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This is an Althy Day vignette, so it will close at midnight on September 4th.Quote:
Your character has suddenly been burdened with the care of an unusual and potentially dangerous pet. How did they get into this situation? Was it left to them in a will, did they find it on the street? How do they handle this responsibility?
For her, it was not a novelty.
After all, Philomel had had Delath the dragon from when he was tiny - and that meant at four foot long. Then he had grown, lost his wings and been magically aged by the will of Drys and an ancient amulet, but that was another story. Another history. She had still had to deal with his infantile fire breathing and wing-stretching, avoiding those sharp claws and attempts to maul. Certainly, before his maturity he had been a handful, and so it was with some experience of fantastic creatures that Philomel beast-sat a chimaera.
It took the classic proportions. Golden-haired lion's body with the back legs and second head of a proud goat, and the tail the form of an emerald serpent. Three sets of eyes constantly searching, three mouth agape. Even when at night, only one head would sleep at a time, and thus there were usually at least two eyes following your every step. Kept down in a basement that had once been used to house gladiatorial game beasts, the chimaera had a decent stretch to run as well as blackened stone walls and heavy iron bars to stop any uninteresting escape. For some time now his owner, a wealthy merchant by the name of Montrose, had housed him here and fed anyone who failed his trade deals to the creature.
During a heated night of (paid) passion, Montrose had led the faun Matriarch and occaisional courtesan into the cellar. He had waved his arm with a boastful smile and told the tale of how he had won the chimaera in a game of chance. The idea of trading such a beautiful animal as result of cards had made Philomel sick to the stomach, but immediately she had found common ground with the merchant. They had spoken for hours about the trials and tribulations of owning such a beautiful animal - be it dragon or chimaera - and for the first time in her life Philomel had discovered that she liked this man, her patron. Thus, a friendship had begun, resulting in him coming to her in with stress lines on his forehead and stiff from perspiration hair.
"My dear Matriarch, I have been called abroad in emergency. I would never seek to presume this, but after all you said you have a dragon. My chimaera keeper is sick, you see, and there is no one else in my household -"
She had stopped him there and just smiled, nodding.
"Of course," she had said, and gladly taken the money from him. "I will look after William as if he were my own."
"William?" the balding merchant had looked confused.
"Yes, I named your beast for you, since you clearly lacked the desire or the creativity," she had shrugged.
And that, had been that.
Now she stood, two steps from the bars, watching this strong and hearty creautre stride around on massive, head-crushing paws and hooves. In her mind she considered all the possibilities that lay here, all the hopes and dreams. Particularly she admired the goat head, but that was only natural as it made up a half of her genetics. Yet still she loved William for being William, and that was all that mattered.
Three heads twisted around to stare at her with gleaming eyes as she approached. Certainly, she was lucky this animal did not breathe fire. Fur was not one to be rid of the burnt smell easily. Her lips quirked into a smile.
"Hello, William," she spoke gently, reaching out with a huge hunk of bloody meat at the bars. "Let's get started, shall we?"
"I'm delling you, this damn ding is cursed!" Zack Blaze's voice, a baritone of near femininity struggled through the mucus that clogged his nostrils.
"You are overreacting," the eight foot tall ogre Makai replied as he ripped the bark off of a Concordian Redwood, "It's just an animal."
The war criminal furrowed his brow and brought his lips to a scowl. Of course his friend (or the closest thing he would consider one given his current situation) was distrusting. The street fighter was not one typically accept a live gift from a stranger, but the desperation of the local child had come across as a life or death situation. In hindsight, accepting to care for the filthy beast that currently lay across his arms was a gigantic mistake. A bit of snot dribbled down the nose of the master manipulator as he pointed down towards his shoes.
"I just bought these things yesterday, and dey are already dorn apart, I keep getting chased by what I can only hope are rabid dogs," Zack took a moment to suck in his flegm with a loud snort, "and if you can't dell already, I have a sdupid allergy to the blasded thing ever since I acceded it from the kid! Part of me just dinks that the boy was drying to get rid of it so he didn't have to deal with it anymore."
