Caller in the Wood

Caller in the Wood

Postby Rance » Wed Mar 25, 2015 3:29 am

Tonight, as she has been told she should not, she walks alone.

Prying herself out of slumber -- where nightmares and Golden Cities abounded, all a half-remembered blur -- had been the hardest task. Donning her bonnet and knotting its ribbon was a chore she relished for its frustration; slipping into her muddy-hemmed dress, with its array of patches strewn across the skirts, was a challenge in the muted darkness of midnight. And she waited patiently for her own cowardice: that one button, one clasp alone might baffle her clumsy fingers, and she'd fall back into bed and wholly ignore this chore upon which she prepared to embark--

But dressing had become easy for the one-handed seamstress.

A silhouette, she swishes through the dew-wet grass of the Broken Dagger's lawn, her hems bobbing up, down, up, down with every stride of her trembling feet. A tin lantern casts wide sprawls of light in front of her. With every step, her spine chills, her feet threaten to turn back, and her mind screams, screams at her: You should have told somebody you wanted to come. Ailova, surely. Mekarie, perhaps. Anyone...

But this is a chore she does alone.

The woods consume her, leaning in all around her with their dark, knotted fingers. Her pores fill and overflow with the vile sulfur of her tarsweat. Her heels crunch and shuffle through great lumps of unmelted snow. The minute the Broken Dagger is out of sight, the forest's presence ebbs and swells like a confusing prison around her, telling her its unspoken secrets: this was no longer her domain, no more a place of reclusive serenity or safety. This, her mind reminds her, is a place where men and women come to die.

A trembling fist lifts her lantern's ring, spreading dull light in a circle around her.

The stink of fear falls off her in waves. Blows out of her nose and mouth in gasping bursts of breath. She spins, trying to gain some sense of bearing while her spine dances, chuckles, laughs at her under her own skin...

"Woodsbeast," she hisses into the cold night. "Red Creature. Show yourself; I come to call.

"I come to -- to speak to you. About your Guardian."

And if those moments proved to be Gloria Wynsee's last, she prays -- she hadn't prayed in what seems like forever -- for the creature's strike to be true.
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Antichthon » Wed Mar 25, 2015 4:02 am

"My Guardian?" The answer had come at once. The Red Creature had been stalking her. It's whip-like appendage shot out from the darkness, intent on wrapping around and around her, to immobilize her from foot to neck. If successful, Gloria would be yanked dozens of feet into the air, to come within inches of a pair of red-and-black eyes.

"Firstly: You are to summon me from the woodline. not beyond the woodline. For this transgression, I would gladly accept you as a meal." The eyes squinted in revulsion. "Were it that your taste was not so repugnant.

"Secondly, what being short of a god would be so bold as to proclaim itself a guardian of mine? What being short of a god could transcend my power? Answer well, little one...or do not. It matters little. You will be dead by the end of this conversation. Cut in half from head to groin. A fine warning to those who might think themselves too disgusting to be prone to my judgement."
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Rance » Wed Mar 25, 2015 7:06 am

She never sees the appendages as it unwinds and lashes out from the darkness. It wraps around her like a massive noose, wrenches her forward with such vicious intent that her lantern leaps -- as if of its own volition -- from her hand and falls dead to the cold ground. The candles wink out. Up, up the creature swings her, as if she might be hurled--

But the Red Creature lofts her like a morsel, its constricting tendrils knotted around her, twisting bones and skin against their stubborn placement. The whole world flashes by as a blur in the night, the Crawl Moon winking out amid the shadows that comprise violent beast. Its eyes pierce, dig; they exhume her fear from where she's tucked it away in little pockets and compartments in her mind until it spills out of her -- in more ways than she would ever care to admit. Bulging eyes snap shut--

You will be dead by the end of this conversation, it promises. Cut in half from head to groin.

--and elsewhere, Ariane's disembodied voice dashes against the cages of her memories:

I'll cut you from crotch to throat and leave you to die.

"M-...Mekarie," the seamstress croaks, her chin bunched up into dark jowls by the force of the Red Creature's grip. "The -- the girl; the girl. Your friend, your -- your associate. She calls herself a Guardian. I don't come to challenge you, or -- or to counter you, nor to disturb or hamper. I come to understand! I mean no disrespect; I'm idiotic, a maggot, a cripple, a cow. I mean only to speak with civility."

