- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- Online Availability
- It varies wildly.
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Nonbinary
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- I'm open to a wide range of genres. Obscenely wide. It's harder for me to list all I do like than all I don't like.
My favorite settings are fantasy combined with something else, multiverse, post-apoc, historical (mixed with something else), and futuristic. I'm not limited to those, but it's a good start.
My favorite genres include mystery, adventure, action, drama, tragedy (must be mixed with something else and kept balanced), romance (again must be mixed, and more.
I'm happy to include elements of slice-of-life and romance, but doing them on their own doesn't hold my interest indefinitely.
"Sir, we've captured the family."
Jade overheard from her cell, and she felt her stomach drop out from inside her. Lungs couldn't get enough air, and arms and legs went from cold to ice.
Sweat dripped down Hegga's forehead, and the Hunter wiped it away.
"Sorry," the sweating woman breathed.
She looked toward Hunter Heggala, a new acquaintance since the end of the war, and at the sight of tears on someone so tall and muscular, Jade felt her throat close up tight. The Lady couldn't breathe. Only a single high-pitched whine escaped.
Another voice came from outside the cell, "Transport them to the appointed location."
Jade's shaking only increased with her dread. They had her wife and children now, and maybe more—did they have her brothers or sisters? Had they caught her niblings or grandkids or grand-niblings, or maybe her parents? She didn't think she had any aunts or uncles or cousins, but surely they wouldn't have her grandparents.
Each face danced through her mind. She lost several nephews, a sister, a brother, and some in-laws in the final battle; her bodyguards and her closest friends were among them. Unifiers burned the bodies to "prevent regeneration".
It felt unreal until she was unceremoniously introduced to Heggala by being tossed into the same cell as her, and the teal-clad Hunter sarcastically asked what she was in for.
Now, on their way to 'the appointed location', the two remained close within their shared cell as the floor shifted beneath them.
They landed.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
Jade stumbled down the ramp last. Out of all of the people present, she was the only prisoner who wore regular handcuffs. The rest wore thick, silver-alloy shackles, one each on their upper arms and one on their wrists. They retained their clothes, including jackets, and Jade even noticed daggers still in place on their belts, but everyone was very, very still.
As she descended further, the reason came into sight.
Cuffed and held at gunpoint, her wife and children knelt in front of a row of Unifiers.
Chill wind cut through Jade's shirt and pants, and her token struggles ceased. She moved quietly forward, to stand in front of the row of Hunters, where she felt her cuffs shift. An experimental tug and a glance back revealed what they did—they chained her to a ring in the icy ground.
Sounds came from behind, and another soldier secured a gag around Jade's head, so tight it left her dizzy from the pressure on the base of her skull, and the large knot dug into her small mouth. A few layers of cloth wrapped around the lower part of her face. She squirmed, but stilled as the soldier gagging her glanced toward her family.
Both soldiers stepped away, and one tapped his earpiece.
"Sir, all are positioned at the appointed location," he paused, and then, "Understood." He turned toward the soldiers who held Jade's family at gunpoint, then lifted his right hand. With the arm aimed at Jade's oldest adopted child, Carman, he suddenly dropped the limb. "Eliminate the heirs."
Jade looked toward Carman, eyes wide. She tried to ask what was happening, but couldn't speak.
Silence filled the air.
The gunshot was deafening by comparison. Jade screamed into her gag and tried to pull herself forward as realization and grief spurred her to try, even if it was useless, to protect her family.
She lunged forward. The ground met her face and slammed against her jaw. Dazed, she watched as another soldier lifted Sophia's head, then blasted her face away from behind. Carman and Sophia both fell forward as the soldiers released their grip on them, then kicked their backs.
Next in the line was Alabaster. Apprenticed to the hidden god of the forge, the girl was only just getting past her rebellious stage and starting to bond with her family again. She helped to create new weapons for the Hunters, and from her place on the ground, Jade watched as a soldier yanked the girl's head back and shot her in the same manner as her siblings.
No.
This couldn't be real.
She didn't have time to ponder. Sol and Lune, her two youngest at only six years old, were the next in line. The Unifiers pushed them to the ground before shooting, because they were so small.
Jade's gag muffled her wordless scream of loss as blood stained the snow and ice. She screamed again as Jacquelynn's head yanked back next. A glimmer of liquid on her face revealed that unlike the others, she was aware. Another scream ripped from Jade as Jac-lee's face exploded outward.
"No!" she tried to screech as her throat tightened.
Dravite, Amber, and Quartz's heads drew back as soldiers gripped and pulled them by the hair.
A high noise sounded from her strangling windpipe as tears fell from wide eyes. She tried to crawl forward, and her chest scraped painfully against the frozen ground.
Cabochon, Lapiz, Malachite, and Opal. Garnet, Amethyst, Ruby, and Pearl. The remaining eight children fell.
All of her children, from the oldest at thirty-four to the youngest six year olds, rested on the stained snow. The jaws that remained hung open limply. Grey mush seeped from a bloodied void. Fragments of bone stood out in vivid white. Pearl, her sweet artist, stared with one remaining eye at her. This was her fault. The stink of bowel and bladder seeped in slowly through the gag. Every aspect of the scene bored into her mind. Jade couldn't pull her eyes from their still forms until a quiet voice broke through the sound of her own keening.
"Beloved, I'm..."
Red eyes jerked toward the last of her family—her wife and twin. Blue eyes stared back at her. They shared their large eyes, their slender figures, their hair, their faces—but Jade lacked the grace of her twin, and as she stared at the face that was the light to her darkness, she saw a gun approaching her sister's head. A hand grabbed Topaz's hair by the bangs and forced her head upward as the gun came to rest out of Jade's sight.
Topaz inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. "I will wait for—"
And then her face was gone, and she fell.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
A voice buzzed at the edge of Jade's consciousness, "Alright. Get the Hunters and Jade sealed into that cave. I want out of here before my dick freezes off."
Another voice chimed in, "What are we doing with the bodies?"
"Leave 'em. Humans don't come back like Hunters."
Jade's cuffs dug into her wrists as someone lifted her by them, then dragged her along the ground. A cold steel muzzle pressed itself under her chin as the surviving Hunters, Trainers, Trainees, and Artisans filed past, into a dark cave. Shoved in last, she made no move to stop herself from falling.
The light from outside faded with a rumble.
An hour passed in silence.
"Fucking cock sucking sons of bit-!" A sob interrupted Hegga's cursing.
"Shut up, teal-lover," Kina spat, and a heavy clank followed. "Enough of this. This is not the first time we have been put in the ground. We need to regroup and fight ba—"
A long, high keening escaped Jade's throat, and Kina fell silent mid-word.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
Whack!
Michael tumbled through the cavern and landed on a pile of rocks. The adolescent groaned and rubbed at his head, and as the dizziness faded, he jumped to his feet and looked around, eyes wide in the magic-lit cavern. Silence followed, but that wasn't right. His breath fogged the air and reminded him that if he could see it, so could his trainer. He inhaled sharply, then held it as he looked around.
He's gotta be here somewhere, he can't go through wal—
The thought was interrupted by a sudden reminder that yes, his trainer could.
The punch sent him stumbling, but he caught himself and in a flash of blue-grey, he soared into the wall to join the assailant.
Existing in the same space as solid rock slowed his mind and distracted him, and after a few moments, he forgot another lesson his trainer always tried to teach him—don't try to breathe while ghosting.
When the fourteen year old woke, he coughed out some dust, then looked up into the face of his trainer.
"Again," Zippo started, but stopped as they both heard unfamiliar footsteps approach. The figure that emerged into their lit cavern drew a gasp from Zippo, and only a silent stare from Michael.
