me: oh man im starving but im not sure what i should make for dinner……
the spirit of a 12th century templar knight that died a horrific death due to torture that started haunting me after i found a sword in the middle of the woods: spaghetti once more, prithee?
Summary: Returning to the Material Plane isn’t so simple as climbing out of the Hells.
—
It’s going to be one of those days. The jitters start bright and early—before the bright and before the early, in fact. After hours of tossing on her bedroll, Karlach gives up on the whole affair and staggers to the campfire for breakfast. When Shadowheart glances her way, Karlach decides on the spot that she’s not up for talking. Swiping an oatcake, she heads out of camp, all flames and a tight-gut expectation that she’ll be dragged tail-first back to the Hells.
The mountains lie dead ahead, just as they did yesterday, and her skin itches as the landscape stays exactly where it is. The river hasn’t changed course overnight and the hills haven’t flattened. Should be a good sign, but the ground feels as solid as mist beneath her bare feet. More real than her. Or maybe less.
At last, Karlach realises what’s got her instincts all muddied up: it’s overcast. Which means no light and no shadows, just flat shades in between. She glances up, but there’s no telling where the sun is. If there’s a sun.
Grey flashes through the underbrush, and a pair of eyes peer out at her.
Karlach stops, nerves singing. Flames peel off her fingers, but she keeps her fists tight at her sides. “Hey, soldier.”
Rhodeia-as-a-wolf circles her once and heads towards the game trail winding through the brush. She pauses at the edge of the clearing and looks back expectantly.
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Say, how do you find the tail? Most folk haven’t got a clue what it’s like, but you’ve got quite the fluffy specimen attached to your rump.”
Rhodeia wags her tail, looking more like a big grey dog than a wild animal.
“What’s that? Tails are superior to bare arses? Couldn’t have said it better myself, soldier.”
Summary: Returning to the Material Plane isn’t so simple as climbing out of the Hells.
—
It’s going to be one of those days. The jitters start bright and early—before the bright and before the early, in fact. After hours of tossing on her bedroll, Karlach gives up on the whole affair and staggers to the campfire for breakfast. When Shadowheart glances her way, Karlach decides on the spot that she’s not up for talking. Swiping an oatcake, she heads out of camp, all flames and a tight-gut expectation that she’ll be dragged tail-first back to the Hells.
The mountains lie dead ahead, just as they did yesterday, and her skin itches as the landscape stays exactly where it is. The river hasn’t changed course overnight and the hills haven’t flattened. Should be a good sign, but the ground feels as solid as mist beneath her bare feet. More real than her. Or maybe less.
At last, Karlach realises what’s got her instincts all muddied up: it’s overcast. Which means no light and no shadows, just flat shades in between. She glances up, but there’s no telling where the sun is. If there’s a sun.
Grey flashes through the underbrush, and a pair of eyes peer out at her.
Karlach stops, nerves singing. Flames peel off her fingers, but she keeps her fists tight at her sides. “Hey, soldier.”
Rhodeia-as-a-wolf circles her once and heads towards the game trail winding through the brush. She pauses at the edge of the clearing and looks back expectantly.
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Say, how do you find the tail? Most folk haven’t got a clue what it’s like, but you’ve got quite the fluffy specimen attached to your rump.”
Rhodeia wags her tail, looking more like a big grey dog than a wild animal.
“What’s that? Tails are superior to bare arses? Couldn’t have said it better myself, soldier.”
[Read on AO3]
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