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  1. #11
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    “Fennik Glenwey. Still here,” a small fae felt himself mouth as he returned to himself. “Fenn.” To his waking, breathing body. To…

    What was this?

    There was a liquid covering him, a gummy slime of sorts. It tacked his eyes closed. Yet… he could breathe through it. At least he wasn’t frozen. Frozen? Something instinctively insisted yes, frozen. You can do that. Though, his back was numb and entirely without feeling. Fenn shifted onto his side. A sore stiffness tacked his limbs together at the joints, as if he hadn’t moved them for weeks, or months. What… where was he? What had happened? He had fallen asleep and… well. What happened after that? More frighteningly, what had happened before that? What at all? With a groggy squeak, he reached into slime around him. After a certain point, the goo became something else, solidified into tacky, silky threads. He stretched, uncurling his leaden legs. His feet, too, met with more thread. It was almost like a blanket swaddling him all around. A really gooey, wet blanket.

    Uncertain, Fenn pressed his palms harder into the threads. They had some give to them, but a few broke under his touch. Beyond the initial layer of gunky buildup, they met his hands with a feeling not unlike like dried-out spiderwebbing.

    What was this?

    With a grunt of effort, he tore through it, making a gash just big enough for him to stick a hand (and an eye) out of. Oxygen wheezed into the narrow space. Ooze sloshed out. A sneeze jolted him and he felt guck slide of of his nose. Yuck. Stale air slid into his lungs, sharp yet lukewarm, forcing him to hack out more gunk. Wiping the rest of it from his eyes, he peered out.

    His vision was blurry. Maybe from the guck, maybe from not using it for a while, maybe just because the world around was murky-dim with dark. Hesitantly, he felt the floor outside with his palm. It met coarse and eroding fabric. This swampy mess of threads enveloping him — cocoon? — was on a rug, on the floor of what seemed to be a quaint stone bedroom. Fenn blinked. He felt as if he should recognize this room. Perhaps not intimately, but still, recognize. He did not recognize this room. He still did not remember how he got into this room. This room, filled with fuzzes of faded sky-blue and cloudy decorations. Dust and cobwebs draped from the canopy bed beside him. A wavering mobile above spun about in a chilly breeze. He knew enough to know that this place wasn't his.

    The gaping emptiness, his lacking past, both burned in the cage of his chest.

    Something stirred elsewhere in the castle. The wump of heavy paws and click of clawed nails echoed in through the gap in his cocoon, and pricked his ears up to alertness. He wasn’t alone.
    Last edited by FennWenn; 07-18-2018 at 08:23 AM.

  2. #12
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Barely daring to breathe, Fenn withdrew his hand back into slimy safety.

    The first instinct that came to mind was running — to flee whatever it was that lumbered its way toward him, to escape the wretched confines of his cocoon. But no, that wasn’t viable. When he tried to move his legs as he had before, he only got a tingle of numbness and the faintest twitching sensation. He was stuck where he lay for now. Letting out a deep breath, the boy pondered whether or not the cocoon was an acceptable hiding place. Judging by the growing intensity of the unknown creature’s gait, it was not. When a sneeze welled up in his chest — from the dust he’d stirred with his hand — he stifled it. Briefly.

    -choo!

    His hazy vision caught a sweep of black fur and a flash of burning red just outside. The crimson tang of iron-tainted blood cut through the souring seepage of the threads bound around him, striking fear into his small, sluggishly-restarting heart.

    An open muzzle, huffing hot air and dripping pinkish drool, asserted itself into the gap in his cocoon.

    Fenn balked from the yellowed teeth that swam before him. A little frightened part of him reminded himself of the frozen thing he could do. There was an ethereal tickling in his hand. Instinctively, he pressed his palm to the nose of the intruding predator. White ice spread from his touch, abrupt and sharp, hissing cold fog against the tepid air.