Zippo rose suddenly and began to approach the tiny woman. "Lady Jade!" He knelt before her. At only two feet tall, the difference in height astounded Michael as he watched and listened in as the two spoke quietly.
The strange woman didn't offer greeting to Zippo at all, but instead turned her red-eyed gaze toward Michael. "That is... my grand-nephew?"
The Trainer looked back to Michael, then returned his gaze to Jade. At that moment, it clicked in his mind—this was their leader. For the first time in his life, he was looking at the leader of the Hunters, and she was so heartbreakingly tiny, with eyes that showed nothing of the cute prankster and brilliant leader from the stories.
She began to walk past Zippo, but paused and looked at him. "Thank you, Trainer Zippo. Please, allow us a few moments' privacy."
Without a word, Zippo left, and Michael was faced with his biggest curiosity—the mysterious leader. The stories about her the others told always made her sound so much grander.
Jade approached Michael, footsteps careful as she kept her gaze locked onto his face until she stood before him. He realized then why people mentioned 'having to' kneel. She didn't demand it, nor was her presence that overwhelming; the alternative was neck pain.
Slowly, unsteadily, Michael knelt.
"Um," he started, but stopped as her gaze remained unwavering. Did she ever blink?
The silence stretched too long. Despite the cold, a bead of sweat ran down the back of Michael's neck. He forced himself to remain still despite the tickle, and clenched his fists at his sides. He took a breath to try to continue.
"You are Nephew Kindall's son," Jade interrupted, "and a Trainee under Trainer Zippo. I am your great-aunt, if nobody has told you yet, and my name is Jade Jemson." The tiny woman's monotone drone nagged at Michael, but he forced himself to pay attention anyway, and he nodded. She continued, still unblinking, "I have a favor to ask of you, Grand-nephew Michael."
"Y-yeah?" he stuttered, and internally cursed at himself for it.
"Attend to me tomorrow. I," she paused momentarily, "I feel something will happen."
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
"Tomorrow" came, and so did the end of the world, but years beyond that day, Michael remembered with absolute clarity the moment everything went wrong. Now, on the twelfth anniversary, he prepared his own 'celebration'. The thin young man held a single, silver earring between his fingers as he looked at it. It wasn't the usual stud or bar—this was a small hoop, made by the hand of someone he didn't know.
The starved corpse at his feet wouldn't notice being less one earring—it hadn't noticed the last five times Michael came to this fragment after finding the body.
He approached the usual mirror: an uneven thing that made his chin look gigantic, and looked himself over.
"Nose this time," he decided aloud, then took a slow, deep breath as he lifted the silver ring in front of his face and carefully opened it. The metal burned his fingers anew, and he hissed through his teeth, but refused to let go. He'd been touching silver most of his life, dealing with the pain of it. He could bear it. His hand shook as he lifted it up in front of his face.
With a quick stab, he tore it through one of his nostrils, then secured it as he felt it burn at his skin. Tears came as the sensitive flesh steamed, and he gritted his teeth. Breathing through them, he forced his hands into his hair and gripped it tight so he wouldn't yank the piercing out.
"I've felt worse," he forced himself to say. "This is the reminder of the wor—"
The piercing shifted as snot began to flow, and he interrupted himself with a loud curse, then pounded his chest with one fist. "I'm a Hunter, damn it!" Another pound, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the cold wall of the tomb to wait out the pain.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
Elite Ranger Sergeant Natalie Collins adjusted her uniform hat. She had her mission, and it was unusual. Instead of going out with a partner, she was tasked with finding someone from the Fragments to help with the search.
She assumed it was because her last partner filed for reassignment after their last mission. It didn't affect her too much—she'd already forgotten his name. Regardless, it was time to get to work, and she nodded to the transporter pad technician.
Her body stretched impossibly upward as the pad began to glow under her feet. Natalie reminded herself it was just a trick of the mind, even as she snapped back to her proper height.
She had time to see greenery around her only briefly before she fell the remaining centimeter to the ground. She fell onto her rear with a curse.
"Fucking tech can't aim!" The woman rose to her feet, then tapped her earpiece. "Elite Ranger Sergeant Natalie Collins reporting. I've landed safely, though my technician should double-check landing protocols. We should be landing on our feet by now, not in the air. I'm going to start heading eastward."
"Thank you for your report. Please proceed," came the pleasant voice within her ear.
Natalie smiled, then hefted her duffel onto her shoulder and began to walk.
This fragment had very little life left to it, based on the report. No detectable intelligent life forms, and most of the native organic stuff was just plants. Still, that didn't mean intelligent life wasn't present—scans weren't always accurate—and it didn't mean she could be careless. She kept a wary eye on her surroundings. If all went well, she wouldn't find anything of note except for maybe a red-eyed blonde with huge knockers. Natalie's teal uniform blended in decently well with the leafy environment, but the gleaming gold? Less so.
According to what she read, the last pair sent to this fragment never reported back. Either something was out there, or the idiots walked off the edge.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
Father.
It was the only thought that went through her mind. She needed to find him. He was alive somewhere. One foot lifted and moved forward, and her weight fell onto it. The process repeated, and she took another step forward. Her fevered mind barely remembered how to walk.
Unfocused eyes lifted briefly from the ground before her, and a hazy figure gently turned her away from a rut in the packed dirt road.
She didn't understand, only obeyed the guidance until it faded. Her steps continued.
Father.
Thin legs carried her onward as black hair fell into her face. She would have looked like a preteen, if not for her weighty chest. A sequined red dress hugged her narrow body, and over it, a coat of too many pockets. Through some miracle, the girl's pace continued slow and steady despite the high heels she wore. Even her slowly-closing eyes could not impede her progress.
Lucky!
She heard it, but not with her ears, and she paused mid-step as, for a moment, she felt an influx of energy. Some of the clouds from her mind cleared, and she lifted her head to find a man before her.
Tall and thin, with a black bodysuit, he held her shoulder with one large hand. His other hand hooked her dress with a finger before he yanked downward, and her breasts spilled over its top, The stranger fondled them shamelessly, only to pause as he felt the unnatural warmth of her skin through his gloves.
Slowly, he moved his hand to her mouth and pushed it in, then glanced to one side as his visor gave a reading as his other hand continued to play with her chest. "Huh. Sick little thing, aren't you? That fever probably has your brain cooked useless..." He spoke in Finnish.
Her jaw slowly rose and fell as she weakly chewed the man's covered finger.
Finally, the man sighed. "Damnit, I'm desperate, but not... that much." He pulled his finger from her mouth and fixed her dress, then stared down at her. "Look like a kid, anyway. Come on. I'll take you to base—"
A sudden voice filled her mind and forced away the half-formed thoughts within.
It's going to fall.
Panic.
She reached out suddenly and grasped his hand. "Not that... way..." She began to walk, pulling him as she turned to a path adjacent. "Falling..."
"Wait, wha—" Despite his confusion, he followed as she led him. A misty figure led her, invisible to the man.
Despite his complaints and questions, she led him from the fragment as it began to shake underfoot. Long-dead brambles gave way to nothingness and the sight of a thick rope bridge that linked this fragment to the next. The woman stopped at its edge, and the man looked back in time to see a skyscraper begin to sink in the distance behind them.
"Vittu!"
He picked her up under one arm, then began across the bridge slowly, a curse accompanying each step. Below was nothing—literally nothing, unless you counted what looked like static from an ancient and broken television screen.
The rope bowed and swayed beneath him, and every movement from their starting point sent vibrations through it until he finally jumped the last meter and let himself and his little good luck charm fall onto the vibrant blue grass. Loud cracks and explosions from behind drew his attention, and he slowly turned to look.
