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drunkenskunk · 4 months

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Another place, and another time...

The following is an excerpt from my currently in-progress fanfiction project, Ashen Exile. I figure this sequence might gain more traction here than otherwise, for reasons which I'm sure will become apparent by the end.

- - -

Grey.

It didn't matter which way one looked, everywhere was that same lifeless grey, permeating every surface, smothering everything. The mottled, crumbling soil, the color of cold ash, was cracked and broken, torn asunder by thousands of boots and aeons of war. Broken spears, tattered flags, rusted swords, dented shields... so many discarded tools of warfare littered the ground, alongside their results: the scattered broken bones of countless long forgotten dead. A thick grey fog enshrouded the edges of this wasteland, and an oppressive grey sky hung heavy overhead, both featureless and foreboding. It was difficult to tell where the ground ended and where the sky began; ruin and devastation stretched out in every direction.

This was not a place anyone would want to be.

In the center of this wasteland of dead and long forgotten carnage stood a child, no older than 14. Locks of unkempt, greasy raven hair fell around a sharp, serious face. A pair of ruby red eyes peered out from beneath a fringe of wild bangs. Skin the color of polished oak stood in sharp contrast to the overwhelming grey of the landscape around them. Robes of black and red, the fabric inlaid with arcane sigils and runes of power, hung loosely in unappealingly flat and indistinct shapes. Entirely too-long sleeves seemed to swallow the child's hands till only two pairs of skinny fingers emerged. In one of those hands, the child tightly gripped a black metal staff tipped with a sparkling green crystal, humming with a barely contained energy that seemed eager to be unleashed.

The child inhaled deeply, held it, and slowly exhaled. Lingering in this brief moment of silence and peace, trying to draw it out for as long as possible... in preparation for what was coming next.

A voice boomed. Though it uttered only a single word, the voice dripped with authority. The sound carried the bellowing weight of a man who would never ask, when he could command.

“Begin.”

In an instant, the stillness shattered like the breaking of glass. From out of the foggy haze, dozens of figures emerged: vaguely humanoid in shape, in that they had two arms, two legs, and a single head, but that was where the similarities ended. These hulking, monstrous brutes were far too tall and far too broad, each of them a twisted mass of meat and metal. Half of their bodies were encased in blackened metal, either fused with or bolted directly to their bodies, armoring their heavily muscled forms unevenly. What wasn't armored was marred by red scaly flesh, jagged horns protruding from their heads and back, and feet ending in bulky, cloven hooves. These unholy amalgams of scarred meat, bleached bone, and daemonic steel filled the air with bellowing war cries, brandishing all manner of deadly weaponry, and charged directly at the child in the center.

Naught but a second had passed, and the child was already on the move. Feet kicked off the ground, and they ran to the side, putting as much distance between them and the charging horde as possible. A hand peeked out from the sleeve with a quick, yet precise, gesture; sparks and scintillating smoke trailed off the edge of their fingers, coalescing into a glowing rune, hovering in the air next to the staff.

“Shaza-kiel!” they shouted, aiming the tip of the staff towards the closest of the demonic brutes. Ethereal chains shrouded in dark light erupted from the crystal, spiraling around itself through the air, before plunging into the chest of the demon. It shuddered and halted in its advance, with eyes that started glowing with the same dark light as the chains. The enslaved demon swiftly turned to another of its fellows and swung the halberd in its hand in a wide arc, catching the other across the knees with the giant blade.

More demons were coming, and the child continued to run. With another gesture of their free hand, a new rune appeared. “Katra zil shukil!” they muttered, raising the staff. The crystal shimmered, releasing clouds of sickly green miasma and ethereal flies which shot forth towards the next closest beast. It shuddered and briefly halted in its advance; boils and sores began to appear on its scaly flesh, bursting just as quickly as they appeared, leaking torrents of blood and pus. Even the metal armor and greataxe in its hands started to visibly corrode and rust. The miasma began to spread, catching several of the other charging demons, inflicting them with the same corruption.