    Howling rocked the room as Fenn jerked his hand back. The owner of the muzzle yanked itself out of the cocoon’s hole, smacking Fenn upside the head in its haste. Yelping, the creature retreated back into the dimness. The boy’s heart pounded as he heard it gallop off. Soon, its thudding clitter-clatter echoed off into nothingness; the boy didn’t particularly celebrate ots departure, however. It was a little hard to react at all, actually. His head rung with hollow confusion. He panted, feeling strains of frost run up his arms and cheeks, only to fizzle out into a thin dew. This… contextless confrontation... had left him exhausted. Merely peering out of the cocoon had left him short of breath and weak. And accidentally expressing this strange magic of his — kicking it back into wakefulness — had been even harder on him. Resigned, the boy lay quietly and let rest take him again.

  3. #13
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Fenn was in a dream, and knew he was in a dream. He wasn’t sure how he knew. He just… did.

    The environment around him was a tasteless tangle of grey webbing. It stuck to his feet as he wandered, aimless, making ugly sucking sounds each time he lifted up his foot. Gobs of guck were strung up beneath the high ceiling and the floor, pulsing slightly. There was no real light. No real darkness. Just the empty, endless stretch of dirty grey and the schlorp of his feet. At the least, he mused mutedly as he hugged his arms around himself, there was no slime here. Probably, his mind had drawn this from whatever anxieties his cocoon-swaddled wakeup had stirred within him.

    But hey, what did he know about dreams?

    Maybe a lot, even with his short-circuiting memory. He just wasn’t sure where it all came from. What he was sure about, was that the prickling of the hairs the back of his neck meant that someone else was here. Here and behind him.

    With an uneasy downturn to his ears, the fae turned over his shoulder. Standing radiant among the gloom and webbing was a feminine figure he instantly identified as a fellow fae. Why, he wasn’t sure — but certainly, she was no human. Azure scales coated her from head to toe, and her two long necks were crowned with serpentine heads and a mane of black feathers that fell to her knees. Most concerning were her eyes. Her carmine gaze was aglow with pure, unbridled rage. “FENNIK GLENWEY,” the being boomed in two matronly voices that echoed in upon themselves (and caused him to reel back in fear), “IF YOU DARE SHROUD YOURSELF FROM ME FOR MONTHS WITHOUT EXPLANATION EVER AGAIN, SO HELP ME, I WILL CRAM A SENSE OF RESPONSIBILITY SO FAR DOWN YOUR THROAT THAT YOU WILL BE TASTING THE UPWASH OF UNPAID TAVERN TABS FOR WEEKS.”

    After that outburst, she glared with a full weight of righteous anger, and a shocking silence. The being gathered herself up with an adjustment of her wooden breastplate and wine-dark robes. She seemed to expect him to have something to say.

    <Sorry,> he replied when he finally gathered up his voice, voice thin and shaking. <Not sure what you’re talking about.>

    All off the puffery and glowering whooshed out of the snakish fae with a perplexed drop of her jaws. Something uneasy showing in how she tugged at her sleeves. “Pigwidgeon, you promised you would visit me… and you did not. Oath-breaking is a grave offense to me; you know this. Yet, you have not even spoken to me for months. Why?”

    <I… I don’t know?>

    “Curious. Let me check on your physical form, then.” The fae closed her eyes a moment, a look of concentration on her (surprisingly expressive) faces. Her manes went limp with shock as her lids lifted again. “Oh, by the love of Mab, you’ve had an early metamorphosis. Of course.” A sharp and impenetrable glance was thrown his way. “And by the guise of it, you went and fuddled about with your mind while you were at it. I understand the temptation — many creatures are burdened by worries of imperfection — but it is a most dangerous thing to do.”

    Fuddled about his brain? Dangerous? Groaning, he plopped down on the sticky threads floored beneath him. <Don’t remember muddling with it,> he admitted quietly.

    “From the confusion etched into your features, you don’t appear to recall much of anything, my Pigwidgeon. Which means that you did something to your memories. Perhaps accidentally. Perhaps, with the weight of intention,” the lady said, politely taking a seat after him. It was odd, seeing someone that formal cross-legged on dingy webbing.

