill the quiet forest.

Now, it's just filled by your laughter and your tears.

-0-0-0-​

A long time later, you've calmed yourself down. Your head's not choked by mist, not lost in a hazy swirl of chaos and confusion. You can barely remember what you did once you started to eat, only the vague horror of what happened afterwards, the total lack of understanding. It was awe inspiring, honestly.

"How pathetic am I?" You mutter to yourself. "I'm a role model. I'm a full grown woman. Is that why I was abandoned up here? It had to have been intentional. That and those blue flames… I must be a monster of some sort."

"I must be."

Now began the process of piecing together your thoughts. You shivered as you went through them, one by one, and this time it wasn't because of the cold. On the soles of your shoes, there wasn't a single trace of blood, and that might've been enough to convince you the entire event was imagined. The red trail leading to where you sat, however, did a good job dissuading you.

Remembering the imaginary laugh filled you with a rage that you quashed, one that you now deemed improper and dangerous. Would the you of a week ago approve of your actions? The one who might understand who you are? Who might understand a single ounce of what had happened? Why you could pick through the dreamy haze of today, but not the black sea of yesterday?

Maybe you just liked waxing poetic.

You pause in your thoughts as you realize what one of the loose thoughts from your hasty feast was.

"I have sisters?" You whisper to yourself. You can't help it. You smile. "I... I have sisters!"

You can't help yourself. You start to cry again.

This time, you know why.

-0-0-0-
​

Days later, you're no longer a mess crying into the snow. You're determined to leave this mountain for good. Now, you have a way out - the Fox's tracks. They hadn't faded, and even if they had, you were confident in your skill to track them down.

The Fox hadn't been up here when you arrived, or else you would've found her. Neither had the rabbit she used as a trap - for what else could it have been? To make you loose yourself like that? For her to get up here, she had to have found a safe path. For the fox to know to ensnare you, it had to know you.

You had to find the fox, figure out what the blue flames were, and you had to find your sisters. You had goals now, goals beyond "Know who I am", though that was no less important.

It doesn't take that long to find the end of the Fox's tracks, leading into a brown thicket of thorns, growing high against the mountain's wall. They don't look like you could easily slip past them, or even like you could crawl throw them. Fighting through them would take time and effort away from you for a goal you weren't sure you could meet.

A bit of fire removes that dilemma.

Kneeling in the burning underbrush, the smallest of smiles creeps onto your face. It's because in front of you there lies a fairly large crack in the stone, descending downward - and from it comes a small draft, feeding the fading fire at your feet.

Hold on tight, world.

Beatrice was coming.
​

-Part 1, The Raven-
-End-​

You have denied a part of yourself. Until this changes, you have lost the hidden skill Metamorphosis.

Congratulations! You have gained a fear of giving in to your instincts!

You have regained 10 Hp. You have regained 5 Hp.

Behold me. BEHOLD ME AND MY TIMELY UPDATES! HUG THE FLUFFY BIRD DAMMIT!Why must you make it cry? I have no idea what kind of mood whiplash hell this update is going to be. Or how well it ended up being written. Ah, well... we're moving on to big things. Characters! A conversation with someone who isn't you! Friends that don't feed you and then you try to murder them! ONWARD TO ARC TWO!

...I should've mentioned that this was the end of an arc, shouldn't I? Ah well. No matter the choice, you were leaving the mountain - what mattered was how. How much trauma. Know what that means it's time for, kids?

What does your little eye spy?
[] Interlude: Dove II.
[] Interlude: The Traveler and his companion.
[] Interlude: Fox.
​

 

[Solsticegelan]

Interlude
The Fox​

When you first woke up, it was in the middle of a rain forest, and you screamed because you were covered in ants. Then you screamed because it turned out they were fire ants, and you were on top of their nest. At some point, you started screaming because you didn't know who you were or what you had done to deserve this.

Eventually, that turned into dry heaving and vomit.

When you woke up the second time, it was in the middle of a clearing you had burned down, each tree seemingly cut down carefully and with a knife.You had no bites or welts on any part of your body.

The first time you met one of your sisters, it was after you had found some happiness. You had made new friends, and settled down as an assistant in a great city's library. You had thought yourself to be in your rightful place, an environment suited to you.

You never saw the scythe coming.