But this only slowed a few of them... and there were still so many more.

“Ashj-rethul!” the child said, tracing a burning rune into the air. A spark appeared, suspended in the center of the shimmering rune, and they plunged the crystal tip of the staff straight through. The rune imploded around the crystal, and the spell exploded forward, sending a massive gout of flame at the next closest brute. It corkscrewed through the air and exploded against his chest, showering him in superheated globs of molten metal. The monster's entire body – and the area surrounding it – instantly caught alight, as if it had just been dropped into a furnace.

Their numbers were starting to thin, but nowhere near quickly enough. The child looked to the grey clouds overhead, and raised the staff to the sky. Another rune was traced in the air, and more daemonic words of power were spoken: “Melar ril'daz!” The clouds began to darken and churn, and the child brought the staff down in a motion akin to yanking on a rope or a chain, right through the rune. With a crack of thunder, the sky split open in fire, raining down dozens of fireballs directly onto the charging horde.

Sparks of spent mana condensed on the child's hand, dripping away like droplets of sweat. The air was heavy with the stench of rotten meat and burning sulfur. Screams echoed in the air, some in pain... but more in anger, as many of the daemon soldiers simply ignored the rain of fire and continued to charge straight through.

There was no time to cast another spell. One of the monsters was bearing down on the child, brandishing an immense black iron greatsword as big as they were. The child gripped the metal staff with both hands, and lifted it over their head in a feeble attempt to block the oncoming strike. The impact sent a shock through their entire body, sending the child crashing painfully to the ground. Ash and dust billowed out in dirty clouds around the two of them, and while the child desperately tried to scramble back to their feet, the towering daemonic brute pulled the sword away, readying it for a final, deadly swing.

“Rakir.”

A crackle of magenta lightning shot straight up, bursting from the child's open palm like a flurry of buckshot. The daemon reflexively let go of the massive greatsword as it screamed in unbearable agony, its body wracked by blast after blast of terrible, unnatural pain. By the time the weapon clattered to the broken ground, the child was back on their feet and on the move.

But it was already too late.

A titanic mailed fist slammed into the side of the child's head, sending them reeling. They saw stars and stumbled. Before they had any chance to rally, an armored hoof caught them across the midsection and sent them flying. The child sailed through the air, crashed through a broken shield, tumbled end over end through the shower of wooden splinters, and eventually rolled to a stop flat on their back. The child was in a daze from the impact, staring blankly into the grey clouds above; they coughed several times, each reflexive hack sending a gout of blood spraying into the air.

The demon was standing over them now. Trails of blood were gushing out of every wound, pooling onto the ashy soil beneath the child's motionless body. Time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl. The axe in the daemon's hand hovered no more than an inch above their scrawny neck.

Do it, the child thought. Just do it already. Their wide eyes were filled with manic desperation, fixed squarely on the jagged blade, its edge marred by dozens of deep nicks and gashes. What are you waiting for? Another cough, and more blood splattered onto their face.

“Stop.”

It was the same authoritative voice as before, just as commanding. A deathly chill appeared as a deep, dark shadow blanketed the landscape. The daemon lowered the weapon to its side, stepping away from the child before dropping to one knee.

“Leave us.”

The daemon disappeared without a word, leaving the child to lie on the dirt, silently cursing their ill fate. They rolled over and pushed off the ground with trembling hands, each movement punctuated by another gush of leaking blood. The child did not get back on their feet fully, instead kneeling before the towering shadowy figure, with head bowed and eyes averted; gobbets of blood and mucus continued to trickle out of their nose and the corners of their mouth, dripping onto the soil. The man loomed over the child menacingly, his every feature shrouded in darkness.

Venthrax had arrived.

“████████,” he boomed. “What are you doing?”

“I...” the child paused, trying to swallow some blood so they didn't gag. “I'm doing my best, Lord.”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. An intense pressure began to weigh down on the child from all sides, as if they had just been dropped directly onto the ocean floor and the entirety of the fathomless depths were trying to crush them.