Every breath might be her last one, so she sucks them down in earnest.

"It was you," Gloria Wynsee mutters. "Wasn't it? In the nightmare. The little girl. It was you."
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Antichthon » Wed Mar 25, 2015 7:44 am

The tendril tightened its grip, threatening to expel the air from her lungs. "The Sparrow has taken the role of guardian upon herself, as is her right. But do not assume that right extends so far as that one such as myself must respect that title. She may guard me if she wishes, but she is not my guardian. She is my friend, and my herald. I recognize no more." It was a matter of pride, something which it had an excess of.

"The little girl. It was you."

The eyes drew back into the darkness, but not before Gloria might see the surprise in them. The tendril about Gloria squeezed, harder and harder, as if to push her guts from her mouth like a tube of paste. But, before the pressure proved fatal, it relaxed. Gloria was still suspended high in the air in the dark of night, but she could breathe freely.

"You are correct," It said. "You are an idiot. A maggot. One that has thrown away her life, and for what? To pursue an image from a dream? An image of a young child, a toddler, barely able to sl--walk. One that you murdered as she cried out for help in terror.

"Yes, it was me. An avatar of me, from my childhood. It was only a matter of fortune that I had the presence of mind to appear as human in that nightmare.

"And now you have baited my curiosity. An idiot you may be, but even an idiot has her motivations. Why seek me out?"
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Rance » Wed Mar 25, 2015 10:31 am

The tendrils tighten, cinch around her like wet rawhide drying in a violent Sun. Squeezing until she feels her ribs straining to stand firm, seconds -- no, here breaths -- from failure. Clenching her, smothering her like she's a foul little bug. Her neck cranes, stretches, desperate to free itself from the confines of the Red Creature's monumental appendages. Fingers? Hands? she wonders, her brain a blister pulsing with her frantic heartbeat--

"That," Gloria wheezes, barely able to swallow the glut of saliva that wells inside the bottom of her mouth, "wasn't -- wasn't wholly me. As you weren't wholly you. I've -- I've no explanation for my actions in that nightmare. Would that -- that I could, I'd tell you there was logic, or purpose, or aim.

"I was as you were: I was me," she breathes, "but not me. Still a maggot, still an idiot, but half-formed. Only there against -- against my will."

When finally the pressure relieves itself, she slumps forward over the gripping tentacle. Wild motes and flares of light wiggle and dance in her eyes as air filters back into her lungs. She retches unceremoniously, but as the blood rushes rapidly out of her head and her chest expands to draw in precious air, the realization floods her like wine filling a drunkard's waterskin: the Red Creature had not been the fabricator of the nightmare, nor its master or commander; it too had been a victim, an unwilling participant...

The Creature's cool, menacing eyes vanish.

An idiot you may be, but even an idiot has her motivations. Why seek me out?

"I seek an answer: Ser Catch, I believe, keeps from me my daughter; Mekarie, with diligence, protects her. But neither wish to tell me where she is. A cow," the seamstress appeals, "still pines for her calf. I heard your voice in that nightmare: And you believe yourself worthy of having a daughter, you told me," she repeats.

The Red Creature was the common bond between Catch and Mekarie.

"I beg you here, at -- at your mercy, for my child."
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Antichthon » Wed Mar 25, 2015 11:06 am

Gloria vomited, and the tendril shook her clean, as if shaking the water from a washcloth.

"You need not have an explanation for you actions in that nightmare," It said. "For I do. You saw a child, that was not your own. You were given a child to touch, to care for, but that child was not your own. As though the gods believed children were so easily replaced. As though they believed you stupid enough to be pacified by such a gift, to forget your own child simply because you were given another. And so you destroyed their insulting gift, out of spite.

"But the fact it was a dream does not excuse you. I have traced the outline of your mind. I need not delve deeper to know that had it been reality, you very likely would have done the same. And so I say again. It is disgusting that you consider yourself worthy of having a daughter. Because just as you wounded me for not being the daughter you covet, so would you wound your actual daughter. Because even she is not your daughter. Your daughter, the one that you love, is but a concept. A thing that lives only in your mind. And you seek the real child only to force her into the role you have already determined for her. You want her because you are a selfish, stunted creature.