Makai chuckled, his muscular charcoal black skin an unwelcome sight as it rippled. His ivory white yet somehow slightly crimson teeth gleamed in the dark of the wild and sent a chill down the spine of his under the weather compatriot. "Just give it to somebody else if it is that much of problem for you Zack." Makai continued to rip the bark off of the tree and watched as a river of sap began to flow down the massive thing. "Anyway, what should we use with this Concordia syrup for breakfast."
The only reply Makai received was the hoot of the local owls and the sound of winds as it danced along the treetops.
"Zack" The beast turned to find a swath of tiny blankets at his feet. The fortress of comfort swayed to and fro on the ground as if it was a living being itself. The ogre kneeled down while reached out for the material. As his large hand lifted up the veil that covered its quarry, Makai looked around once again for the disappeared Zack Blaze.
"Its just a baby Zack," the being mumbled while he scooped up the tiny human in his arms with a sigh, "I'll never understand how that man is physically allergic to human decency..."
Presents were not something Scarlet was used to. In fact, she couldn't recall a time where she ever received one her entire life. So to see the neat little box sitting at the foot of her bed, wrapped in pristine white paper and adorned with a deep forest green bow was somewhat of a shock to her. That is, if she were capable of feeling such emotions. Perhaps it was a mild surprise? Curiosity?
That thing was not supposed to be there.
The redheaded emotionless assassin glanced to and fro to see if her Master, Lichensith Ulroke was around. No... he wouldn't be... he was still away on business. So then why.... and who put this THING here?
Scarlet nudged it with her foot. It wriggled and moved about. "What the f-"
Her words were drowned out by an ear piercing screech, instinctively, Scarlet's ability activated, and six angry red snakes emerged from her back. Ethereal tendrils that crackled with a chaotic and dark energy. They lunged at the box, converging on it. The box, and whatever was in it, exploded in a bloody mess.
Blood and ichor splatted the bedsheets, the furs, the floor, and her face.
"Shit."
She didn't mean to make a mess.
Whatever it was, it was now nothing more than a stain. At least it wasn't screeching...probably because it was dead.
And Scarlet would be too if she didn't clean up after her faux paux.
Moral of the story? Don't give a red-headed, emotionally stunted woman a surprise pet.
"Why is there a horse in the kitchen?"
Vincent glanced up from the stove, his eyes sparkling like sunlight on water. Though he schooled his face into an expression of innocent confusion, his knowing smile still slipped through. "What do you mean?" he asked. Then, as if noticing the furry creature for the first time, he pointed a sauce-coated spoon at the middle of the room. "Oh, you mean Chewie?"
Rayleigh frowned back at him from the doorway. "Chewie? What kind of name is that?"
"Chewbacca, from Star Wars," Vincent replied, dumbstruck. "The Wookiee? Traveled with Han Solo on the Millennium Falcon, and-"
The woman lifted her hand, cutting him off mid nerd-out. "Okay, but all this Earth nonsense still hasn't told me why there's a horse in the kitchen." Aware he was being discussed, the "horse" gave a low bark of greeting, his massive tail slapping the floor cheerfully. Rayleigh winced.
"It isn't a horse, Ray. It's a dog."
The mousy woman eyed the beast suspiciously. "I've seen smaller horses," came her sharp retort. The canine truly was massive, his enormous frame spread lazily across the tile. It was impossible to tell how tall he was, but Rayleigh would have been surprised if he weighed less than two hundred pounds. Needless to say, he was larger than she was.
The scholar ignored the comment, blazing ahead with the introductions. "Ray, Chewie. Chewie, Ray." He grinned, dropping all pretense of innocence. "I found him outside, and brought him in."
The words would not form, and Rayleigh's mouth moved without sound as she struggled to comprehend her friend's explanation. Then, finally, "You found an animal wandering the cursed Red Forest, and you thought it would be a good idea to bring it inside?"
Vincent's shrug said it was the most reasonable action to take. "I thought he was cool."