    <Do you think I meant to?>

    She nodded, though one of her shoulders lifted up in a way that was almost a shrug. Her gaze suddenly did not meet his. “From what little I know of you, I would say it was intentional.” Nonetheless, she heaved a deep breath, as if relieved. Relieved, and yet, not particularly surprised. Excited, even, the way her eyes lit up on flicking back up to him. “Regardless, let me iterate how worried I have been. It’s been months since I’ve last been able to contact you. I’ve felt the thread of your life spasm through the last few weeks.” She shuddered, dragging her hands through her matted manes in relief. “But no. It was neither death, nor snub. It was a chance to start anew. To think, I was so fussed about why I was unable to contact you for so long! About why you never showed up in Sidhe. Let me reintroduce myself to you; I am Banrion, Regent of the Icepeak Court.”

    <Fennik Glenwey,> he mentally murmured back. A hand was offered to the elder fae. She clasped it in a grip that was delicate, but necessarily so, for there was a terrifying strength behind it. The icy quality of her scales reassured him somehow. He wondered what she thought of his own small grip.

    “Welcome back, little herald.”
    Last edited by FennWenn; 07-23-2018 at 10:46 AM.

  4. #14
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Chunks of silk shriveled up and loosened, peeling away from the ceiling with papery crackles. “We need a change of scenery,” Banrion had told him, and it sparked within him some sense of repetition he couldn’t explain. Before he knew it, the cocoon-environment had crumbled to her will, bringing them into a forest of softly lit mushrooms and slushy snow. Fenn squeaked stumbled aside as a lanky white one popped up from the cracked silk of the ground right next to him. A squat blue pushed up to his right. Some grew as tall as trees; swirling purple sky was visible from under all the caps. Banrion stood with tall confidence against the flurry of growth around them.

    It felt much cleaner than the cocoon had, once everything settled down. With a sigh of relief, the little sank into the right of the pillowy fungi. Good seating.

    Banrion, on the other hand, had begun to pace. Slowly. With a sense of deliberation he was becoming sure was some common characteristic of hers. “As your Regent, friend, and higher authority, it is my duty to ensure that your transition is as painless as possible. I know your past-self was used to the idea of your body as stable and immutable. Before this, you likely had never experienced any natural major growth or changes to yourself. But I assure you, what you’ll find upon waking is normal. You will grow used to this form too. It will be somewhat different than your previous body, which imitated that of a human child most remarkably in many ways, but you will learn how it works.” The elder fae tapped her left chin, frowning. “Though, achieving transformation at the age of thirty? That does make you an early bloomer.”

    <Should that mean anything to me?> he mumbled, absently inspecting the glittery spores leaking out of his mushroom. Ooo, shiny.

    “Likely not. One doubts you even consciously realized you were supposed to go through one in the first place. Your knowledge of fae and being fae was rather limited. Perhaps I should have thought to warn you… but then, I expected it would be years before it occurred.”

    Fenn shrugged, and his mushroom bobbled. <It’s okay. Whatever happened, happened. Guess I just wonder why I fucked up my memory along the way. And also, what I made myself forget.>

    When she next turned around, there was a curious look in all four of Banrion’s eyes. It was something knowing. “Perhaps you have more insight to these things than you believe you do. Why not test the boundaries of your knowledge? Please, will you articulate what all you remember?” she asked, lips curled into slight smiles.

    How does one articulate something as vast and frightening as what, in the entirety of their memory, exists? He balked a moment before plunging in. Best to begin with the basics. <Don’t know. Know that I am fae and icy; know my name, and lot of… abstract world things? Ask me what Corone’s capital is, and I know its Radasanth. Know that the big water place in Dheathain is the Bantu Basin, and there’s cool snakes there. Orcs live mainly in Berevar. Have the impression that- that a lock has tumblers, and pressing on them opens it, and that's how keys and picklocks work, but…> Fenn stopped. Suddenly, exactly what wasn’t there clicked. <But, I don’t remember being anywhere. There’s no memory of you. Of any people. Anyone who I used to know is gone.>

    ”I see. That is a disappointment. But, this does not have to break the friendship we have forged. Nor, perhaps, some of your past friendships.” The Regent sighed, facing him head-on. “Your past self trusted me. Confided in me, even, after a while. In turn, I confided back. I would like to continue this honesty. Does that please your present self, Fenn?”