The first time you died, it was at the cost of a place you loved - because when you came to, the library was gone, as was the kindly old woman who had taken mercy on you.

The first time you ran away from a place you thought you could call home was when another of your sisters turned the entire city against you. Politics? Simple words? Magic? You never learned.

It took you two years to piece things together, putting together what you knew from the start with what you half remember in between running from place to place. You beat monsters, both beast and men alike, with your knives. You made friends, and twice you even though they might settle down again.

The first time you met your sisters with the knowledge that they were more than faceless hunters, they smiled and killed you again.

A very long time later, you met a sister who didn't wear a mask, and who didn't try killing you on sight. You got along amazingly, and together you started to piece more and more together. You shared stories, and helped each other remember.

Your other sisters couldn't have that.

The first time the sister you cared about tried to kill you, wearing a mask, you realized what their truth was.

The first time she succeeded, it was already too late for them to stop your plan.

-0-0-0-​

The first time in her memory Laqueta met you, you were sad to say it wasn't in your own body, much less in the same timeframe you were first alive. She was in the middle of a forest, already bouncing around and throwing her choker about, trying to get rid of it. Sadly, getting rid of it wasn't so simple.

She was excited. She already knew she had sisters, a mother, and even could recall your shared home. Unfortunately, she didn't realize you were one of those sisters, just that you were a fox who guided her to a nearby town.

She didn't know about the wolves you had chased away from her in her sleep.

It was odd, watching her run from place to place. She figured out she could heal from a great deal incredibly fast. She acquired friends and allies at an astonishing rate - most of whom you found disturbing, for one reason or another. You first thought upon seeing the mage you would kindly refer to as a "Couger" was "Please tell me that's not what I'm going to be like when I'm that age.'

Laqueta didn't care. You watched her treat people like friends, and like family, no matter what. It was too pure and precious for your heart. The fluff could blot out the sun.

You even managed to help her kill a dragon that had begun terrorizing the town, some poisonous thing that was a crossbreed of a wyvern and it's nobler kin. The reaction of the adventurers that showed up days later with their caravan when they found out a barely teenaged girl and a fox killed their bounty was incredible.

Then your sister and your body came. You were forced to run, though you tried to keep watch as the town was burned and they used the trust Laqueta had found in you to trick her.

The first time Beatrice could remember meeting you, she tried killing you.

-0-0-0-​

From high above, you watch Beatrice storm out of the cave, and out onto the mountain. There is no better adjective for how she appeared; her normally restrained temperament, already legendary, is clearly being elevated beyond it's normal measures by…. Something.

You're just lucky that she had followed your tracks. Already a storm had come again, dark clouds building on the horizon and swelling about the mountain's peak, hurling snow with reckless abandon upon her path.

Beatrice quite obviously didn't care about the cold. Perhaps she was angry that she could no longer follow you off the mountain? No, it wasn't that. It was something more - besides, she was already moving down the mountain.

Silently, you followed behind her. It seemed as good a time as any to review what had happened.

Your plan to get her off of the mountain, and quickly, had failed. Tricking her into standing atop a snowplume might have been a dirty trick, but you prefered to compare it to a bird learning how to fly rather than anything nasty.

For all the haunted gazes she used to give you whenever you asked her how she learned to fly, you had long ago concluded that being thrown from great heights might indeed have been the method Mother used.

Unfortunately, she hadn't once come close to the edge of the cliff. Luckily,your lure had also been your backup plan. Freshly killed, there was no way Beatrice would resist eating it, especially when starved. She would start eating, and in her hunger, change shape - thus giving her an instinctive, natural way off the mountain.

It looked like that avenue had been shut down hard as well. You'd run, of course - wouldn't do to let one of your last stolen shells to die. You made sure you left behind tracks for her to follow. It wouldn't get her away from the mountain as fast as flight would, but it would do.

You just had to figure out where you went wrong. It wasn't everyday you got to watch her break down and cry several times in a row.

Speaking of that, however...

With no small amusement do you watch her anger sputter and fall as her hair is whipped into her face, forcing her to try to shove it back into place. Silly Beatrice, hadn't you noticed that it would have taken care of itself in but a few moments? Already it's pristine again.

You missed hair.

...Fur didn't count. It technically wasn't even yours.