She threw up her hands, exasperated. "Fine," she cried, turning away from them both. "Do not let your horse come anywhere near me."
That was the last she saw of the dog, until he padded into her workshop an hour later. She was working off her frustration, perched precariously on a step ladder while bent over a massive metal husk. It would be a piece of an airship, someday. Sooner than later, she surmised, if Vince kept bring home strays. Distracted by the thought, her wrench slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground. With a string of curses, Rayleigh assessed how to ease back down the ladder without losing her place in her work. She nearly tumbled off it entirely when she felt the rough, hairy hide press against her leg. His head came up to her hip, even as she stood atop the steps. Surprise snapped to anger, and she moved to order the beast away.
Then she noticed the glimmer of silver in his mouth.
"Er, thanks," the woman muttered, hesitantly easing the wrench from the dog's mouth. They stood in silence then, each watching the other, waiting for some sort of sign. And much to Rayleigh's surprise, the silence was oddly companionable.
"Okay," she conceded, "but I'm not going to call you Chewie."
It was not illegal to bring pets on a cruise, people bring dogs, cats are loved because they eat a large quantity of rates, some of the more eccentric sailors take more exotic creatures on board as well. One particular sailor brought a raccoon on board then promptly drowned. So there Cain was staring face to face at a heavy set masked bandit trash panda. The creature was pleasant enough, it chattered and jabbered at people, but IT WAS A NUISANCE!
The creature would raid the larders and ship stores and scurry about with a mouth full of food meant for the sailors. IT would chew through sail cloth all be it the used and worn stuff and it would do the same with the cordage. When ever Cain caught the thing robbing the stores and such Cain would chase after it shouting something in the vein of "You're gonna die rodent!" before intentionally missing the creature with half loaded pistol shots. He didn't actually want to kill the thing but still sending it scurrying away in from what it probably thought was Armageddon was reigning down on him.
Eventually the cruise ended and Cain wound up leaving it to some kind hearted thief that would see it as a kindred spirit.
With scant light focused on his work, an immigrant laboured with a blade of obsidian in one weathered hand and a fragment of dead wood in the other. The man was carving a small totem, in-keeping with the customs of his people.
Within the rusting confines of a corrugated iron shack, a three-legged crow flapped over Gum do Mugu's head and landed on his shoulder. The bird was a fleeting companion, a spectral ally conjured from the ether for no more than a moment. "He is coming again," the bird whispered, warning Gum of a familiar visitor; a warning to which the shaman responded to with a shallow sigh.
A rattling rap-a-tap-tap shook the shaman from his trance. The crow faded into the flickering murk of the candlelit home. A bumbling man burst into the darkness with the day's light consecrating him from the rear. "Gum! Gum! Gum!" he wailed while Gum squinted in the flush of light. He pressed his plump palm against the thin metal sheet walls, causing orange flakes of ferric iron to crumble across his billowing shirt.
Gum looked up from his work. "Hello, Mr. Themesc," he said, his face bearing the sullen scowl of a life's struggle. "You must be careful coming to the slums to visit me, it is a dangerous place."
"Have you found my dear Eida?" he boomed, with his head ducking under the low ceiling and his free hand brushing the dirt from his clothes furiously.
The shaman returned to carving the driftwood he had collected from the beach that morning. Meanwhile, his uninvited guest took a seat in the shadows. "I have yet to locate Eida," he conceded to his guest before he put down his jagged stone tool and placed the finished totem between himself and the visitor.
"I miss my dear puppy, I miss her so much," Mr. Themesc whimpered, failing to notice the carving positioned between them.
Do Mugu replied with patience and empathy, "I have searched the Underworld for Eida's soul." While he spoke, Gum rubbed the wrought lines of his forehead with his emaciated digits; it was as though erasing the worry from his face would also erase the anxiety in his heart. "An animal's soul is difficult to find in the afterlife."
"I know, you have told me that... but..."
Gum moved to placate Mr. Themesc, and to do so with the solemn truth of the matter. "Animals are different to us." His explanation began with an evident fact so as to sidestep the minefield of ambiguity. "They do not fear death as humans do." The candle next to the shaman, the one that had previously illuminated his work, blew out.