    She seemed so self-assured. So certain and collected. Well, aside from her shouty, anger-panic entrance. Note to self; never ignore her. But otherwise… Well, the boy nodded. <Think it does.>

    “Good. By the by, I should let you know, that I do have rough mental copies of some memories of yours. Some that you allowed me to glimpse at. Several of them are… sensitive, and perhaps not something you should remember at all. I’ll give the more banal of them back to you at a later date. The others, we will discuss. For now, you are weak. You are vulnerable. You need a clear mind and time to recover from this ordeal. Yes?”

    <Er, probably,> he stammered.

    A cloud of luminous spores floated past. The faintest impression of a ring of mushrooms wavered in it. After a staring hesitation, Banrion dashed it, shaking her head. “Then we are at an agreement. Your visit to Sidhe should be postponed a few years, until you have yourself back in order and are ready to study under me as I planned. Do not worry about me; I possess patience so long as I understand why I am kept waiting. I would recommend you rummage about your belongings in the present moment.”

    <Why do that?>

    “See what your old self collected; sew your new self together from its patchwork. Don’t mourn what you cannot recall. Move forward.”

    As she said this, dark cracks began to spread across the ground. Fenn uneasily lifted his feet up, only to realize with pale unease, that they had begun to crawl up the mushrooms. The sky too became blighted by the black webbing. Squeak.

    The — his — Regent sagged sadly at the sight. “Ahhh. Do not be alarmed. Your slumber is merely being disturbed. Well, there are a few more things you need to know before you wake. I’ll tell you them quickly,” she promised, her two voices tripping over each other in their haste. “The wolf you’ll meet is yours. Her name is Daugi, and you have no reason to fear her. The stone wound around your neck is how I contact you. Keep it on your person. Avoid iron, for it burns us like nothing else. Avoid fighting; you are no good at it. And above all, be wary of red-haired women; one of them is not your friend. I shall see you in your next dream.”

    <See you.>

    The cracks shattered across his vision — across Banrion. What reality remained in the space between them winked away. Brief darkness followed.
    Last edited by FennWenn; 07-24-2018 at 10:38 AM.

  5. #15
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    When Fenn’s eyes peeled back open, he found himself just where he had left off in his sticky, silky, slimy enclosure. More or less. The cocoon’s insides were starting to dry now that they were exposed to air. With a shudder, he pushed himself to a sitting position, pushing the roof of his enclosure up and peeling a thin layer of rubbery ooze off of himself. Frost danced into life across his fingertips and across the goop shrivelings. He felt rested enough now to really register his disgust. On one hand, excellent! He liked not feeling like something dropped on death’s door. On the other hand… ew?

    Overwhelmingly, the urge of disgust swallowed the other, more complex worries that nipped at his mind. Out! It was time to pry himself out of this guck!

    Small sounds of effort smothered in the back of his throat as he rolled over to face the hole in the cocoon; without thinking, he pulled at its edges. Drying silk cracked under his frosty touch. Fueled by the faint annoyance at all the ick, and his resolve to extract himself from it, the fae grabbed the carpet outside and pulled himself out. Flaking silks clung to him. His first thought upon being out in the open was to begin wiping it and dried goo off his arms. His next thought was perhaps to stand, but his legs buzzed with sparks of numbness. Instead, he merely propped himself into a sitting position and stretched, working the kinks out of his back. It was also a little numb. He hoped this all was normal for this whole weird metamorphosis proces-

    Wait. The boy’s gaze jerked up. Again, he realized he was not alone. He froze.

    In the corner of the room, on a pile of clothes faded by time, lay a dark, furry creature; a roughly wolf-shaped animal. And yet, too large to be an ordinary breed. Direwolf, his brain helpfully supplied. One red eye started up at him. Only one. Its other soccket was sunken in and scarred over, as if the organ had been gouged out at some point in time.

    It half-stood up on sight of him — then balked. The creature did not approach him this time. It didn’t run from him either, though. “Au-ooo?” it mourned from its corner, tail lashing out anxiously.

    “The wolf is yours,” a matronly voice echoed in his mind. “She is Daugi.”