His home fragment was bisected. Half of it tilted down and away, and slowly slid down into the sea of void below. Half of his base was visible on it, with the walls ripped away. Thankful for enough distance that he couldn't make out the figures within, he crawled further from the edge.
"Lucky me, I guess," the man murmured as he stared at all four and a half feet of tiny woman. Laying on the ground where he dropped her, she looked strange to him, almost like her proportions weren't human.
"So, you're probably not even sentient anymore, but I'm Usko, and I was planning to do bad things to you, but uh... You saved my life, so maybe not."
Usko wiped his nose as the scent of rot caught it. "It reeks here."
Snowy Side
Strong wind yanked at voluminous black cloth. It tried to rip the wet-heavy fabric from its owner with singleminded determination. Icy rain sought every gap in the protective garment, but the covered figure didn't stop. Each step landed atop, and then broke through the thin layer of ice that rested atop calf-deep snow.
Fog puffed from under the figure's robe in small clouds, invisible in such whiteout conditions.
Far ahead, a spot of glowing interrupted the veil of rain and sleet, and the stranger continued step by sluggish and struggling step.
Step by step. One foot forward, and then the next.
Frozen limbs moved mechanically to drive the body forward, though the movements slowed with every chilled step.
A rock hidden beneath the snow caught the person's foot. Their ankle gave, and the figure toppled wordlessly, face-first into the snow and ice below. A hooded head lifted and a gloved hand reached toward the glowing spot, unaware that it was mere meters away.
Unaware that such an alluring spot in the darkened white of such a cold and miserable night could have meant salvation.
The hand and head slowly dropped into the ice-crusted snow with a quiet crunch as small ice pebbles and sharp raindrops beat a staccato against the prone form, while shallow breaths did little to melt the ice near their obscured face.
A pair of figures sat by the fire, and one looked up, a frown on his face. Slowly, the other took notice and looked up as well, rubbing hands together to warm them by the heat of the flames. "Whatcha see, dad?"
"I'm... not sure if 'see' is the right word, but I definitely thought I heard something." Thread bare flannel clung to his frame, a thicker jacket on the smaller of the two figures. Brown eyes squinted into the sleet and rain, the darkness beyond their hiding place making it difficult to see. He glanced to his companion, a hand going to a worn hatchet at his belt. "Stay here."
Slowly, the man crept out from where they had set up camp, and still he could hear the crunch of feet in snow, before something bigger hit the snow. Cold seeped into his shoes, long since in need of repair, but he ignored it as he listened. And then the sounds changed from snow and sleet on snow to hitting something more cloth like. He followed the noise, looking down as he found the figure. "Shit."
Carefully, he flipped the figure over, quickly scanning for any signs of life. Had they just fallen in the snow just now? Were they dead? It was hard to tell for sure. Either way, he wasn't staying in the cold to investigate the matter. Tucking a hand behind the figure's upper back and one behind the knees, he hoisted the stranger up and carried them back to where the other figure still waited with baited breath.
"Daddy?" The voice held a note of fear and worry. He smiled in reassurance.
"It's OK. I think they just fell... I'm not sure though."
The figure felt more than saw the stranger's approach, but couldn't process it. Flipped and lifted, the hood fell back to reveal the woman's worn and regal face, and through her robes, the man could feel against his arm how her ribs slowly expanded and contracted.
Nearer the fire, her robes eagerly absorbed the warmth offered by its flame, and it took only minutes for her body to burn with pain from the sudden reigniting of nerves and function.
An inward hiss through her teeth marked her unwilling thrust toward consciousness. Every outward breath became a self-soothing purr, too hard and and heavy and ill-timed to be from joy.
Fog puffed from under the figure's robe in small clouds, invisible in such whiteout conditions.
Far ahead, a spot of glowing interrupted the veil of rain and sleet, and the stranger continued step by sluggish and struggling step.
Step by step. One foot forward, and then the next.
Frozen limbs moved mechanically to drive the body forward, though the movements slowed with every chilled step.
A rock hidden beneath the snow caught the person's foot. Their ankle gave, and the figure toppled wordlessly, face-first into the snow and ice below. A hooded head lifted and a gloved hand reached toward the glowing spot, unaware that it was mere meters away.
Unaware that such an alluring spot in the darkened white of such a cold and miserable night could have meant salvation.
The hand and head slowly dropped into the ice-crusted snow with a quiet crunch as small ice pebbles and sharp raindrops beat a staccato against the prone form, while shallow breaths did little to melt the ice near their obscured face.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
A pair of figures sat by the fire, and one looked up, a frown on his face. Slowly, the other took notice and looked up as well, rubbing hands together to warm them by the heat of the flames. "Whatcha see, dad?"
"I'm... not sure if 'see' is the right word, but I definitely thought I heard something." Thread bare flannel clung to his frame, a thicker jacket on the smaller of the two figures. Brown eyes squinted into the sleet and rain, the darkness beyond their hiding place making it difficult to see. He glanced to his companion, a hand going to a worn hatchet at his belt. "Stay here."
Slowly, the man crept out from where they had set up camp, and still he could hear the crunch of feet in snow, before something bigger hit the snow. Cold seeped into his shoes, long since in need of repair, but he ignored it as he listened. And then the sounds changed from snow and sleet on snow to hitting something more cloth like. He followed the noise, looking down as he found the figure. "Shit."
Carefully, he flipped the figure over, quickly scanning for any signs of life. Had they just fallen in the snow just now? Were they dead? It was hard to tell for sure. Either way, he wasn't staying in the cold to investigate the matter. Tucking a hand behind the figure's upper back and one behind the knees, he hoisted the stranger up and carried them back to where the other figure still waited with baited breath.
"Daddy?" The voice held a note of fear and worry. He smiled in reassurance.
"It's OK. I think they just fell... I'm not sure though."
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
The figure felt more than saw the stranger's approach, but couldn't process it. Flipped and lifted, the hood fell back to reveal the woman's worn and regal face, and through her robes, the man could feel against his arm how her ribs slowly expanded and contracted.
Nearer the fire, her robes eagerly absorbed the warmth offered by its flame, and it took only minutes for her body to burn with pain from the sudden reigniting of nerves and function.
An inward hiss through her teeth marked her unwilling thrust toward consciousness. Every outward breath became a self-soothing purr, too hard and and heavy and ill-timed to be from joy.
Sunny Side
Poppy laid quietly on a sunny rock—one of many scattered about the field of tall grasses. Her white hair had grown out, and her clothes were tattered aside from her prized cardigan. Another day searching, and still no sign of Falren, Jerry, her mother, Martin... even Rare or Ozy. She couldn't find anyone she knew. A quiet sniffle escaped, and she wiped her nose onto her cardigan.
No sign of Yegdrick or Devan. No sign of Sinclair. No Vargo, Seela, Nan, Ober, Felicie, Elli, Dianne, Quickshot, Vinnie, or anyone else.
Headquarters itself was a crater, destroyed after the Unifiers won. She'd seen it. Even the dryad trees were burnt. There was nothing left of the Council halls. Being underground had done nothing to protect the place. Even Crow Mountain was demolished.
Worse, her mother was going to be pissed, if Poppy could ever find her. The difficult times during and after the Shattering had the same effect as training would have had, and Poppy got nosebleeds now whenever she was around supernaturals. She didn't even know if he mother would want her anymore.
Elizabeth didn't see Hunters as people, not really. Pets or tools, but not people. That was how the Council was supposed to think, how some seemingly all-encompassing force seemed to force their minds to think.
Poppy knew the truth of it, though. She knew what Councilmen were, and how they came to be, and she knew everything. HQ wasn't even the only HQ.