“Do you think me a fool?” he said, with words that dripped with venom. “I created you. I know what you are capable of. And I know that you are lying.”

“M-my Lord...” the child spoke in a trembling voice, trying not to collapse onto the blood-soaked soil beneath them. “I... I swear on my life, I'm trying my best.”

“You and I both know your life means nothing,” Venthrax snarled. “Swear on something that matters.”

Silence reigned for several seconds. The child said nothing, their mind entirely consumed by the effort required to push back against the spell threatening to crush them. This was, of course, a lie: they were very deliberately concentrating on that thought, dissembling in case Venthrax was reading their mind. The truth was far more simple. They could not think of a single thing they cared about enough to swear on.

Venthrax sighed heavily, the disappointment radiating from him almost palpable; the pressure relented as the spell evaporated, and the child gasped, practically choking on the air forcing its way back into their lungs.

“What do you think this is, ████████?” he asked. “Do you think this mere playtime? A game?” Venthrax fixed the child with his cold gaze. “What do you think will happen if you face a real foe, unprepared? One who does not hold back like my thralls? Do you truly think they will yield? That they will show mercy?”

Thunder boomed in the distance, as the grey storm clouds overhead began to slowly churn.

“The Alliance... the Horde... even the Legion. They are nothing. Mere pebbles at the foot of the mountain which lay before us. The first stepping stones on the path to my Ascension. There are far greater threats, waiting for the both of us among the stars. And you, as the instrument of my wrath, must be stronger than all of them. You will be stronger than them. So your 'best' is not good enough. Not yet.”

Venthrax twitched a finger with the subtlest of gestures. The child's staff was lifted by an invisible hand from the wreckage where it had landed, and sailed through the air with not even a whisper of a sound. It hovered before the child's face for several seconds before unceremoniously dropping to the ground with a clatter.

“The future is not a river to carry us. It is the ocean in which we will both drown, if we are not prepared. And we will be prepared.”

Thunder boomed once again.

“You will do it again,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away. “And you will not stop until you succeed.”

- - -

Hours passed. Maybe days. Time after time after time, the child stood alone against impossible odds. Over and over and over again. Each and every time they failed, the same word echoed across the desolation:

“Again.”

And each time, the assault would begin anew. The child lost track of how long they had been there. How many times they tried. How many times they failed. How long since they were last able to rest. Last able to eat. Last able to stop. Until finally...

The dust settled one final time, revealing a wasteland littered with dozens of fresh bodies. A deafening silence reigned supreme. The child stood alone, staring at the carnage with bloodshot eyes: wounded, bloody, and exhausted beyond measure... but the last one standing.

A deathly chill washed over the battlefield, and the monolithic form of Venthrax reemerged from out of the shadows. The child dropped to one knee, bracing for the inevitable reprimand. Wondering just how they had failed this time...

“There. You see, ████████? I knew you could do it,” Venthrax's voice was barely above a whisper, yet somehow louder than a shout. “I am proud of you, my son.”

Teeth clenched, and skinny fingers wrapped into a pair of fists. Nails dug sharply into palms. The color drained from the child's knuckles, and tiny dribbles of blood began to slip through their fingers.

- - -

Green.

All around, the forest was awash in a sea of green. Massive, gnarled trees with trunks covered in thick mosses could be seen in every direction. The sun was blotted out entirely by the densely packed canopy of leaves overhead, with branches twisted together in a mirror of the tangled mess of roots snaking into the ground below. Shrubs, ferns, and wildflowers were growing everywhere, linked to one another with wrist-thick vines, as clusters of mushrooms and other fungi grew in abundance out of every shadowy crack and crevice. Ethereal pinpricks of light glittered in the darkness, lingering in the air between the trees; they were flickering in and out of sight like lanterns, in a manner that was at once natural, and yet very obviously not.

This was an ancient forest, untouched by the works of Man. The air was thick with Old Magick. Wild Magick. The unpolluted power of Elder Things.