    Fenn stiffened as it clicked together. That was why it was snuffling up to his cocoon earlier. That was why it wouldn’t leave him alone. And he’d responded by icing it. Her. Fuck. One side of her muzzle was still wet from where he’d done it. His ears pulled back anxiously. There was a limited not-language in the back of his mind. His hands moved instinctively. Pointing to himself, and then, a plea.

    “Am sorry.”

    The wolf snapped her maw shut and cocked her head. Indecision rippled her. One could see it in the continued whap of her tail against the floor, the wavering of her ears.

    “Very sorry for hurt. Friend?”

    The last word stripped away the defensive nature of her stance. She straightened up, single eye wide with hopeful consideration. Over crumbling stone, on disbelieving paws, Daugi padded up to him. An instinctual fear rose up in him at the approach of the hefty predator — rose, and then fell. It was smothered by some stronger feeling. Safety, familiarity.

    Fenn grabbed ahold of that feeling.

    He didn’t recall another time meeting her, he didn’t know how she had lost an eye, and he wasn’t sure what about him warranted the excited flick of her ears. But he knew he could trust her. This was a nice predator, somehow.

    It took a little effort not to draw back from the yellowed teeth and meaty breath. He grinned weakly as the direwolf snuffled his neck, wet nose sneezing at the slick layer of greyish goo, her one eye furrowed in puzzlement. It was as if she didn’t quite recognize him by sight alone, and needed to confirm her suspicions. An uncomfortable sinking feeling dug into his gut as he gave her a cautious (and only slightly frosty) pat, as if he’d swallowed a bunch of rocks. He didn’t recognize her either. Not really. There was a lot he wasn’t going to recognize now that he was out and about, in a world he didn’t quite remember his wanderings of. The fae winced at the thought, and his wings fluttered anxiously.

    Wings?

    Fenn glanced over his shoulder.

    Draped across him were brown wings, as soft as velvet.

    They were prickling with numbness, limp and soggy with cocoon sludge, but they were there. They were a thing. For a moment, the fae forgot to breathe. His an- oh fuck, he had antennae. Twitching, wriggling antennae. They felt unfamiliar to him. His hands slowly rose to touch them. Though they were soaked and droopy, they were soft too, and just starting to get some feeling into them. It was as if… hell if he knew. They seemed to almost taste the air, like a pair of extra tongues growing out his head, or an excess, unwanted noses. The air tasted of dry stone and molding fabric.

    Fenn did not properly breathe for a few minutes. Hesitantly, he began to gently work gobs of cocoon guck out of their frills. It felt like the right thing to do. A concerned whine building in the back of her throat, Daugi leaned in to contribute to the clean-up with a careful (though slobbery) tongue. Afterward, he glanced back at the cocoon. It had collapsed inward in his absence. Now, it was but an ashen husk, cracked with cold and oozing tarry grey.

    The fae scooted his way across the floor, the curious black wolf shadowing him. His wolf.

    There was a murky puddle on the ground, a bit of water which dribbled from a sunken hole in the roof. He crawled toward it, intending to give himself a good splash in the face. That was… that was what people did to wake themselves up, right? But the second he touched the cool liquid, white crystals of frost laced across its surface, and before he could think “what in Mab’s mad mess?” it was solid ice.

    Hastily, he yanked his hand away, a sigh seeping out of him. Oh, right. Duh. His magic. He wasn’t… sure how to control it.

    Oh well.

    Though it wasn’t any good for splashing around in anymore, the glossy ice still worked as a competent mirror. Fenn froze and stared at his reflection. Brown wings, brown antennae, all in greater detail that he was used to seeing in. The green that was once just his pupils and iris had broken out taken over his sclera too. His his skin was papery, and his blonde locks were now an off-white. They still dripped with the odd, unfreezing goo. The hair on his chest dripped too. It clung like a collar around Fenn’s neck, the sort of ruff of fluff found on a moth.

    He had the faintest sense that this was not all how he used to look. Yes — he had looked differently while speaking with Banrion, he was sure of it. A manifestation of his past self. Without the insect bits. Puffs of nervous snow poofed into the air around him.