"I know what you will say. That I do not know of what I speak. That your only concern is for your daughter. That you wish to make the world a better place for your daughter. That you would give your life for your daughter. And to this I say, 'of course you would.' Because it is instinct. And you are to be no more commended for it than--" Something flew towards Gloria's face, fast and threatening. It stopped just before it reached her, and was gone. "--your reflex to blink."

The black-and-red eyes were back, and full of disgust. "Were you but a cow, I would be sympathetic. Because like you, they are selfish. Like you, their 'love' for their calves is instinctive, rather than genuine; altruistic. But you are not a cow. You are greater than a cow. You are able to give true love. And you do not.

"Has it occured to you that the Sparrow and the Unicorn do what is best for the child? I imagine the thought has crossed your mind. But that very probable possibility did not stop you, because ultimately, you do not care for the good of the child, if it does not benefit you."

The eyes were gone again. "It does not matter, regardless. The Unicorn does not answer to me. The Sparrow would die before she would betray those she protects. And even if I were inclined to enter their minds by force, they each possess powers that would likely render my search fruitless, and I would certainly lose their friendship.

"And, most importantly, you will be dead before the dawn. So I do not see why I even waste my words. That is, unless you can convince me why I should let you live."
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Rance » Wed Mar 25, 2015 1:27 pm

And blink she does as that unidentified force hurtles out from the vast nothing. It snaps, whips, cracks in the darkness of night, flashes like a loosed arrow in front of her. Her eyelids crush down against one another, a futile attempt to disbelieve the oncoming threat; scream, too, she does, but the sound rattles more like a gasp in her throat and wheedles out from between her gritted teeth--

It never strikes.

The seamstress' trembling lips manage, however, to put together a very simple, very bare denial:

"You are wrong."

Wrong. Even with a promise of death hanging over her, she must say it. Wrong. Wrong, because while Gloria Wynsee, shaking and struggling to savor what she believes are her last few breaths of precious air, cannot articulate a comprehensive retort, her heart and soul snarls with the reproof. Wrong! The Red creature is wrong, wrong, about everything -- about her child, about her capacity for love, about her reasons, about gods and motherhood, wrong, wrong, wrong! So while her eyes were so minute, so very small compared to those of the Red Creature's, hers bore full as much violence, near as much gravity and bravado. And while fear rippled in her every sinew and petrified the core of every brown bone that comprised her, she thrust forward her chin in flagrant and ignoble fascination. She must stare--

--stare into an abyss, like she had with the Black Smoke.

Stare, with defiance and temerity, into the jeering, laughing darkness of Noura's wretched Passenger.

And see if life still awaits her on the other side.

Already, her body had enlisted an animal's crass defenses: the squeezing of the monstrous entity's limbs had long-since rid her of her foulest humors, besmirching the dangling mobile of her ratty boots and tattered skirts.

"Kill me," the girl Gloria reasons, her voice raising against the encroaching darkness, "and Ser Catch turns upon you his finest, most precise, and most perfect rage. I am part and particle of him, and for all you believe you see, you've not seen what I have: a fury that would focus itself like a shard of the Sun upon you. Your very human friendship would crumble, and -- and he would Sing until your every piece shook free of its whole.

"if you'd the desire, if you'd an inclination to -- to end me, you'd have not wasted this many words already. But you have," Gloria Wynsee whispers, "because you know the ruin he would bring to you. And you know, for all you've seen, what destruction genuine, altruistic love can bring. Ailova Smith would carve out your fucking eyes; Mekarie, the Guardian, would shred that little red-haired toddler inside you.

"We both know," she says, never blinking, "I am not worth all of that."

Her heart dares one more beat.
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Antichthon » Wed Mar 25, 2015 2:56 pm

The eyes rolled. "Yes, of course you would say that I am wrong. Just as a toddler denies anything she does not like. And believe me, Glour'eya. You are but a toddler compared to me. An infant, barely born. And I do not exaggerate. To give you a sense of scale, I was five in that dream. Five hundred years old. I will allow you to imagine how old I am now."

It wasn't remotely impressed by her bravado. This whole exchange was about as threatening as a newborn badger cub. But, nevertheless, It did sigh and return the woman to the ground. The tendril left her, to stand and fall as she may.

The eyes lowered to Gloria's level, and now the woman could see them truly. The creature had made Its eyes seem much larger when they were in the sky, but reality, they were no larger than Gloria's own. Despite the black of their sclera, they seemed very...human.