Beatrice glanced behind her now, already a quarter of the way to safety, as though she knew she was being watched. It was impossible, of course - this body wasn't even alive. She had no way of smelling you, and even if she did, she wouldn't see you unless you wanted her to. Especially not with the heavy snowfall.

After all, Ghosts couldn't be seen unless they wanted to be.

All the way down you follow her, the sky above growing darker. You wished you hadn't needed to abandon Laqueta, still chased by Eden. She was fine, though. She had gotten away again - that's what you needed to tell yourself. There was little you could have done for her but watch, because no more would she need you to guide wolves away from her unconscious body. No more would she need you to subtly guide her to safety. She could defend herself now, and you couldn't.

You still should've stayed with her. But your body had separated itself from Eden, had known where to find Beatrice - in fact, half of the kingdom might, considering how brightly she had lit up the sky.

You can't help but feel as though you've only worsened things for Beatrice. There's a madness in her eyes now, one that you can't do anything to calm.

You're in the final stretch of your shared trek. The mountain's at it's widest, and though she might take a long tumble should she misstep, Beatrice is fine from here on out. You need to run now, and keep your distance from her - find Laqueta, and work out some plan. You should've left Beatrice hours ago.

It's a miracle that your body hasn't found you yet, this close to her prey. If she does, she wouldn't just be a Body Thief any more… though even now, it wouldn't be right to call her that.

You stop in place to watch Beatrice once again. She's paused, and is staring down the mountain, and at how far she needs to walk. It takes her a single second of hesitation to jump, and then she's sliding down the mountain . It's quite a sight to watch, unsteady on her feet, snow trailing behind her. Her hair, and her dress, make it hard to miss her as she rapidly descends. From this distance, it's easy to miss the white streak in her hair.

Has she noticed it yet? If she hadn't, that meant you might be around to see the fallout of it again… though she might think it was natural. If she did, there went the greatest prank of the century. You can see the smoke now, the entire thing in flames. The collaborative effort of four young girls, forgotten. The work required to permanently dye the roots white vanished into the ether.

...That's really how you're going to leave your sister? Lamenting the fact she wouldn't remember a prank? You couldn't even remember that she was your sister a few short years ago.

No, that wouldn't do at all.

Good luck, Sister. You think, turning away from her. You'll need it far more than me.

-0-0-0-​

Miles away, calmly walking through the snow, was a woman dressed all in orange, an ornate but simple mask resembling the visage of a fox adorning her face. Rather unfortunately, an onlooker couldn't tell where she might be looking, for the mask contained a deep black glass covering over the eyes - through which no light passed, in or out.

Fortunately, you wouldn't be hard pressed to guess that she looked upward, towards the mountain's peaks. Not a hint of blue remained in the sky, and the cap of the mountain itself was no longer visible.

Her lips, painted a bright and rosy red, twisted into a smile. Her teeth were a pearly white, her skin a blemishless olive. In her hands she played with knives, blades made to cut and bleed and little else. They were effortlessly juggled from finger to finger, each one smooth and without a trace of a cut or scar. She looked as though she belonged in a painting of some noblewoman, a fictitious story instead of reality.

"Soon." She purred. "Soon, I'll have you to tell me what I can't remember, and what our sisters can't say."

And like that, she vanished back into the snow.

Spoiler: A/N

And that's the interlude! Technically two interludes, since I basically wrote the first and second half separately as different versions of this interlude and felt they transitioned into one another well enough. As a bonus, you now figured out exactly how crazy Beatrice was in her logical leaps, and what Laqueta was up to before she started getting relentlessly chased!

Another update will be up tomorrow with actual votes available.

Are ya ready, kids?

 

[Solsticegelan]

You were an unstoppable object, a force of nature given shape. There was nothing that could stop you, and if something did, you would remove it.

Ah, if only that were the truth.

In reality, you were horribly lost in a place you had never been before and had no idea if you were walking in circles or not. Just like your first night a scarce few days ago, a storm raged without mercy, It was making you tired of the snow and the cold faster than you thought possible - especially with how harshly it whipped against your eyes.

Hours ago, you left the mountain. Perhaps you would visit it again some day, though you sincerely doubted that you ever would unless you had missed some hidden, vital clue as to your origins. Or maybe rightful vengeance, who knew.