Everything was so much deeper than her mother had ever known, and Poppy knew only because she found an orb and refused the oaths when it tried to force her. She'd shattered the thing when it tried to kill her for her refusal.
Thinking about it, she could feel a headache coming. It returned any time she let her mind wander to that event. She rolled over and stared as an ant crossed the rock in front of her. A little flick sent it flying.
Somewhere, somehow, she wanted to find someone she knew. Everything was slowly decaying away.
She didn't want to be alone.
Being alone was the worst of fates.
"Um... excuse me? Can I... can I get some space there? Its warm and my plant needs the sunlight." A quiet female voice asked from just downhill. A strip of fabric wrapped around her chest, with the remnants of a skirt clinging to her legs and barely covering what mattered. In her hands was a makeshift pot filled with soil and ash, with a pine tree like plant nestled in it. It looked wilted, and the woman's green tinted skin seemed pale despite all the sunlight. Her fingers were covered in dirt, hinting at a transplant recently, and she looked up at Poppy with wide eyes. She seemed somewhere in her twenties, and there was a light nose bleed and a smear of red under her nose.
Her parents... bless them... had died twelve years ago - or her mother had at any rate. She had no idea if her father lived or not, but she'd long since been separated from them and grown on her own. It was amazing the scraggly little tree was surviving despite the harsh environment, but at the same time, maybe her connection was helping it somehow. She'd been born a plant, according to what she'd been told, and had grown into what she was now, with her tree being trimmed (carefully) from the top of her head and planted. She'd been keeping it safe ever since. "Please. I'm not meaning to intrude or anything... I'm just cold and tired and my plant really needs some direct sunlight."
A voice caught her ear, and Poppy's head jerked up. Blood dribbled from her nose as she stared in surprise at the other girl. Had she been so caught up in reflections she'd not realized someone was coming close? The thoughts ran rapid through her mind before, as she stared at the apparent dryad.
She began to purr, hopeful as she stared, before she nodded mutely and yanked the plant up, eyes darting before she found the sunniest spot for it. Almost before the girl could react, Poppy pulled her up as well, uncaring about her nosebleed as she let the dryad go atop the rock.
Finally, she sat back, staring and smiling as her purr resounded.
And then she remembered manners and talking were things.
"Oh! Uh. Sorry. I uh... was jus' feelin' lonely when yew came by!"
She'd come to find saying something like that usually earned forgiveness.
It helped that it was the truth.
"I'm Po-... Pahl! ... Pearl." She had to force herself to clarify through her accent. Everyone hated her accent. Her mom tried to train it out of her but it never worked. "It's been a while since I introduced myself." The purring wouldn't stop. She couldn't make it. Her tail stood erect behind her, vibrating with her excitement at meeting someone who seemed friendly.
"What's yewr name?" The cat leaned forward, eyes bright and excited. "Are yew... 'ungry?" She leaned back to dig through her cardigan pocket, then withdrew several cured meats, some of which looked too large for the flat-looking pocket she drew them from. "I got plenty and know 'ow ta git more. Yewr too skinny. 'Ere!" She placed a brown-wrapped tube of meat in front of the other girl with a nod, then paused and pulled out a knife, which she set beside the meat. "Eat up! Is a lil chewy but s'got lotsa the goods."
No sign of Yegdrick or Devan. No sign of Sinclair. No Vargo, Seela, Nan, Ober, Felicie, Elli, Dianne, Quickshot, Vinnie, or anyone else.
Headquarters itself was a crater, destroyed after the Unifiers won. She'd seen it. Even the dryad trees were burnt. There was nothing left of the Council halls. Being underground had done nothing to protect the place. Even Crow Mountain was demolished.
Worse, her mother was going to be pissed, if Poppy could ever find her. The difficult times during and after the Shattering had the same effect as training would have had, and Poppy got nosebleeds now whenever she was around supernaturals. She didn't even know if he mother would want her anymore.
Elizabeth didn't see Hunters as people, not really. Pets or tools, but not people. That was how the Council was supposed to think, how some seemingly all-encompassing force seemed to force their minds to think.
Poppy knew the truth of it, though. She knew what Councilmen were, and how they came to be, and she knew everything. HQ wasn't even the only HQ.
Everything was so much deeper than her mother had ever known, and Poppy knew only because she found an orb and refused the oaths when it tried to force her. She'd shattered the thing when it tried to kill her for her refusal.
Thinking about it, she could feel a headache coming. It returned any time she let her mind wander to that event. She rolled over and stared as an ant crossed the rock in front of her. A little flick sent it flying.
Somewhere, somehow, she wanted to find someone she knew. Everything was slowly decaying away.
She didn't want to be alone.
Being alone was the worst of fates.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
"Um... excuse me? Can I... can I get some space there? Its warm and my plant needs the sunlight." A quiet female voice asked from just downhill. A strip of fabric wrapped around her chest, with the remnants of a skirt clinging to her legs and barely covering what mattered. In her hands was a makeshift pot filled with soil and ash, with a pine tree like plant nestled in it. It looked wilted, and the woman's green tinted skin seemed pale despite all the sunlight. Her fingers were covered in dirt, hinting at a transplant recently, and she looked up at Poppy with wide eyes. She seemed somewhere in her twenties, and there was a light nose bleed and a smear of red under her nose.
Her parents... bless them... had died twelve years ago - or her mother had at any rate. She had no idea if her father lived or not, but she'd long since been separated from them and grown on her own. It was amazing the scraggly little tree was surviving despite the harsh environment, but at the same time, maybe her connection was helping it somehow. She'd been born a plant, according to what she'd been told, and had grown into what she was now, with her tree being trimmed (carefully) from the top of her head and planted. She'd been keeping it safe ever since. "Please. I'm not meaning to intrude or anything... I'm just cold and tired and my plant really needs some direct sunlight."
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A voice caught her ear, and Poppy's head jerked up. Blood dribbled from her nose as she stared in surprise at the other girl. Had she been so caught up in reflections she'd not realized someone was coming close? The thoughts ran rapid through her mind before, as she stared at the apparent dryad.
She began to purr, hopeful as she stared, before she nodded mutely and yanked the plant up, eyes darting before she found the sunniest spot for it. Almost before the girl could react, Poppy pulled her up as well, uncaring about her nosebleed as she let the dryad go atop the rock.
Finally, she sat back, staring and smiling as her purr resounded.
And then she remembered manners and talking were things.
"Oh! Uh. Sorry. I uh... was jus' feelin' lonely when yew came by!"
She'd come to find saying something like that usually earned forgiveness.
It helped that it was the truth.
"I'm Po-... Pahl! ... Pearl." She had to force herself to clarify through her accent. Everyone hated her accent. Her mom tried to train it out of her but it never worked. "It's been a while since I introduced myself." The purring wouldn't stop. She couldn't make it. Her tail stood erect behind her, vibrating with her excitement at meeting someone who seemed friendly.
"What's yewr name?" The cat leaned forward, eyes bright and excited. "Are yew... 'ungry?" She leaned back to dig through her cardigan pocket, then withdrew several cured meats, some of which looked too large for the flat-looking pocket she drew them from. "I got plenty and know 'ow ta git more. Yewr too skinny. 'Ere!" She placed a brown-wrapped tube of meat in front of the other girl with a nod, then paused and pulled out a knife, which she set beside the meat. "Eat up! Is a lil chewy but s'got lotsa the goods."
Bar Side:
Ozymandias, Hopper of Minor Renown, Former Empress, and Currently Homeless sat in a primative bar. The place was 'rustic' in that it was constructed of sod and piled stones, with long pieces of wood holding the ceiling up as that same ceiling's weight held them in place.