"You've told me that before," Themesc begged, "but my Eida was different..."
"And because they do not fear death," the shaman continued, "they do not linger close to the world of the living." Gum rested his palm on the top of the totem, it was carved in the shape of a Radasanthian Shepherd—a popular breed in the city. "That is why Thayne worshipers teach that animals have no souls, but they are wrong. They are as eternal as you or I."
"I understand," the mourning man said, wiping a tear from his reddened cheek.
"Put your hand on the totem," Gum said to Mr. Themesc, guiding the man's touch to the carving of the deceased dog.
"Okay," came the man's response. "And then what?"
Gum do Mugu closed his narrow eyes and lowered his head. "Now we wait..."
Time swept away the minutes, free from the sun's chastising glare. Their reflection flowed, uninhibited; and as those minutes pooled into hours, the solemn pair remained silent. Their thoughts were focused on Eida, and Eida alone.
Themesc opened his eyes and looked up. "Nothing?" he asked, giving up after what might have been hours.
They both pulled their hands from the totem and Mr. Themesc struggled to his feet in the cramped confines of Gum's humble home.
"Here," Mr. Themesc said, offering the shaman a handful of shining silver.
Gum do Mugu closed the man's palm, refusing the payment. "Come back next week. We will find her eventually."
As the visitor stood from his seat, the totem fell over. "Oh dear," he said, saddened that his awkward movement had knocked down the symbol of his lost love. The clumsy man set the wood carving straight and turned his back to leave.
The totem fell again.
"Come back," Gum said with severity.
Themesc turned around and watched, the totem was vibrating on the muddy floor of Gum's makeshift home.
"Is it Eida?" he rasped.
Gum nodded his head. "I will speak with her soul," he said as he grasped the quivering curio between his arthritic fingers. His lips peeled back as his yellowing teeth began to grind, straining to the hold the totem still while his narrow eyes rolled back.
The awkward man struggled to steady himself in the moment's darkness, waiting for something.
But the shaman fell silent again.
"Mr. do Mugu?" he chanced, placing a hand on his host's slumped shoulder.
Gum jumped when the man touched him. "I have anchored Eida in the totem," he explained as he put the totem down again. The carving was still shaking, but with much less vigour.
"Is that okay? Is she okay in there?" asked the man, peering with concern at the wooden carving.
"It is safe," Gum confirmed. "She is happy in the afterlife and says that she is happy to see you again. She says you were a kind owner and that she misses you."
Mr. Themesc broke into tears and begged, "I want her back so much." He span away from Gum, cupping his cheeks in his hands as he wept. "I want to be with her again."
"One day," said Gum, comforting his guest.
"TODAY!"
"No..."
"TODAY!"
The black tone of the man's request consumed the last of the light in the dim shack. Fear flooded Gum's mind, the weight of his command was utterly intimidating. The shaman's ritual had filled the psychosphere with nascent energy, and escalating the mood would put all three of them in danger of being lost between the realms.
"I want to die and be with my Eida," he screamed, swiping at Gum desperately.
Gum reached for his carving blade and slashed back at him, slicing Themesc's throat from one side to the other.
The shaman tumbled to his knees as the man's pulsing jugular showered him with blood. With both of his weary hands, he wiped the crimson mask from his leathery face and smeared the blood across the totem. He began chanting, the shaman was channeling the man's spirit towards Eida's. Gum had to reunite the pair in the afterlife.
For the rest of his days, Gum do Mugu kept Eida's totem amongst his most prized possessions. The slums of Radasanth were a fearsome place, but not even the most dangerous denizens would challenge the shaman's sanctuary; it was known that Eida, his pet ghost hound, would protect him from harm.
He may have turned down Mr. Themesc's silver, but Gum had received something much more valuable in return for his service.
“Why are you following me?” Kalista pondered, staring down at the tiny creature huddling along the leaf litter.