Since your departure, you had discovered odd things about yourself, to put it lightly. In an attempt to stop your dresses many folds and drapes from fluttering far behind you, you had ordered it to stop out loud. Perhaps it had been born out of frustrations, perhaps because of some fraying part of your mind has begun personifying your clothing - but the end result was the same.

It stopped fluttering in the wind. Ever since you had shouted, your dress moved, yes - but only in response to your movements. The wind, the snow - it had absolutely no effect on your dress. It's as though the rest of the world, upon hearing your order, had decided not even acknowledge the existence of your dress. Or perhaps it was the other way around? Your dress, refusing the rest of the world?

There was an obvious alternative explanation to that, of course. You could be going insane, walking beneath trees that towered above you, a sunless sky forming the roof of your sanity's grave. But that was traitorous thinking, the type that would only ensure you truly did go insane.

All you had to do was ignore the shapes in the snow. That was easy enough, wasn't it? The swirling forms in the snow, clumping together just enough to form the outlines of people, to suggest that there was something there. Walking besides you, towards you, and away from you - the ghostly wraiths made of nothing were just that.

Nothing.

So what? If you couldn't help but see detail in their faces, then it was just the snow forming lines that you thought resembled such. Just like seeing people in the clouds, or the future in your tea - pure imagination.

You're already quieting the treacherous, reasonable part of your brain that's trying to say that you shouldn't need to question these shapes if you were sane.


...Wait, dammit. Mutinous thoughts! You would upturn them like leaves in the fall!

Cresting a snow covered hill, you're greeted by a river, wide and frozen solid. It had clearly not stopped itself without a fight - the ice looked as though someone had taken a hammer to it's surface, beating until all of it was cracked and broken. it If the sun were shining, it would probably have been a spectacle worth seeing - a gigantic pane of glass, glittering in the daylight.

Now, though, it was a much colder sight. You could see underneath the ice, at the distant rushing waters that still moved beneath it. They looked still, and sounded silent, but what reason would they have to stop?

Before you can even think of moving on, you freeze, one of your hallucinatory figures staring straight at you. It stands in the middle of the river, and the longer you stare, the more defined it starts to become.

Frowning, you start to wonder if you really have gone insane. Now this sole, snowy outline seems familiar, as though it's trying to dredge up a distant memory - one you can't even begin to pull up.

Then, the figure starts to move, and your breath catches itself in your throat.

What does the figure now resemble?
[] A child, unsteadily notching a bow for the first time.
[] A young woman, holding a sword with caution.
[] A feeling of warmth, of motherly love gone cold.

-0-0-0-​

You think you finally feel cold again, and it's not because your warmth has left you. To be honest, your body's temperature might be rising. With your every breath you're creating large clouds of steam, so much so you almost remind yourself of a dragon.

It's a different sort of coldness. The type that comes from loneliness. Nothing had changed for hours, and you doubted it would for hours yet to come - the mountains behind you, the blizzard above, and the trees ahead. The river joined the mountains a long while ago.

You count your blessings, because no longer do the ghostly snow wraith's haunt your vision.

It's enough to make you wonder, though. When you woke up and looked out at the forest, now on the opposite side of the mountain, you never once saw a single sign of human habitation. When you finally climbed down, you just picked a direction and started walking.

Had you passed a town, a village, or a city? Had you passed by one of your sisters? Could you ever know? And would anything break up the monotony of the now boring landscape?

You had your limits, and they were fast approaching.

Snow, Hill, Snow, rock, Snow,Tree. That's how it went. You were never made for this much of one thing - you've even taken to humming the word under your breath. It quickly lost all meaning.

"Is it too much to ask for even a single change?" You ask. Your breath rises upwards, twirling and spiraling about. "Or would that result in some cascading series of events in which I lose what few memories I still have?"

You would give anything for a warm drink right now. You'd give almost anything to stop occasionally speaking aloud, only the wind's howls to answer you.

Then, without warning or any grandstanding, you swear you can smell blood. You swallow the saliva already forming in your mouth as you frown. Something was just killed nearby.

But what and why?

It could be normal people, hunters or hermits killing an animal. However, as the old saying went…

The man who lets ivy choke his trees without care is ignorant, but the man who fails to cut it down will himself be choked.