It was sturdy enough to handle a few people bumping into those posts and knocking bits of debris and insects down into the single room, but that didn't mean she liked it here.
The drinks tasted like sod. The food did as well. Despite it, she finished her meal and the watery alcohol, called 'small ale' for how it was brewed from leftovers from brewing real ale. It was safer than drinking water in this place, because the process killed anything nasty, and it didn't get people drunk.
People who didn't do their research complained that it was weak or tasted bad. They didn't realize the limitations of technology. They didn't realize they could die shitting themselves as they drank the water they ordered with their meals.
'Tourists', she called them. Most traveled only because they had nothing else to do. Some thought it would be 'fun' to explore different universes now that everything was falling apart.
Her eyes glanced down, and then back up just as quickly as a shudder passed through her. She could see all the way through, to the nothingness beneath.
Rapidly, she chugged the remainder of her drink from its large mug. Had it been the real thing instead of a small, she would have been knocked stupid when it kicked in. Possibly killed her.
As it was, her swaying after the drink stemmed from nothing worse than the headache of seeing the void below.
It was almost as bad a headache as when three idiots attacked her, trying to rob and rape her. Their corpses rested where they'd dropped after she burned a fifteen-centimeter hole cleanly through them with the newest remake of her old 'ray gun'.
"Dammit..." Justin pushed his hair from his face again. Brown hair had grown out and his hair tie had snapped long ago. He just hadn't gotten around to replacing it yet. He paused as someone down the bar stood up and looked over, his eyes narrowing some in alarm and recognition. There was no way... There was no way it was her. Sometimes he himself wasn't even sure how he'd survived all that had happened; Earth had been a fragment that survived, but beyond that, he didn't know. He sipped at his small ale, eyeing the woman.
"Bio? That seriously can't be you." The man's words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, his other hand playing with a piece of scrap on the counter in front of him. Was it really his former employer? Something was different about her, but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was that was different. He himself needed a bath and clean clothes, and unlike usual for him, he wore boots he'd confiscated as pay for medical services. Any that knew him knew he loved going just in socks, but he couldn't do that here with the end of the world.
She never thought she'd hear that name again.
Instinct kicked in, and Justin stared into the wide barrel of a handheld plasma cannon for only a moment before she lowered the weapon with a laugh.
"Aw, sorry 'bout that, sugah. Y'caught me by s'prize!"
She didn't see aggression in his synapses or chemicals. For now, he was safe enough to let live after knowing her old name. He maybe meant another her, she knew. She was something called a 'constant', which meant finding a world where she didn't exist at all was excessively difficult.
"Ah thenk y'got the wrong one, hon, but if ya want, Ah kin sit with ya. Offer ya a... dirt drink as 'pology fer aimin' mah gun atcha. Cain't offer anythin' better, since dirt drink's all they sell, less you want water tha'll make ya shit yer bowels out while it's killin' ya, which'd be a shame, cuz you got yerself some nice genes."
She was babbling. Bad habit she picked up from the one who led her to take this name.
"Anyway, Ah go by Ozymandias. Lahk the poem."
The woman didn't wait for an invitation, but instead sat beside him. Unlike so many, her clothes were fairly well-kept: a white sleeveless knit turtleneck with a keyhole that offered a view of her large breasts, a dark brown knee-length pencil skirt with a slit in the side that offered plenty of freedom, some nice, but sturdy black boots, and a yellow ribbon gave a flash of color to her low, over-the-shoulder ponytail.
Ironically, Ozy had learned the style was called the 'dead anime mom'. It was her kids who'd died, rather than her, though.
It was sturdy enough to handle a few people bumping into those posts and knocking bits of debris and insects down into the single room, but that didn't mean she liked it here.
The drinks tasted like sod. The food did as well. Despite it, she finished her meal and the watery alcohol, called 'small ale' for how it was brewed from leftovers from brewing real ale. It was safer than drinking water in this place, because the process killed anything nasty, and it didn't get people drunk.
People who didn't do their research complained that it was weak or tasted bad. They didn't realize the limitations of technology. They didn't realize they could die shitting themselves as they drank the water they ordered with their meals.
'Tourists', she called them. Most traveled only because they had nothing else to do. Some thought it would be 'fun' to explore different universes now that everything was falling apart.
Her eyes glanced down, and then back up just as quickly as a shudder passed through her. She could see all the way through, to the nothingness beneath.
Rapidly, she chugged the remainder of her drink from its large mug. Had it been the real thing instead of a small, she would have been knocked stupid when it kicked in. Possibly killed her.
As it was, her swaying after the drink stemmed from nothing worse than the headache of seeing the void below.
It was almost as bad a headache as when three idiots attacked her, trying to rob and rape her. Their corpses rested where they'd dropped after she burned a fifteen-centimeter hole cleanly through them with the newest remake of her old 'ray gun'.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
"Dammit..." Justin pushed his hair from his face again. Brown hair had grown out and his hair tie had snapped long ago. He just hadn't gotten around to replacing it yet. He paused as someone down the bar stood up and looked over, his eyes narrowing some in alarm and recognition. There was no way... There was no way it was her. Sometimes he himself wasn't even sure how he'd survived all that had happened; Earth had been a fragment that survived, but beyond that, he didn't know. He sipped at his small ale, eyeing the woman.
"Bio? That seriously can't be you." The man's words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, his other hand playing with a piece of scrap on the counter in front of him. Was it really his former employer? Something was different about her, but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was that was different. He himself needed a bath and clean clothes, and unlike usual for him, he wore boots he'd confiscated as pay for medical services. Any that knew him knew he loved going just in socks, but he couldn't do that here with the end of the world.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
She never thought she'd hear that name again.
Instinct kicked in, and Justin stared into the wide barrel of a handheld plasma cannon for only a moment before she lowered the weapon with a laugh.
"Aw, sorry 'bout that, sugah. Y'caught me by s'prize!"
She didn't see aggression in his synapses or chemicals. For now, he was safe enough to let live after knowing her old name. He maybe meant another her, she knew. She was something called a 'constant', which meant finding a world where she didn't exist at all was excessively difficult.
"Ah thenk y'got the wrong one, hon, but if ya want, Ah kin sit with ya. Offer ya a... dirt drink as 'pology fer aimin' mah gun atcha. Cain't offer anythin' better, since dirt drink's all they sell, less you want water tha'll make ya shit yer bowels out while it's killin' ya, which'd be a shame, cuz you got yerself some nice genes."
She was babbling. Bad habit she picked up from the one who led her to take this name.
"Anyway, Ah go by Ozymandias. Lahk the poem."
The woman didn't wait for an invitation, but instead sat beside him. Unlike so many, her clothes were fairly well-kept: a white sleeveless knit turtleneck with a keyhole that offered a view of her large breasts, a dark brown knee-length pencil skirt with a slit in the side that offered plenty of freedom, some nice, but sturdy black boots, and a yellow ribbon gave a flash of color to her low, over-the-shoulder ponytail.
Ironically, Ozy had learned the style was called the 'dead anime mom'. It was her kids who'd died, rather than her, though.
Snap Side:
Greedy hands reached down, spade in hand, and grabbed at the sod around the handle of their tool. Gloved digits plucked slugs of silver and dropped them into a bag, and then resumed digging through the ashy soil.
"This is a lot," the scarved and masked stranger said in a muffled voice, "This must have been one of the pyres. The amount of silver is..." They shook their head, then kept stabbing at the ground with their simple spade, even as they revealed mossy bone.
"Shouldn't you be... dirt by now?" The person grabbed the last of the obvious silver and began to work the shovel around the bones. Curiosity drove them as they continued to stab and paw at the heavy earth.