    “Wuff?” his wolf inquired over his shoulder, sticking her snout into the crook of his neck, as if checking to see that he was all there. The boy startled at the wet touch of her nose. Yeek! A huffy-cheeked look of annoyance was given back to her — some bit of muscle-memory he might have thought twice about doing around a large wolf if it hadn’t been such an automatic action — and he realized that her own ears were pulled back in concern. Perhaps she didn’t know what was up with him either. Or maybe she was just sad that he was sad. He wasn’t sure how smart she was.

    With a deep breath, he scooted back from the reflection. Everything was a bit confusing right now. But he’d figure it out. Or he’d try to, anyway.

  6. #16
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    In due time, Fenn’s ability to feel his legs recovered, much as the tingling numbness had sept out of his wings. Wobbly steps were had. Walking, he realize, became an easier task when one didn’t think so much about where they were putting their legs. Which he liked; instinct came easily to him. More easily than connecting thoughts together with manual mentalwork. The bag, sweater, and cloak off to the side were his, he knew, not merely by process of deduction, but a recognition of his hands. He liked the way they felt. They smelled better than the cold and dusty room. Cinnamon, dirt, honey, and something distinctively deciduous stuck to the battered fabrics.

    It took him a vexing amount of effort to figure out how the clothes fit around his wings.

    There was a green pendant around his neck too; it had been there when he was in the cocoon, come to think of it. The lash of it was silvery chain and not cord, thankfully meaning that the goop was easily scraped off of it. Banrion had told him not to take it off… and he wasn’t planning on it. He was trusting her for now.

    As he set about struggling to figure out the configuration required to have both clothes on his person and free range of his new and terrifyingly unfamiliar insect limbs, Daugi made up her mind to more closely investigate his cocoon. She prodded into the crusty silks with a bold snuffle of her muzzle. A snort burst out of him as the remaining structure collapsed inward, shocking the beast into jumping back a few feet, ears swiveling warily. Silly creature. Maybe she was having a rough time puzzling out why the odd thing smelled strongly of him — of his blood, now that he thought of it. It registered faintly to him that fae blood had a sour smell and taste. There was something else there too. A hollow feeling that there was more attached to that bit of knowledge, but- well, it wasn’t there now, so what could he do about that?

    …come to think of it, where had he picked up a direwolf?

    Furthermore, where had he picked up that shiny, white satchel ? It happened to be a very nice satchel…

    Standing in the middle of the room, fiddling with the knot of the heavy fabric making up the cloak (and ignoring how the draping felt under his twitchy flittery wings), he couldn’t help but glance aside at the bag lumped haphazardly on the floor against the bed’s draping sheets. Something in him wanted to rush over and yank it open. An instinct that said, “if this isn’t mine yet, it really should be,” ready to take it and run off with it at the drop of a hat.

    With shaky, shy steps, Fenn gave into the instinct. It seemed like such a harmless impulse.

    The bag’s clasp undid almost effortlessly to him. He knew how it opened. Sticking an arm in, the boy rooted around for- oh shit! This thing had no bottom! Or, none that he could feel, anyway. Curiously, Fenn lifted his hand out and stuck his head in.

    It was dark in there — but the green stone around his neck shed a little light if he pulled it out of the bulk of his neckfluff! It did seem to have a bottom after all. So much in here! Gleefully, the puck began pulling out item after item and inspecting them.

    Sharp, excitable frost flickered over everything he couldn’t keep his hands off of. There were bits of shiny jewelry in there, and maps, and a few books, and then some snail shells, and also bobby pins, and a direwolf lantern (awesome), and a stray rattling of coins… A pair of shorts significantly less gucky than the ones he’d been wearing in the cocoon were swapped out with his current ones — and the current ones were cast away. Trying to wash all that grey slime out seemed too daunting a task to him. Besides, he didn’t want to contaminate this strange and fascinating hoard he had! As he pulled out bits and bobs, he realized that some types of item appeared with alarming regularity.

    Wallets. Lots of wallets. Very empty ones. None were his, exactly, despite being in his bag. No, they didn’t resonate quite right. They belonged to other people.

    Fenn stopped and stared hard at a leather pouch. All these odd, shiny trinkets… they were stolen, weren’t they? Why? How? What ever got him into this habit? Not that he was complaining. Something about having piles and piles of neat things and money appealed to a skittery bit of his soul; yes, yes. They were his. He just… didn’t know the context behind them becoming his. The boy frowned, then, slowly began pushing things back inside the satchel’s sifan mouth.