What do you do?
[] Investigate the smell
[] Keep close tabs on the body and move closer to it.
[] Ignore it and move on. It'll probably slow you down.
[] It could be that Fox again. You should try to ambush or trap it.
[] Write in

Spoiler: A/N

I realized I should start doing a thing more often. That thing? Cultural difference! Metaphors and similes!

Expect lots of plant metaphors. ALL OF THEM. I'm even going to retroactively add them in, once I get around to making all those edits I talk about.

...Why yes, I HAVE been reading lots of Cosmere stories, why do you ask?

There's also the more atypical quest format that SV'ers use, of "Mid-story vote, next update contains that as well", which is what I'm using here now… for a while, at least. See how that works. Expect chapters to get progressively longer as new stuff starts cropping up! Why yes, I know I've been saying that for the past several updates.

 

[Solsticegelan]

Perfect stillnessseemed to grip the air - a total lack of noise, of movement, and of thought.

Slowly, moment by moment, the outline of a woman became better defined in your mind's eye. Snowflakes formed patterns in the air, falling heavier and heavier, providing an illusion of depth and of distinguishable shapes. Flowing hair, clothing, eyes all looked to be there one second, but then lost themselves in the haze of the snow. One second, it could be there. The next, it could appear no more than a hazy shimmer, a bundle of snow softly falling to the ground.

Crunch

The closer you get to it, the more clear it becomes. At first, you think it's a woman, gender clearly defined.

Crunch

Then, even that becomes uncertain. But still something about it calls to you, strikes a chord somewhere in your heart that you can't ignore.

Crunch

At what point did you start taking long, heavy steps ahead? Are you moving, or is your body simply carrying itself forward? Towards the unknown?

Realization hits you fast, once the ice is beneath your feet. You don't stumble or trip up as you walk towards the young child standing at the center of the lake. Hair cut short, naturally wavy and wild.

You're in front of it now. You want to badly to reach out and touch it, to test if it's real or not. The answer would be no, no it is not real, because even if you swear you can see individual strands of hair, they are not there.

Even if you swear you can look into your own eyes, and see the doubt and hesitation in them.

In her right hand, she's holding a bow, comically oversized for a child. You frown, looking at how she's holding it. The snow twirls about giving this one actual depth beyond an illusion; like a shaken snowglobe had been elongated to form the weapon.

The child's chest shakes as they take a breath in. You can watch the snow be exhaled in, dropping and passing through the body to fall to the ground. Slowly, she raises the bow up, an impression of an arrow in her other hands. Fumbling about with the drawstring, she nonetheless manages to get the arrow into the bow, pulling back the string and letting go.

You can almost hear the adorable yelp as she drops the bow, arrow flying over her head and spinning about before bursting into snow, indistinguishable from the rest.

"No, no." You mutter to yourself. That wasn't right. It wasn't right at all.

The girl looks at you, actually looks at you, as though she could hear you speak. It wasn't as though you didn't know she couldn't.

You reach out to touch her, but hesitate, because she seems so fragile. It feels to you like if you were to touch her, she would shatter like glass hit by a hammer. So instead, you begin to teach.

"Hold it up again." You say. She nods, holding her bow up, and you shake your head. "No, no. Not like that. Not at all. How can your arms be so stiff yet still shake so at the same time? Deep breaths. It won't be natural, not at first, but it needs to be."

Everything you told her came straight from your heart, instinctive and well known. "Don't hold it so high." You continue, mimicking her hands. "It doesn't need to be directly next to your eyes. That's not natural, not how it's meant to be held." Without a doubt, you knew that once you had been like this girl.

As you talked, the snow seemed to form the same bow within your hands, a mock thing with a string made of ice. From your sleeves comes an arrow, summoned without a second thought. Surprise flickers across your face, but you dismiss it, far too caught up in the moment.

Already you're placing the arrow in your bow made of snow. It acts like it would were it real, held out sideways so that you may place the arrow upon the bow - and the arrows head doesn't fall.

The little girl is watching, eyes wide and surprised.

"Is that how you place an arrow on the bow?" She asks. Her voice is soft, ringing across the dead air like a quiet chime.

Chuckling, you nod. "It's the safest way, especially when you're learning. Do you have no idea what you're doing?"

"Mother told me to fire until the end of the day, when the sun falls beneath the tree's branches." She says sheepishly. "And to figure it out myself until then."