There was only one person in this strange forest. The child was running through the woods, heedless of anything around them. Tears streamed down their face, obscuring their vision. And while they were, in fact, the only person... they were hardly alone. Within the shadows, just beyond the path that was taking shape just ahead of them, eyes peered out of the darkness. Indistinct shapes clustered together. Hidden. Watching. Whispering.

Suddenly: a crash!

The child lost their footing and fell, collapsing in a heap onto a pile of damp moss. The shock was enough to pull them from their stupor, and they looked up and around, trying to find the fallen log or errant branch that had caught their foot.

The path behind them was suspiciously clear. The only sound that could be heard was that of their own ragged breathing, filling their ears like wads of cotton. Slowly, cautiously, the child got back on their feet, dragging the end of a sleeve across their face to wipe away the tears. With hesitation, they turned, intent on resuming their trek deeper into this ancient forest...

An elongated face of bone appeared out of the darkness, and the child came to a halt. A pair of emeralds glistened from within the empty eye sockets of the vaguely-equine skull. It hovered silently in the air before them, long tassels of multicolored cloth spilling from the bottom of the skull where its jawbone should've been, swaying in a non-existent breeze.

It was almost enough to distract from the echoing sound of laughter, fading in and out of earshot.

“Oho? And what mann'r of creature doth trespass within our borders?” a strange voice spoke in an odd sing-song cadence, seemingly from two places at once.

“You smell it, don't you brother?” another voice, much harsher than the first, chimed in from somewhere above. “It carries the rotten odour of Fel. We should kill it, ere the taint chances to spread.”

“Let us not be too hasty...” the first voice said, its source still unclear. “Perhaps she has good reason for this offense.”

A tiny head emerged from the other side of the skull, followed by a pair of proportionally tiny arms. Iridescent wings, like those of a dragonfly, also appeared from behind the tiny faerie and began to flutter. Its face broke into a wicked grin as it looked at the child with coal-black eyes, resting a pointed chin atop its interlaced fingers.

“Well? What say you?” the faerie continued to smile from a mouth that was far too wide and filled with far too many teeth for its size. “Art thou friend or foe? What're thee doing in our forests, little girl?”

“I.... I'm not a girl,” the child stammered out, eventually finding their voice. The faerie furrowed a brow in puzzlement.

“Oh, are you not? My apologies,” the faerie began to chuckle once more. “Never could tell with mortals, in truth.”

“This Creacher is not mortal, brother. It reeks of the daemonaic,” the other voice snarled. A pair of crimson eyes with an unclear owner emerged from the darkness. The form of this other fae was... indistinct; everything about its shape seemed to shift at random, and the child could only every catch glimpses of them out of the corner of their vision. “Why is it here?”

“You...” the child swallowed hard, trying to maintain their composure. “You are fae of... of one of the Seelie Courts, correct?”

“Not quite,” The small faerie leaning atop the floating skull chuckled again. “But... close enough.”

“I seek an audience with your queen,” the child said as firmly as they could muster. The small faerie atop the floating skull suddenly stopped smiling.

“A trick!” the shrouded one snarled again, its crimson eyes vanishing back into the darkness. “This foul daemon aims to bring ruin!”

“No tricks, and no ruin,” the child replied, steeling their resolve. “I am here to bargain away the only thing I have of worth.” Not entirely a lie, but...close enough to the truth.

“If thou know of our kind, Creacher of Fel, thee should well know our fair monarch is The Queene, and not merely a queen,” the faerie had dropped any pretense of amiability. “Pray tell... why shouldst we grant thee audience?”

The child opened their mouth to speak, but the answer came not from them... but from the skull. The emeralds within its eye sockets burned brightly, and a single word echoed from the bone:

Granted.