A spine, long and slender, led down to hips made for a quadroped. There was a tail and long claws as well, all colored black. A blade of bone on the end of the tail was smashed at some point, but the rest remaining looked sharp enough that the curious digger opted against testing its edge.
They began to dig upwards, curiosity only growing as they discovered an arm, and then the other arm's elbow.
That shape of collarbone didn't belong on a quadroped.
There were more bullets in the shattered upper half of the ribcage, and the dugger stuffed them into their satchel, then paused at a metallic glint from above the collarbone.
"Just who were you...?" they asked the corpse in a muffled voice.
Careful, very careful, the digger covered the gleam and began to dig above it. The skull appeared human, except for a muzzle-like quality to the face that felt wrong to look at, and teeth sharp and barbed, and then the horns... Horns that matched the spines on the back, shoulders, elbows, knees, and hips. Two sets were small, positioned on either side of a pair that arched back from the forehead. The fourth set started past the temples and curled back like a ram's.
With all but the neck excavated, the digger glanced around, then used gloved fingers to brush the ashy soil from the neck.
Slightly dirty, wholly intact, a grey collar hung around the spine. It had a gold-colored buckle, gold loop, and gold heart-shaped tag engraved with words the digger couldn't read.
A light touch to the collar, and it shifted. Vertebrae moved. Another touch, this one experimental, and then a little tug. A bigger tug, and then one more, and the remnants of the spinal cord broke, freeing vertebrae to come apart and release the prize.
The digger fell with a grunt onto their rear, then stared at the treasure in their hands.
Intact.
It had to be worth something good. The skeleton would be, too, but transporting that, and now it was damaged—no. It couldn't be done easily. Maybe in multiple trips, and if they had wire to attach things together, but it wasn't safe out here...
The Sleeping General presided. The fragment shook sometimes. It was best to get everything quickly and leave. They'd been long enough as it was.
The skeleton was, in the end, just a curiosity. A collar that could survive a war like that and the pyres after?
That was a treasure.
Into an inner pocket it went, hidden from sight before a gloved hand grabbed their bag, and they started the long trip back to the bridge. A glance upward was enough to know that it was afternoon.
Already, it'd be twilight before they reached home, even running. Still, they ran. The fragment ruled by the Sleeping General was creepy, even if the stories of the curse of the Worguard were just stories.
Nobody wanted to meet an antlered wolf that could shapeshift. Nobody.
The digger ran. Legs wrapped tight in thick protective gear pumped rapidly. The heavy load of silver slugs on their back clanked. Every breath was a huff and a puff through a mask as thick goggles hid the digger's eyes from view.
Running, the only thing they heard was their own panting breath, the loud brush of thick clothes rubbing, and the whump-whump-whump of a hefty bag as it hit their back.
They gripped the bag by its straps, despite its being secure, and kept going, bridge in sight. Its lights against the growing dimness offered a gleam of hope that the digger would survive another night.
So close to safety!
Unifiers often let wanderers stay at their outposts for up to eight hours if it was low-traffic. Today, it seemed like it would be. Today, they were lucky.
"Hey!" a voice shouted from behind.
The digger didn't look back, but ducked their head and began to run faster. Deafened by the sounds of their own clothing, they sprinted as fast as they could. One thin-soled boot slammed the base of the bridge, and then the other, and the lone scavenger kept going.
Whuff-whuff-whuff-whuff-whuff-whuff-whuff!
Well aware they weren't fast enough to have outrun anyone like that, they stopped halfway and looked back, panting, curious.
Behind them, a dog paced. It wasn't right to be a wolf. No antlers. However, the Worguards were shapeshifters.
The digger turned back forward with a little hop, eyes back on the ground before them, and then turned all the way and ran towards the side of the bridge furthest from the pacing dog.
"Whoa, slow down!" A unifier caught the digger by the arm, revealing the scavenger's short stature. "What's got you spooked, kid? Don't you know the Worguard don't hurt children?"
The digger paused, then looked up. They looked back across the bridge, then again to the Unifier and shrugged.
"Scared you or something? You've gone by here every day the past two weeks. Is that old fragment that fun to play on? You should get home. Your parents must be worried."
Morning came, and a touch to their shoulder roused them. They lifted their head to find a Unifier in front of them.
"Hey. Time to move along. We got traffic coming in."
The digger nodded and rose.
"You want some food for the road?"
They shook their head. Unifiers would want something in return, and they didn't take silver bullets as payment. Ingots, yes. Bullets, no. The only difference was the shape.
"Travel safe, kid."
With a nod, the digger checked out of the outpost, then exited and looked around. First step, get home and melt the metal into ingots of bulletstock. Nobody really knew what alloys were in bulletstock, so they couldn't say, but Unifier bullets were all uniform in makeup, and they burned if someone magic touched them, so there was for sure silver.
The digger walked home quickly. Hunger gnawed at their belly, but they ignored it.
Their arrival home was greeted not by celebration, but a forgettable beating from the man they called 'father', and then the digger began to melt down the bullets. The collar remained on their mind, locked there, but the digger didn't remove it from their heavy clothing.
The crucible was heated and filled. Metal melted. Metal poured into molds.
Cooling took a long time, and the walk to the nearest trading center took several hours with a heavy load.
Heavy breaths came noisily through the digger's mask, and they gripped their backpack more tightly. This place was just as dangerous as the battleground. Word was, dangerous people came here to ply dangerous trades, but the digger, small and bundled against the mild temperatures, had only the results of their scavenging. Most people already found the big treasures: daggers and coats. There was big money in those. The pockets of the coats could hold a lot more than they looked like they should, and they didn't weigh anything aside from the weight of the sturdy leather. Most people converted them into bags or... anything other than a coat.
The daggers, those housed precious and semiprecious gemstones. They were all a known mix of mithril and silver, with higher mithril content in the handles. Very little could break them, and they seemed to never lose their edge. One person tried to make one of the daggers serrated and had to give up when it shaved their tools.
The digger kept their head down as they trotted to the nearest metals dealer. Only the local coin meant anything to the people here, and it was useless outside of this particular settlement. Here, at the metals dealer, they traded the bulletstock for coin.
The bag felt lighter than last time, but they'd given over more metal.
The scavenger counted the coins, then glared at the dealer.
"Be glad I bought it off you. It isn't selling anymore."
Worry gnawed, and the scavenger looked around as they gripped their coins. The shop was empty aside from them and the owner.
"This trade post is nearly done. The edge is getting too close."
His words yanked the digger's attention back, and they shoved the coins forward.
"You want tradebacks?" The man blinked, then laughed. "Fine. I think I gave you too much, anyway." He plucked the bag away, then shoved the ingots back with a gloved hand.
"You still living with your old man?"
The question stopped the digger suddenly.
"Isn't he right near the edge since the last time we crumbled? You and him should move. The walk's going to be too long soon, anyway."
A shake of the head, and the digger finished filling the backpack, then pulled it on and started toward the flap in the doorway that offered a thin excuse for a door.
"Well, take care, I guess."
The digger waved and trotted out of the shop, then looked around for somewhere to exchange metal directly for goods. During the time they were inside, half of the people in the market were...
Gone.
Did they already move on?
A camera flash lit up the empty stores, a lithe figure with frizzy red hair smiling wistfully around at the slowly abandoning post. Maybe she'd get some coin for the prints. Some still hung onto them, especially the ones of liveliness and flowers. Children playing were particularly popular. She stepped out from the empty building, a tinge of sadness marring the wistful smile as she looked down at her camera. It was in what she referred to as 'storage mode', keeping track of every photo she took. She'd change it later when it was safe. A satchel rested on her hip, where her tools rested, as well as some bare rations.