"Something about that method is...familiar." You say, more to yourself than to the girl.

You stand side by side with the girl, drawing arrows and firing them with a practiced, relaxed ease. The girl tries to copy you time and time again, listening to your advice as you sooth her. Now, you see calluses upon her fingers, cuts upon her hands from her failed attempts. Small piles of snow sit around her, all that remained of arrows sent flying as she flailed and ducked.

Your arrows all rest in a tree, its bark splintered and every surface in a small radius marked.

Finally, however, the girl gets better. She shoots straight, and at the bottom of the tree, a small snowdrift builds up as her arrows shatter against the tree. She cheers, she whoops, she does happy little dances. There are still mistakes, still flaws, but they aren't as massive as before. It's… heartwarming, to help someone like this.

Dropping her bow, she jumps up and down. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" She shouts, and you turn towards her, and watch as she runs towards you laughing. It's as pure and innocent as a bell.

She jumps up, straddling you in a hug. To your great surprise, she's heavy, weighing as much as you expect a child made of flesh and blood might . She forces you onto your knees, unless you want to tip over and fall onto your back - and how undignified might that be? The wind picks up, and the deathly silence that seemed to have overtaken the world is dispelled as her body slowly dissolves. Blown away by the wind, her body doesn't shatter like you had feared it would, but the end result is still as sad.

Perhaps that's why all you can think of is that the hug was warm.

By your feet lies the bow made of snow, now a solid thing of smooth curves and white metal. The drawstring is gossamer thin, but cold as ice.

Crunch

Walking away from the pile of snow that had formed around you, the bow is slung over your back, the motion as fluid as running water.

Crunch

You're proud to call it yours.

Crunch

-0-0-0-
​

The smell is close by, the freshest thing you can remember smelling in your memory. You would hesitate to call what you do running - hastening your pace would be more accurate. It's moving away slowly, at such a steady pace that you're gaining on it.

​

You aren't the pinnacle of stealth, but you aren't going to be alerting everything around you to your presence either. You've already retrieved the bow from your back, another arrow sliding out of your sleeve and ready to be notched.

​

Then, you hear it. In the distance, a human voice, loud and merry.

"The fair lady's gone scrambling over the hills, lock your window sills~"

...And singing, apparently. You can feel your grasp on the situation sliding away. No monster? No terrible, rapid bear? No fox trying to lure you into a trap that you could sink an arrow into?

"Mad! MAD! So they'll all cry aloud, the fair lady's lost her marbles!~ She'll beat you till all you can do is hobble!~"

And the singer is horrible off-key as well. Despite that, whoever it is has killed something - or at least stumbled upon it. Considering your luck, it's far more likely to be the former than the latter. Still, you'd like to approach closer, if only to follow them back to wherever they call home. It would be a step closer to your goals.

"Lock up your wife, lock up your children - Our fair Lady won't rest till she's got 'em!~"

… The voice was so horribly off tune you decided it was perhaps the only reason you weren't going to meet its owner. Get closer and follow the scent? Yes. Talk to the man who could sing like that? Hel no.

Maybe it would sound better with a beat in the background and instruments playing.

"Lock her up, she'll come back more vengeful than a wraith!~"

The world would never kn-

Snap

You pause, slowly turning to look behind you, where a young girl wearing a thick coat has just stepped on a branch. She doesn't look like she's older than 13 or 14, mousy hair in a single ponytail. She's frozen in place, eyes looking somewhere below you. What could she be looking at?

"...Please tell me that's for hunting." She asks.

"...Tell you what's for hunting?" You ask, looking around.

"THAT!" She says, pointing to your bow.

"Oh. " You nod. "Probably."

"That's not an encouraging response." She whispers.

"Were you looking for one?" You ask her, sniffing the air. Something was... off.

"Yes!" She cries.

"Then yes, it's for hunting. And nothing else. Ever." You lie straight to her face.

"Wait. Have you been crying?" She asks, eyes bouncing back and forth between you and something behind you.

"What?" You bristle. "Of course not!"

"Your eyes are puffy and red. Your face is wet. You have been crying! And recently! " She puffs up, proud of herself for figuring it out.

You frown, ear twitching. She's still looking behind you. You sniff the air again, and realize why.