It was an odd creature. One might look at it and mistake it for a mushroom. Perhaps it was a mushroom of some sort. A fleshy white-blue cap stood atop a fuzzy white stalk, which seemed normal enough. But, if one stooped to peek underneath -- and Kalista had, several times -- there were stranger things afoot. There was a row of beady, blinking eyes right underneath its cap. And if one was quick enough to catch it moving out of the corner of their eyes, one could see it pull wormy mycelial threads out of the ground and slink around as if it were a harvestman arachnid. So, it couldn’t actually be a fungus. Could it?
The half-dead trees, orange with autumn had provided a good place for the creature to hide by as it trailed after him. Kalista had seen it duck behind roots, disguise itself in patch or ordinary mushrooms, and hide in swatches of bushy grey-green grass. The little guy had some spunk to him, that was for certain. He had ignored it for a while, pretending he hadn’t seen anything, but it just kept tottering after him!
He stared down the creature for another minute. It didn’t move. Perhaps, hoping he still somehow hadn’t seen it. Kalista took a few steps back and pointedly looked away for half a moment. When he glanced back, he found that the creature was a few feet closer to him as it had been last time he’d looked. Spooky.
“Hrmmm. Maybe you’re just a fan of my good looks and charming demeanor,” the teen concluded, fussing with a bit of flyaway hair that had come loose in a stray breeze. “You can follow along, you know, but I’m not taking care of you.”
Nearly imperceptibly, the creature twitched.
With that, the young necromancer shrugged and turned to continue along down the path.
His curious fungus followed.
When her rival’s sister appeared on her doorsteps one day with a large, golden puppy in tow, Arainthe Vardis thought she was seeing things.
“Fix him,” the other girl said, holding the cute, golden critter out towards Arainthe. There was desperation in the girl’s voice, and an edge of exhaustion in her visage.
“What?” Arainthe asked, dumbly. The puppy was trying to lick her face off.
The sound coming out of the other girl was guttural and full of frustration. Arainthe had never seen the composed Lydia Hruine like this before. Then again, she rarely saw Lydia Hruine at all. Out of the fear that her rival’s sister would blow up on her doorsteps, Arainthe invited both the girl and the puppy into her cottage.
---
“Tell me what happened?” she said, setting two cups of tea onto her only short table. Lydia had her only chair, so Arainthe sat herself on her bed. The puppy was having fun with her boots under the table.
“That’s Glorrad,” Lydia said, Her voice was half hysterical. “He messed up. And he’s been eating all my shoes. Fix him.”
Ah, Arainthe thought in utter incomprehension. Her rival was a puppy, Her rival was playing with her boots. Then she panicked, because these were her only pair of boots. Her eyes ducked beneath the table, and she congratulated herself for reinforcing her boots with magic. Much more durable, and much less susceptible to sorcerer-turned-puppies.
The puppy gave up on her shoe and came over to nuzzle Arainthe’s hands. It was kind of cute. Arainthe decided she liked her rival a little better this way.
“I can’t,” she said to Lydia.
“Why?”
A shrug. Arainthe drank her tea while the dog slobbered over her lap. “The stars aren’t in alignment.”
The noise Lydia made belied the other woman’s disbelief. Really, how often did Arainthe saw her rival’s family like this? Glorrad and her were rivals in sorcery-craft, but he had the backing of a clan of nobility, and she only had herself. They were usually at each other’s throats, and she was often the underdog when they got together. And then her rival turned into an actual dog.
“Fine,” Lydia finally spluttered, throwing her hands into the air. “Fine. But you get to deal with him. Until you feel like the stars are in alignment.”
With that, the other woman huffed her way out, shutting the cottage’s doors with a heavy slam.
---
Arainthe discovered what Lydia did not say the next morning. As a puppy, her rival was not house trained, and her beddings were in a great deal of danger.
Oh fuck.
Blood dripped from Atzar’s left hand, splashing on the fallen leaves that blanketed the forest floor. Silence reigned in the wake of the tumultuous violence that had exploded just seconds prior.