    It occurred to him that he’d probably never know the circumstances behind the relieved wolf at his side, or what he had once been. He’d only know what little he could glean through what had been left behind. The bag and clothes, the habits ingrained in his body… he could only speculate.

    Banrion was right. He was, to some odd extent, building himself anew on the scraps of his past.

  7. #17
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Outside the winding halls of the stoney castle, a small winged fae and a dark direwolf wandered through a misty forest.

    Fenn didn’t mind the dewy quality of the air. It was fascinating to watch flecks of mist drift too close to him, and fall to the pine needles as the tiniest specks of ice. The fresh air was a sharp boon after the castle’s stuffy atmosphere. The only thing that bothered him was all the wreckage he picked his way around; fallen walls, uprooted trees and shrubs, and broken glass from shattered windows all littered the world outside it. At least, the glass and stone vanished as he and this wolf delved into the pines. This area must have been through quite a storm in recent times.

    The damage didn’t phaze Daugi so much. However, every so often, she would lift her muzzle and snuffle at his hair and fluttering wings, as if still checking to see that he was who she thought him to be.

    He wasn’t entirely sure that he was.

    Whoever he was now though was alive. Alive and breathing under dark, cloud-laden skies. There was no rain. No wind. Instead, a seething turmoil of thunder and lightning ravaged the heavens. A downpour promised itself in the darkness of the clouds.

    Fen didn’t know where he was headed. Not yet. He knew where he was; he knew that these were Raiaeran trees. He knew that when the stars flickered into view at night, he’d be able to pinpoint his place in the universe more distinctly than just what nation he was in. But he didn’t know where he was supposed to be heading from. That scared him a little. And he found that alright; adventures were not supposed to be easy. Especially not adventures of finding oneself.

    For all he knew, he was bound for the edge of the world.

    ~ § ~ § ~ § ~

    Welcome to PUBERTY Fenn!

    A fun fact you didn’t want to know; when caterpillars go into their chrysalises, they turn to a fine goop before reforming as a butterfly. And somehow, their brain survives the process just fine! Canonically speaking, Fenn spent a month or two as a terrifying person-mush. Isn’t nature grand?

  8. #18
    Legend

    EXP: 127,650, Level: 15
    Level completed: 55%, EXP required for next Level: 7,350
    Level completed: 55%,
    EXP required for next Level: 7,350


    Philomel's Avatar

    GP
    14,025

    Name
    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    Age
    30 (+10)
    Race
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Gender
    Female (+ Male)
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Kindred Folk - Velvet Wings
    Participant: FennWenn

    Rewards:

    FennWenn receives:
    2500 exp
    240 gold

    “Conner raised an eyebrow. 'Who told you that?'
    'Well,' she said, not knowing how to describe what she experienced. 'Um . . . a moth did.'
    Conner squinted at her and his mouth fell open. He was expecting a much better answer than that. 'A moth told you?'
    'Yes -- but it wasn't a regular moth, it was more like an angel.'"
    - Chris Colfer
    *admin at your service*

    Matriarch of the Gilded Lily and of its brothels, associated establishments and the army.

    Characters:
    The family triplet: Philomel, Vaeron and Celandine.
    The god and kenku triplet: Stare, Avin and Vixen.
    The Primordials: Professor Charles and Moros.

  9. #19
    Legend

    EXP: 127,650, Level: 15
    Level completed: 55%, EXP required for next Level: 7,350
    Level completed: 55%,
    EXP required for next Level: 7,350


    Philomel's Avatar

    GP
    14,025

    Name
    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    Age
    30 (+10)
    Race
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Gender
    Female (+ Male)
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    All rewards have been added.

    Inclusive of Fenn Ability
    *admin at your service*

    Matriarch of the Gilded Lily and of its brothels, associated establishments and the army.

    Characters:
    The family triplet: Philomel, Vaeron and Celandine.
    The god and kenku triplet: Stare, Avin and Vixen.
    The Primordials: Professor Charles and Moros.

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