You turn around, an older man wearing hunter's clothes and a terribly unappealing layer of brown stubble stopping in place as he attempted to sneak up on you. He reeks of the stench of a fresh kill, and you doubt he could've gotten within five feet of you, especially with the rabbit hung by a rope from his belt still bleeding. There's some familial resemblance between him and the girl.

"Your singing is terrible." You tell him. He gapes at you like a fish as you turn back to the girl.

"I wasn't crying. Let the records show it, and let it forever be known." You tell her.

The man behind you suddenly coughs, straightening up.

"Well then, nice to meet you, Miss...?"

How do you respond?
[] Beatrice. That's all I have.
[] Beatrice. That's all you need to know.
[] I'm not telling you!
-[] Ignore him and talk to the young girl.
[] Start asking questions about where you are. Take the lead.
[] Write in.

I feel like I started writing Beatrice slightly OOC during the ending conversation. I'll just chalk it up to the whole "Not exactly right-of-mind at the moment" thing. Especially since I made a point of showing off her "Big Sister" instincts in the first half...

Or maybe it's because it's reminding me more of how Laqueta would respond that how I think Beatrice should.

 

[Solsticegelan]

I'm presenting this first, because I've decided to rewrite a large chunk of the update. Also because this came easiest. The actual update will come later tonight. Thusly, I present our first omake;

Non-Canon Omake
Laqueta Fixes "Things."​

​

Within a blighted forest, a throne of corpses sat, a veritable horde of the dead. Stacked with care, arranged like treasured heirlooms, each was killed in a terrible way, displayed like works of art. Tree's had been torn down, broken by something of tremendous strength, forming giant splintery poles by which many of the creatures were displayed - in a clearing of unnatural design. The grass was brown and withered, the ground tinted an unhealthy green.

​

Sleeping curled around his bounty was a twisted serpent; too long and stretched out to be called a Dragon, with scales not a bright emerald but instead a dull green. It could not be called a wyvern, for no wyvern possessed two pairs of wings, one upon it's back and another replacing its front limbs. It's back legs were stunted, heavy and without feeling, the spear impaling it's calves ignored. It's tail was heavy and fell backwards, more than twice the length of it's body, and anyone who witnessed it couldn't help but wonder how the creature could even begin to walk, so unbalanced as it must be with such a tail.

​

It was ridiculous, it was nonsensical, and it was most certainly comical.

​

Yet it's teeth could crush stone. It's claw could rend even the finest steel. And from it's mouth a green mist gently escaped, coiling downward and pooling about around it's chin like a misty pool. The ground melted like slag before it.

​

Approaching the beast was a party of knights and warriors, lawmen dispatched to deal with a creature they had no doubt was little more than a simple exaggeration as far as reports went. A fearsome bear, a savage pack of dogs, but the silly and stunted thing they found? They would surely laugh and slaughter the thing in it's sleep.

​

Or so they had thought. The party once consisted of several scores of men, all trained to their best. Now they were at the thing's mercy, as it beat them without thought, for it had none to give.

​

They had given up all hope of surviving, and began running, the thing tearing apart the forest and smashing apart the land as it gave chase. That's when they heard it.

​

"Laquetaaaaaaaa……"

​

"What's that noise?" One of them asked, breathing ragged and face pale. Half of it was a bloody mess, the helmet discarded after it saved him from the thing's breath.

​

"I don't know. Just keep running!" Another screamed, passing the man. He tried keeping up, but his body was failing him, too injured by just a whiff of the creature's breath. He turned, expecting to face his death with honor and dignity. The beast came crashing towards him, rearing upwards, wing's extended in full. It seemed to blot out the sun as it's long, forked tongue extended towards him, a fearsome, crocodilian hiss filling the air.

​

"...KICK!"

Then a white blur crashed into it's head, knocking it down and to the side. The man's jaw dropped open, staring at the creature's crushed skull. Then he stared at the ranting girl hopping up and down, crushing the head further. There was no other description for her - she was a waif, younger than the man's own daughter, a head of shock white hair cut short around her bobbing up and down alongside her.

​

"Stupid! Dragon! Thing!" She shouted, pulling a spear from nowhere. "This is for trying to eat me!"