Blood dripped from six still forms lying in front of him, shattered spikes of ice melting amongst their remains. Then there was the seventh form. A pup. It gazed up at him, apparently oblivious that he had just slaughtered its family.
Days like this made Atzar hate his occupation, hate himself. He was a sword-for-hire (in a manner of speaking; he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had ever wielded a sword). Some of his jobs were things that his employer couldn’t do; others were things that his employer wouldn’t do.
This was of the latter sort. His client was a tycoon who owned stakes in several of the area’s farms, and the farmers had complained of losing livestock to wolf attacks. Atzar was the exterminator. It hadn’t been a difficult task; the farmers had given him an accurate description of where to find the den. And they died as easily as most things that get skewered by a hail of ice spears. All it had cost him was a slice on his left hand, self-inflicted. Blood for power.
But the seventh, the pup… he didn’t have the heart to kill it. It was small, innocent; it didn’t understand that he represented the end of its life. It didn’t understand that it was already doomed. It would starve, or perhaps it would be eaten by predators. It wouldn’t die here and now because Atzar lacked the conviction to kill it. But it would die. The mage sighed and pulled out a knife. Jaw set in a resolute grimace, he quickly removed the tail from each of the dead wolves, proof to his employer of a job done. Then he left.
Crows called to each other in the trees above. He had completed contracts like this in the past. It would hurt for a few days, but the wound would heal over time like any other. He would collect his pay and go home. He would take his next job; hopefully something a bit easier on the conscience. And life would go on.
A noise caused him to turn. Eyes peered up at him, innocent, trusting. A tail wagged; the pup paused to kick at one ear, its foot thumping on the forest floor.
Atzar ignored it and walked on, but the young wolf followed. “Shoo,” he barked. It struck him as such a silly thing to say to an animal. As if the wolf knew what that meant.
Again it wagged its tail. It took a step closer and stopped, one paw in the air, as if asking to be invited along.
“Shoo!” The voice was louder, but the spirit falter. The wolf pup didn’t waver. Finally, after a long standoff, Atzar sighed and turned.
“Alright, come on,” he said to the wolf. The pup didn’t move. “Come on,” he repeated, patting his hip and beckoning.
This, it appeared to understand. It galloped along at his side, tail wagging incessantly, looking for all the world like an animal who hadn’t just lost its entire family.
“I haven’t the slightest fucking clue what I’m going to do with you,” Atzar told the small creature. “But come on. I guess we’ll figure that out later.” And somehow, the mage felt a little bit better than he had just moments ago.
Thank you all for your participation in this Althanas Day Vignette! This is just a courtesy update to let you know we haven't forgotten you; in fact, I am personally dealing with this judgment and hope to have it up by the end of the weekend!
Thank you for your patience!
1st Place - Gum
You did a superb job of sticking to the prompt, whilst engaging the reader in an original story that put another angle on who the burden really was to Gum.
What I liked the most about this piece was the quality of Gum's character - a shaman that so easily comes across as sympathetic that even the act of killing the pet's owner comes across as merciful, if not a little shocking, in the context of the story. As usual your mechanics were excellent and your technique ensures that the reader isn't getting bored halfway through. Excellent work!
2nd Place - Rayleigh
As with Gum, I felt you did extremely well in sticking to the prompt. What made this stand out was Rayleigh's initial abhorrence at the idea of Vincent simply picking up a stray from Lindqualm, as if it were completely fine to do that, and Vincent's total lack of worry. I also appreciated the humor of Rayleigh comparing the dog to a horse, and referring to it as such for the remainder of the thread.
Technique and mechanics are your strong suite, and very little was wrong with either. In this vignette's case, there seemed to be many "dog" type pets but at least you mixed it up a bit by making it a beast from the cursed Red Forest.
3rd Place - Philomel
[Commentary to follow - posting from my phone]
Gum receives 1200 EXP, 600 GP and 6 AP!
Rayleigh receives 1680 EXP, 450 GP and 3 AP!
Philomel receives 1800 EXP and 3 AP!
All other entrants receive 3 AP!
All rewards inclusive of Althanas Day 3x rewards!
All rewards have been added.