Her steps back were absent as she eyed the sun over the building, her photographer's eye looking for the right angle. She stood out among everyone, like a photojournalist among a poor nation. There was a quiet confidence to her shoulders, as if daring anyone to even mess with her in the first place. It came from how she was raised - the daughter and granddaughter of two different Empresses. She had to be calm, to lead, to be confident, and yet she couldn't settle down. Another step back and she hit something more solid then she had thought would be behind her. Shit! Chrys quickly turned, arms already out to steady whoever it was. "So sorry!"
The bump was just solid enough, with the weight of the backpack, to send the scavenger to the ground with a grunt. They landed on their rear and stared forward at Chrys's feet. A goggled gaze rose slowly, expression hidden behind the scratched and colored plastic.
"It's ok," they assured in a quiet and muffled voice as they sat on the ground, staring up at the taller person.
"Are... you ok?" asked the toppled person.
Chrys held her hand out to the person she'd accidentally knocked over. "By the Light, I didn't mean to knock you over."
She helped the smaller person to their feet, smiling warmly. "Yeah, I'm OK. You? Besides the tumble I mean."
She let her camera hang limp against her chest, hanging from its strap around the back of her neck. Still, one hand always touched it, stroking a side or a curve, as if subconsciously reassuring the woman it was still there and not missing. Chrys had no idea what'd she'd do if it went missing, or if it was damaged. Well, she'd probably be in extreme pain, but that was besides the point. "I seriously didn't mean to knock you over. Apologies."
The scavenger's gaze lowered to the offered hand, and after a moment's staring, they grasped it in a gloved hand and allowed Chrys to help them to their feet. The glove felt coarse against the woman's skin, and the stitches were thick and uneven, with visible gaps. Scorch marks marred the leather in several places, same as along the smaller person's sleeves.
Filthy and covered head-to-toe, the only places where their brown skin was visible were the gaps in hand-stitched bag-like shoes and those rough and misshapen gloves.
Once they stood back on their feet, they withdrew their hand from Chryssy's abruptly. A few uncertain shifts in which leg their weight rested on, and finally the stranger offered an answer.
"Ye... Yes, ma'am. Not hurt. Just lost balance."
"I think it more I bumped into you and knocked you over. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" Chrysanthemum let her camera drop down with a solid thump against her chest as she swung her backpack off her arm and around to start rummaging through it. Some food, maybe? Something precious that was worth selling? It was hard to tell for sure what would make it up to this person she'd run into. Her own weight was firm and balanced, placing her in a position to move quickly if she needed to. Some had tried to rob her in the past, and she'd learned quickly how to get the hell out of dodge. "Or somewhere I can escort you to? A kid shouldn't be out by themselves, really."
To Chryssy, Digger looked like a youngling; she'd never been good with placing someone's age, even before all this. She smiled sweetly, trying to not be intimidating to the person in front of her in the mean time while she waited for an answer.
The bundled person stared at Chryssy, clueless about why the stranger was so apologetic as to offer goods or services. "It's... it's fine," they assured in a nervous tone. "I wasn't... wasn't looking either."
From nearby, a shout. "Cam girl!" The person was a merchant just finishing packing. The thin woman shoved a barrel onto a cart and then looked over again towards the two. "That one's too honest. Just take the little scavenger with you."
"Scav-?" another voice emerged from the front of the cart, and a pruny old man looked back. "Oh, the lil digger... He's an orphan." He waved a hand dismissively. "Probably gonna fall if you don't, young miss." He shrugged. "If you can pay, you can ride in the back, the both of you."
"This is a lot," the scarved and masked stranger said in a muffled voice, "This must have been one of the pyres. The amount of silver is..." They shook their head, then kept stabbing at the ground with their simple spade, even as they revealed mossy bone.
"Shouldn't you be... dirt by now?" The person grabbed the last of the obvious silver and began to work the shovel around the bones. Curiosity drove them as they continued to stab and paw at the heavy earth.
A spine, long and slender, led down to hips made for a quadroped. There was a tail and long claws as well, all colored black. A blade of bone on the end of the tail was smashed at some point, but the rest remaining looked sharp enough that the curious digger opted against testing its edge.
They began to dig upwards, curiosity only growing as they discovered an arm, and then the other arm's elbow.
That shape of collarbone didn't belong on a quadroped.
There were more bullets in the shattered upper half of the ribcage, and the dugger stuffed them into their satchel, then paused at a metallic glint from above the collarbone.
"Just who were you...?" they asked the corpse in a muffled voice.
Careful, very careful, the digger covered the gleam and began to dig above it. The skull appeared human, except for a muzzle-like quality to the face that felt wrong to look at, and teeth sharp and barbed, and then the horns... Horns that matched the spines on the back, shoulders, elbows, knees, and hips. Two sets were small, positioned on either side of a pair that arched back from the forehead. The fourth set started past the temples and curled back like a ram's.
With all but the neck excavated, the digger glanced around, then used gloved fingers to brush the ashy soil from the neck.
Slightly dirty, wholly intact, a grey collar hung around the spine. It had a gold-colored buckle, gold loop, and gold heart-shaped tag engraved with words the digger couldn't read.
A light touch to the collar, and it shifted. Vertebrae moved. Another touch, this one experimental, and then a little tug. A bigger tug, and then one more, and the remnants of the spinal cord broke, freeing vertebrae to come apart and release the prize.
The digger fell with a grunt onto their rear, then stared at the treasure in their hands.
Intact.
It had to be worth something good. The skeleton would be, too, but transporting that, and now it was damaged—no. It couldn't be done easily. Maybe in multiple trips, and if they had wire to attach things together, but it wasn't safe out here...
The Sleeping General presided. The fragment shook sometimes. It was best to get everything quickly and leave. They'd been long enough as it was.
The skeleton was, in the end, just a curiosity. A collar that could survive a war like that and the pyres after?
That was a treasure.
Into an inner pocket it went, hidden from sight before a gloved hand grabbed their bag, and they started the long trip back to the bridge. A glance upward was enough to know that it was afternoon.
Already, it'd be twilight before they reached home, even running. Still, they ran. The fragment ruled by the Sleeping General was creepy, even if the stories of the curse of the Worguard were just stories.
Nobody wanted to meet an antlered wolf that could shapeshift. Nobody.
The digger ran. Legs wrapped tight in thick protective gear pumped rapidly. The heavy load of silver slugs on their back clanked. Every breath was a huff and a puff through a mask as thick goggles hid the digger's eyes from view.
Running, the only thing they heard was their own panting breath, the loud brush of thick clothes rubbing, and the whump-whump-whump of a hefty bag as it hit their back.
They gripped the bag by its straps, despite its being secure, and kept going, bridge in sight. Its lights against the growing dimness offered a gleam of hope that the digger would survive another night.
So close to safety!
Unifiers often let wanderers stay at their outposts for up to eight hours if it was low-traffic. Today, it seemed like it would be. Today, they were lucky.
"Hey!" a voice shouted from behind.
The digger didn't look back, but ducked their head and began to run faster. Deafened by the sounds of their own clothing, they sprinted as fast as they could. One thin-soled boot slammed the base of the bridge, and then the other, and the lone scavenger kept going.
Whuff-whuff-whuff-whuff-whuff-whuff-whuff!
Well aware they weren't fast enough to have outrun anyone like that, they stopped halfway and looked back, panting, curious.
Behind them, a dog paced. It wasn't right to be a wolf. No antlers. However, the Worguards were shapeshifters.
The digger turned back forward with a little hop, eyes back on the ground before them, and then turned all the way and ran towards the side of the bridge furthest from the pacing dog.