In an instant, everything changed. The skull and the fae vanished in a wink, replaced by a large raven. The corvid spread its wings, flew straight up, and the canopy of leaves overhead swiftly parted for the bird. The forest did not disappear entirely, but seemed to melt and shift before the child's eyes. They found themselves in a grassy clearing, encircled by a ring of mushrooms, and illuminated by a shaft of moonlight revealed by the freshly open canopy. Just beyond the fairy ring, the trees were just as thick as before, and dozens of eyes peered at the child from within the darkness.

“You have ventured far from home, little one,” a gentle voice wafted through the midnight forest air. “I wonder... why have you come before Me?”

The voice brought the child's gaze into focus: the owner was a titanic being of unparalleled alien beauty. Sat on a throne of bark, wrapped in a cloak of leaves, and crowned by a headdress of antlers, the Faerie Queene was impossible to look directly at, and yet it seemed equally impossible to look anywhere else. Her iridescent skin glittered like diamonds of the purest clarity, and her eyes seemed to carry within them the very depths of the infinite cosmos. For the briefest of moments, the child felt rooted in place, utterly captivated and enthralled by this majestic and terrible sight before them.

“I... I'm...” the child began to speak hesitantly... and then, a pair of fists clenched. They swallowed hard, and spoke with renewed resolve. “My name is ████████.”

Silence. The Queene furrowed her brow, gazing down from her throne with curiosity. Hushed whispers and breathless mutterings echoed among the figures hidden within the trees. The child stood before the Queene, wild-eyed and looking expectantly from side to side, clearly anticipating... something.

“... well?” they asked. “You're all faeries, aren't you? I've already given you my Name... What else are you waiting for?” The desperation in their voice was starting to become evident. “Do it!”

For the first time in millennia, the Faerie Queene was caught off guard, and this made her curious. There had certainly been mortal trespassers who had freely given their Names within the domain of the Aos sí before... but they were always ignorant of where they were, and with whom they were dealing. Those with Knowledge were far more guarded, and required tricks and deception to reveal their Name. That this child with Knowledge was so reckless was... unexpected.

And that made it the second unexpected event surrounding this child.

“I am afraid you have Me at a loss, young one,” she said, eventually. “Did you not say to my messenger that you came to bargain? What is it you desire, in exchange for your Name?”

“I...” the child's voice cracked, and they lowered their head, their face now shrouded behind their bangs. “I've heard of what happens to those who give up their Name to the Fae. They disappear. Vanish. Never to return.” The child looked up, briefly, and one of their fierce crimson eyes caught the moonlight. “...so. Go on then.” They looked down again. “Get rid of me.”

More mutterings from the trees. The Queene considered these words, trying to probe the child's mind to gauge their true intent. Yet, she found this mind frustratingly clouded and almost impossible to make sense of... quite unlike any of the other creatures touched by Fel magicks she had dealt with over the aeons. Normally, their ill intent was clear, and impossible to hide. But the only ill-will harbored within this child was... directed inward. It was just as unexpected and confusing now as it was when she first peered within, the moment this child set foot within her domain.

“My Courtiers...” the Queene eventually spoke up, gazing into the trees with a raised hand. “Please, disperse with haste. I wish to speak with this one, in private.”

One by one, the pairs of eyes in the darkness vanished, and the voices vanished with them. The moonlit glade within the fairy ring fell silent. The alien eyes of the Queene gazed down at the child, whose face was still mostly hidden behind the tangled mess of bangs.

“I wonder, young one...” The Queene began, once she was sure they were alone. “Do you wish to die? Was that your true goal in trespassing?”

Silence. The child refused to look up or answer. Their hands, still clenched into fists at their side, began to shake.

“You have certainly gone to an awful lot of trouble to come before Me, if that is, indeed, the case,” she continued. “If taking your own life was your aim, then surely there are easier...”

“I've already tried that!” the child practically shouted, cutting them off. “It never works!”

Silence fell once again, and the Queene's confusion deepened.