​

And then, with one flick, she decapitated the already devastated skull from the rest of the body. Sickly brown blood spilled forth, and it's massive body twitched and heaved twice before stopping completely once done.

​

Satisfied, she nodded to herself. Despite the pulpy mess she stood upon, there wasn't a single drop of blood among all the white, not even on the spear's head.

​

"Revenge complete. Laqueta, AWAY!" She shouted, pointing a single finger towards the heavens. The Man's gaze followed it, but couldn't see what she might be pointing at.

​

And then he had to blink as she turned into a dove, cooing in a way that was unmistakably self-congratulatory. She flapped away, flying into the sky and out of sight in just a minute.

​

The man had one response.

​

"What."

​

-0-0-0-​

​

The Snake stalked the forest, hunting her quarry. No more distractions would be allowed, no more desperate escapes permitted. Her sister had escaped her coil once, but not again.

​

She cursed against her limitations, the ones that her shared master had placed upon her -

​

"Laqueta…"

​

She paused, looking towards the noise. She purses her lips, biting her cheek as she considered the consequences of what she was hearing.

​

"...KICK!"

​

And then her sister collided with her feet first, kicking her into a tree. And then through another. And another. And ano- look, you get how this goes.

​

-0-0-0-​

​

It had been a few days since the Fox had departed on a hunt of her own before she frowned. Something here was… wrong.

​

"Laqueta…."

​

The Fox immediately panicked, recognizing the cry from what few memories she had stolen of herself. She looked for the source of the sound, but in such heavy snow, it was useless.

​

She had no time! She started running, desperately trying to put distance between her and-

​

"KICK!" Laqueta screamed, landing on the Fox and a dozen different sections of bedrock. She nodded to herself, then to the fossilized dinosaur skull next to her, before departing from the smoking crater she had created.

​

-0-0-0-​

​

Beatrice clutched her burning side, moaning in pain as she tried to force herself to her feet. The heavy rain soaked the deck of the ship, waves forcing it to rock back and forth, yet her foe was implacable.

​

Slowly, they cleaned their blades of Beatrice's blood. "I told you." They said, slowly stepping forward. "You do not run from -"

​

"Laqueta…."

​

Both Beatrice and her foe paused, looking towards the source of the noise. They were frozen in terror, knowing from experience what was coming next.

​

"KICK!"

​

A large hole was torn in the clouds by a white blur, the rain immediately dropping to a drizzle before stopping completely. With the force of someone launched out of a cannon from orbit, Laqueta collided with Beatrice's foe, sending them both crashing into the ocean. The impact created a massive wave, surging upwards like a volcanic eruption, blotting out the sun and forcing Beatrice to grab the sides of the ship to avoid being capsized as she watched in awe.

​

Not even a second later, it started to rain again, heavy ocean brine falling back to the earth. Warm, uncomfortable steam rose from the ocean's surface, setting itself upon Beatrice, obscuring her sight. A massive noise, originating from the direction Laqueta fell from, made her ears ring as she felt something wet and slick begin to fall onto her shoulders. Finally, a feeling of falling rapidly set upon her, a sensation of being spun around rapidly and with abandon. She shut her eyes, praying that it would all end.

​

And then she opened her eyes, and every part of her at once didn't understand what she saw.

​

Beatrice blinked, reality refusing to conform to reason. A ranting figure was hopping up and down upon the ocean floor, upon what must have been her foe's corpse. Rather unfortunately she couldn't hear anything at the moment, but she was quite sure that Laqueta was ranting and shouting.

​

There was also no more ocean.

​

-0-0-0-​

​

Solstice stared at the computer screen, mumbling to himself as he erased another omake draft. That would never work, it was far too silly.

​

"LAQUETAAAAAA!"

​

Solstice screamed in terror at the cry, dropping to the ground and rolling beneath his bed.

​

"KICK!" Laqueta screamed, crashing through the floor and into Solstice, sending him, his bed, and his roof hurtling into the sun.

​

"Huh." Laqueta said. " I guess I'm god now."

​

She looked at his computer, sitting down in his chair, shifting around in it as she adjusted it to someone of her height.

​

'Comfy!" She remarked, getting comfortable as she began to write. It didn't take her long, only a few minutes at most, because she knew exactly what she wanted.

​

"And then they all lived happily...ever… after." She muttered as she finished typing.

​