"Whoa, slow down!" A unifier caught the digger by the arm, revealing the scavenger's short stature. "What's got you spooked, kid? Don't you know the Worguard don't hurt children?"
The digger paused, then looked up. They looked back across the bridge, then again to the Unifier and shrugged.
"Scared you or something? You've gone by here every day the past two weeks. Is that old fragment that fun to play on? You should get home. Your parents must be worried."
~*~
The digger slept in the outpost that night, gripping their backpack's straps as they sat on a couch, head dropped forward.Morning came, and a touch to their shoulder roused them. They lifted their head to find a Unifier in front of them.
"Hey. Time to move along. We got traffic coming in."
The digger nodded and rose.
"You want some food for the road?"
They shook their head. Unifiers would want something in return, and they didn't take silver bullets as payment. Ingots, yes. Bullets, no. The only difference was the shape.
"Travel safe, kid."
With a nod, the digger checked out of the outpost, then exited and looked around. First step, get home and melt the metal into ingots of bulletstock. Nobody really knew what alloys were in bulletstock, so they couldn't say, but Unifier bullets were all uniform in makeup, and they burned if someone magic touched them, so there was for sure silver.
The digger walked home quickly. Hunger gnawed at their belly, but they ignored it.
Their arrival home was greeted not by celebration, but a forgettable beating from the man they called 'father', and then the digger began to melt down the bullets. The collar remained on their mind, locked there, but the digger didn't remove it from their heavy clothing.
The crucible was heated and filled. Metal melted. Metal poured into molds.
Cooling took a long time, and the walk to the nearest trading center took several hours with a heavy load.
Heavy breaths came noisily through the digger's mask, and they gripped their backpack more tightly. This place was just as dangerous as the battleground. Word was, dangerous people came here to ply dangerous trades, but the digger, small and bundled against the mild temperatures, had only the results of their scavenging. Most people already found the big treasures: daggers and coats. There was big money in those. The pockets of the coats could hold a lot more than they looked like they should, and they didn't weigh anything aside from the weight of the sturdy leather. Most people converted them into bags or... anything other than a coat.
The daggers, those housed precious and semiprecious gemstones. They were all a known mix of mithril and silver, with higher mithril content in the handles. Very little could break them, and they seemed to never lose their edge. One person tried to make one of the daggers serrated and had to give up when it shaved their tools.
The digger kept their head down as they trotted to the nearest metals dealer. Only the local coin meant anything to the people here, and it was useless outside of this particular settlement. Here, at the metals dealer, they traded the bulletstock for coin.
The bag felt lighter than last time, but they'd given over more metal.
The scavenger counted the coins, then glared at the dealer.
"Be glad I bought it off you. It isn't selling anymore."
Worry gnawed, and the scavenger looked around as they gripped their coins. The shop was empty aside from them and the owner.
"This trade post is nearly done. The edge is getting too close."
His words yanked the digger's attention back, and they shoved the coins forward.
"You want tradebacks?" The man blinked, then laughed. "Fine. I think I gave you too much, anyway." He plucked the bag away, then shoved the ingots back with a gloved hand.
"You still living with your old man?"
The question stopped the digger suddenly.
"Isn't he right near the edge since the last time we crumbled? You and him should move. The walk's going to be too long soon, anyway."
A shake of the head, and the digger finished filling the backpack, then pulled it on and started toward the flap in the doorway that offered a thin excuse for a door.
"Well, take care, I guess."
The digger waved and trotted out of the shop, then looked around for somewhere to exchange metal directly for goods. During the time they were inside, half of the people in the market were...
Gone.
Did they already move on?
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A camera flash lit up the empty stores, a lithe figure with frizzy red hair smiling wistfully around at the slowly abandoning post. Maybe she'd get some coin for the prints. Some still hung onto them, especially the ones of liveliness and flowers. Children playing were particularly popular. She stepped out from the empty building, a tinge of sadness marring the wistful smile as she looked down at her camera. It was in what she referred to as 'storage mode', keeping track of every photo she took. She'd change it later when it was safe. A satchel rested on her hip, where her tools rested, as well as some bare rations.
Her steps back were absent as she eyed the sun over the building, her photographer's eye looking for the right angle. She stood out among everyone, like a photojournalist among a poor nation. There was a quiet confidence to her shoulders, as if daring anyone to even mess with her in the first place. It came from how she was raised - the daughter and granddaughter of two different Empresses. She had to be calm, to lead, to be confident, and yet she couldn't settle down. Another step back and she hit something more solid then she had thought would be behind her. Shit! Chrys quickly turned, arms already out to steady whoever it was. "So sorry!"
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
The bump was just solid enough, with the weight of the backpack, to send the scavenger to the ground with a grunt. They landed on their rear and stared forward at Chrys's feet. A goggled gaze rose slowly, expression hidden behind the scratched and colored plastic.
"It's ok," they assured in a quiet and muffled voice as they sat on the ground, staring up at the taller person.
"Are... you ok?" asked the toppled person.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
Chrys held her hand out to the person she'd accidentally knocked over. "By the Light, I didn't mean to knock you over."
She helped the smaller person to their feet, smiling warmly. "Yeah, I'm OK. You? Besides the tumble I mean."
She let her camera hang limp against her chest, hanging from its strap around the back of her neck. Still, one hand always touched it, stroking a side or a curve, as if subconsciously reassuring the woman it was still there and not missing. Chrys had no idea what'd she'd do if it went missing, or if it was damaged. Well, she'd probably be in extreme pain, but that was besides the point. "I seriously didn't mean to knock you over. Apologies."
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
The scavenger's gaze lowered to the offered hand, and after a moment's staring, they grasped it in a gloved hand and allowed Chrys to help them to their feet. The glove felt coarse against the woman's skin, and the stitches were thick and uneven, with visible gaps. Scorch marks marred the leather in several places, same as along the smaller person's sleeves.
Filthy and covered head-to-toe, the only places where their brown skin was visible were the gaps in hand-stitched bag-like shoes and those rough and misshapen gloves.
Once they stood back on their feet, they withdrew their hand from Chryssy's abruptly. A few uncertain shifts in which leg their weight rested on, and finally the stranger offered an answer.
"Ye... Yes, ma'am. Not hurt. Just lost balance."
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"I think it more I bumped into you and knocked you over. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" Chrysanthemum let her camera drop down with a solid thump against her chest as she swung her backpack off her arm and around to start rummaging through it. Some food, maybe? Something precious that was worth selling? It was hard to tell for sure what would make it up to this person she'd run into. Her own weight was firm and balanced, placing her in a position to move quickly if she needed to. Some had tried to rob her in the past, and she'd learned quickly how to get the hell out of dodge. "Or somewhere I can escort you to? A kid shouldn't be out by themselves, really."
To Chryssy, Digger looked like a youngling; she'd never been good with placing someone's age, even before all this. She smiled sweetly, trying to not be intimidating to the person in front of her in the mean time while she waited for an answer.
⋯﴾⛧﴿⋯
The bundled person stared at Chryssy, clueless about why the stranger was so apologetic as to offer goods or services. "It's... it's fine," they assured in a nervous tone. "I wasn't... wasn't looking either."
From nearby, a shout. "Cam girl!" The person was a merchant just finishing packing. The thin woman shoved a barrel onto a cart and then looked over again towards the two. "That one's too honest. Just take the little scavenger with you."
"Scav-?" another voice emerged from the front of the cart, and a pruny old man looked back. "Oh, the lil digger... He's an orphan." He waved a hand dismissively. "Probably gonna fall if you don't, young miss." He shrugged. "If you can pay, you can ride in the back, the both of you."