“My... my father, Venthrax. He... every time I try to...” the child's voice began to crack. “I can't escape. He always brings me back, no matter what I do to end things. And every time, it... the punishments for my... defiance. They just... keep getting worse.” The child looked up, and it was the moisture welling up in their eyes which caught the moonlight this time. “But... he's spoken of you. Of all the Fae Courts. He tries to hide it, but you're the only ones he truly speaks of with fear. You're stronger than he is. More powerful than he is... and you can make it stick.”

That was when their legs gave out. They dropped to their hands and knees, and their whole body began to shake.

“I... I just...” they began to quietly sob, and teardrops fell onto the grass below. “I want to be free of this pain...”

A pair of slender hands appeared, gently cradling the child's face. With a sniff, the child looked up, and they were met with a heart-shaped face: someone they'd never seen, yet who was instantly familiar. Kind eyes gazed at the child, sparkling in the moonlight as if they were gemstones of the clearest emerald. Long tresses of red hair, decorated with pure white flowers, cascaded off her shoulders in waves, shining like the last embers of a fire in autumn.

“Oh, you poor thing...” the Queene said, kneeling before the child and using the sleeve of her silken gown to wipe away the tears. She began to smile sweetly, and it felt like the sun against the child's face, its radiance filling them with warmth. “I think I understand, now.”

The Queene gathered the child up in her arms and held them close, embracing them as a kind and caring mother would. Instinctively, they tried to return the gesture... but were so overcome and overwhelmed, all they could do was lean against her for support, and continue to weep.

“Shhh... it's alright. It'll be alright,” the Queene whispered, cradling the child's head against her chest. “I cannot grant you what you ask, young one... but I shall grant you what you seek.”

The child said nothing, too stricken by a flood of emotions to do anything except continue to sob. Even now, they were denied... but the Queene was not finished.

“I have gazed into the future, child. It is not a river that ends here, but an ocean of infinite possibility, stretching out before you. I can see that you are brave enough to endure, and one day you shall discover a very important Truth.”

“Truth?” the child whimpered softly, confusion momentarily winning out over grief. “W-what truth?” The Queene shook her head.

“That, I cannot say. It is obscured from my Sight; a Truth that only you can find. But when you do, I give you My Word: I shall take from you all of this pain, wrap it up in the Name you have given Me, and I will scatter it to the winds of Time and Space.”

“Always remember this, young one,” the Queene held the child's face in her hands, smiled once more, and planted a gentle kiss on their forehead. “No matter what happens, you are not alone.”

- - -

Tuera stood at a window in her Sepermeru headquarters, still as a statue, staring at the maelstrom of sand churning just on the other side of the glass. Except, she wasn't really looking at the sandstorm; she was lost within the labyrinth of her own thoughts.

These memories of days long past were playing in her mind, over and over again. And while it was true, she held these memories... they did not belong to her. They belonged to someone else. These were the memories of a man who had been dead for years. She had killed that loyal lapdog her father wished her to be, and the agony of both his life and demise had fueled the fires of her own creation. But despite emerging from those ashes as herself, the wounds of that previous life still ran deep. These scars flayed across her soul could not be seen, yet still they remained, and would never go away.

If nothing else, the Queene had kept her Word from that day. The Name given to her had, indeed, been scattered to the winds: when she became Tuera, her deadname was simply erased from existence. And these memories she held were not truly painful. Not like you would expect. They just left her... numb.

Tuera sighed heavily, and forced these unwanted memories back into the depths of her mind, where they could be safely locked away again. Dwelling on these thoughts would do her no good... especially since she could hear footsteps approaching.

“Tuera?” Ioanna asked, rounding the corner with a cup held in each hand; trails of steam spilled from the liquid within. “Oh, there you are. Obsun brewed us some tea, and I thought you might want some...” She paused, looking at Tuera with concern. “Are you alright? You seem troubled.” Tuera reasserted a smile, completing the mask that was her face.

“Oh... yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just... lost in thought.”

#my writing #creative writing #writing excerpt #fanfiction #Tuera Ashama #Ashen Exile #trans #transgender #deadname #fae court #fae folk

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