"You are correct. I dare not kill you. I had hoped you would realize this sooner, if I am honest. There are more productive things that I wish to do with this time than intimidate a human oddity. Such as sleeping. I do not get the sleep that I require these days.

"Now, go. And remember the terror you felt when you believed this night to be your last. Use that terror to inspire you to tell others to summon me at the woodline, not beyond. Or do not. It is for their benefit, not mine. I, for one, am bored listening to you posturing and denial and spite. If you truly wish for my help return with an offering. I desire willing mates; spread this word amongst the more adventurous of your males. I can assure their safety, and as a master of the mind, I can also assure that they will experience the greatest pleasure of their lives. Do this for me, and I will do what I can to assist you."
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Rance » Thu Mar 26, 2015 11:06 am

When the tentacle lowers and releases her, she barely feels the cold ground meeting up with the underside of her ragged boots. She teeters, top-heavy, and stumbles back only to catch herself against the rough bark of one of the trees. Her hand steadies her against the sentinel trunk as, with a flood of relief, she draws in a wild, hungry series of breaths. Counts each one, follows it through from its creation to its liberation--

One. Two...

"However old you are," Gloria says, her face hidden beneath the flaring bill of her bonnet, "means -- means nothing. You haven't earned the right to call me by that name."

A lie. It had to be; no body could withstand the weight of so many years; no soul, no mind could keep itself whole in the face of so many centuries. A brain and a heart could only withstand the pressures of loss and regret and so long without crumbling to ash. Muscles, organs, the components that carried life--

Seven. Eight..

--were vehicles for the tremendous weight of time and emotion, things that chisel, dissolve, and erode. But every cart jumps an axle eventually, every wheel sheds its spokes, every hinge gives way to rust. As she dares up into those deceptive eyes -- small as drops of blood -- the stubborn young woman rights herself and drags her sleeve across the dark copper of her cheeks. "You dream," she says, smothering the tremors in her voice. "You dream, which makes you as vulnerable as we are to whoever works us in our slumber. And I think, Red Creature, you cannot suffer being so susceptible."

...and as a master of the mind, I can also assure that they will experience the greatest pleasure of their lives.

A pause. Ten. Eleven, blowing coils of white vapor into the air between them.

"A mind belongs solely to its owner. I'll bring you no chattel."
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Antichthon » Thu Mar 26, 2015 12:39 pm

"That is what is so great about being a dominant power in this world," It said. "You have no need to respect the inane rules of lesser beings. I shall call you Glour'eya if I wish, because there are none to force me otherwise.

"And I do not ask for 'chattel.' I am more than able to procure mates by force. I do not wish to, as it is distasteful. But I have wasted enough time on you, little one. You are supremely obnoxious, even by the standards of Jernoah. Leave my woods, or be escorted from them. If you choose the latter, I will not be so gentle with you again."

The creature disappeared, but that meant little; it could be lurking anywhere in the darkness. And It would know if she continued to act out in her childish tantrum.
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Re: Caller in the Wood

Postby Rance » Fri Mar 27, 2015 5:17 pm

Gloria Wynsee knows nothing about dancing. Once, she'd whirled her skirts and clicked her heels in a jig with Tennant Tolleson. Another time, she'd spun with Catch at the behest of a bard's melodious strings. Each time, her feet and legs had been clumsy fools, but the motions had been intoxicating and invigorating. Now, though, with this Red Creature, the performance is an unlikely one: a seamstress barely cresting the second half of her teenage years, full of a brash, blustery aggression; an age-old amorphous being that expressed the power to--

--cut you from crotch to throat and leave you to die.

But stare a coiled viper in its eyes? Hear its promise of venom and damage and yet never receive it?

There was no better way to empower an already too-bold young woman.

Gloria snaps her lantern up from the ground and pivots. She shows the darkness her back. She strides -- subduing the tremors dancing under her skin -- toward the warm, glowing light of the Broken Dagger beyond the woodline. In the lawn, she dips forward to her knees and blathers a deluge of prayers into the sweaty cuffs of her sleeves, thankful for life.

A desire for mates.

An expression of loneliness.

The inability to carry through its completion of a deadly guarantee.

Even dominant powers are woven with weak stitches.
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