Nocturne Summit this little piggy went to the liquor store

@Praimfaya

he discovered this particularly flattened summit after taking a wrong turn back a few meters away. not that he was disappointed with his mistake, in fact, he was actually quite glad he'd gone in the opposite direction. the shadowy summit was a sanctuary for moss and insects to flourish, though a specific patch of moss caught his attention before the rest.

it was glowing. how or why he didn't know, but he had to admit it looked rather neat in comparison to the swampy green he was familiar with. curious, he gave a poke at it, though unlike the bioluminescent waves he and ying had discovered, these did not glow further upon being provoked.

though praimfaya strays — unable to keep herself from exploring — she does not stray far. she has only just returned from crogeda, after all, and while her kill marks are healing she is still cautious as to not disturb and reopen the mending flesh. the shadow cloaked summit draws her this time. since blodreina's death she has tried to avoid mountains as much as possible, the sole and alarmingly contradictory exception being moonspear itself. even though she dwells strictly in the lower stretches of the spear's claim there is still a deep seeded hesitation about approaching the peak.

the earth, however, is calm and praimfaya knows that the only way to conquer her fear is to continuously expose herself. living in moonspear helps but forcing herself to explore the range beyond the spear could not hurt. or so, this is what she tells herself.

at first, her interest too piqued by the moss that emitted a soft bioluminescent glow, the commander nearly misses the shadowy man. the softer colors of his fur illuminated by the straying radiance of the peculiar moss is what outlines him in the dusk painted summit and it is the stranger's presence that causes the commander's steps to falter.

a small cant of her head is given as she watches him poke the strange flora, her 'wait' strangling in her throat. she recoils back a step, tail swaying with uncertainty against her hocks, ears fluttering back against her skull. ponk klin! praimfaya hisses at him. what if it's poisonous? she huffs in a strange mixture of annoyed and worriedly at the stranger, giving herself away if he hadn't already been aware of her.

he'd not seen her approach, for he'd been far too invested in the strange clump of glimmering moss to notice much else. and so when her voice shout out to him in the midst of darkness, he immediately shot back a few paces in a similar way to a frightened cat. "holy hell" he let out upon landing back on his feet, gaze instantly shooting towards the direction the voice had come from.

honey eyes squinted at her pale frame, the dark circles under her eyes making the silver of her gaze shine brighter than it should. "you scared me", as if that had not already been obvious. the fur along his spine settled upon realizing she had meant him no harm, though her words had stirred a curiosity in him. "i guess i'll suffer the consequences if it is" he let out with a shrug, not yet overly concerned about the possibility of them being poisonous. if his paw started to swell up like a balloon, then he'd worry.

under normal circumstances — see. praimfaya not worrying about impending consequences of his ( and her own ) curiosity — she might've been apologetic for scaring him. or perhaps not. it was always a good reminder to never let one's guard down, but that could've easily been blodreina and dacio's warrior lessons drilling into her head. however, she did feel guilty enough to let out a soft sigh and warn him in a slightly sheepish tone, you should be more careful. there are wolfeaters around here. as if one of these beasts might overhear her.

admittedly, she wasn't exactly one to be warning given her penchant for breaking hydra's rule. but ...at least she was paying attention. weary enough that she would not be taken so totally off guard ( at least, this is what she tells herself ).

what of me? what if it releases poisonous spores? you won't be the only one affected. she knows practically nothing about wild flora and thus, peers from the shadow cloaked man to the luminous moss once more. breathing in poison is not how i want to die. the commander tells him with a flat twist of her lips; but, she supposes in a way he is right. it was too late now.

have you ever seen anything like this before? she asks after a few more seconds pass, taking a tentative step closer. there is a tightness to her movements, a tauntness in the junction of her shoulders that tells that she is still weary but she feels some level of ease at the fact that he doesn't appear to be suffering any ill affects.

inky ears flickered in her direction at the warning, a curious twist to his face likely going unseen in the darkness. "so i've heard" he starts, wondering how it is she'd come to learn of the apparent rampaging cannibal on the loose. "an acquaintance of mine got his face eaten off" he lets out, mind thinking back to the grizzly sight of the pale wraith and his mutilated face.  

unless she was said wolfeater, or he the victim, astaroth wasn't all that concerned on the matter of cannibals and their strange preference for the flesh of their own kind. as for poisonous spores and not wanting to die from them "i don't think it will kill us" he let out, padding a bit closer to the moss once more before bending down to let his nose do further investigating. "might just make us a bit crazy."

he'd not yet noticed any of the countless side effects that could have presented themselves, but still remained alert in case they were slow to set in. "only once" came the answer to her question, mind thinking back to his evening with ying along the beach. "the ocean glowed like this not long ago, and nothing bad had come from splashing in the waves."

the stranger is not surprised by the grim news that praimfaya bears and goes on to explain that an acquaintance of his had his face eaten off. it conjures a gruesome image in her mind. aska's face flashes before her eyes then. muzzle mutilated and blood pouring from the throat wound that she inflicted him with. the taste of his blood in her mouth as stark as the crimson lifeblood that dribbled down her chin, splattered across her silver chest. praimfaya's left shoulder twitches; and she does not ask how the man's acquaintance fares, assuming he has died.

the topic moves back to the mysterious glowing moss, and the stranger's assessment that he didn't think it would kill them. think is not enough to entirely assuage the commander's worry and her lips mash into a terse line as she regards the strange flora once more. there was something both unnatural and beautiful about it all at once. crazy? she questions sharply. she understands well enough what the word implies but seeks some sort of clarification besides.

he speaks of the sea, that the waves glowed and assures her that nothing bad came of splashing in the water. her ears flutter back once more as her frostbound gaze moves to assess his face carefully. but this is not the sea. she points out. for a moment she peers past him to the moss and takes another step closer; unsure.

curiosity kills the cub, commander.

a sharp breath is taken, accompanied by the furrow of her brow as her limbs begin to feel ...heavy. a woozy feeling flows thru her, tingling along her spine; a shadow appearing in the shadows of the summit, eyes glowing like the moss before them. ...linkoln! she breathes the name of the first wanheda, turning her head swiftly towards the ebon cloaked stranger to see if he could see the apparition too.

he'd not felt the effects the otherworldly flora until a sudden weight took hold of his chest, a tightening that made his muscles constrict involuntarily. he didn't want to alarm the girl and so attempted to play it off as nothing more than a cramp - a cramp in the god damn lungs. "yeah" he let out, a few coughs escaping him in the process, "you know, like..." though rather than finishing the sentence, he lifted a inky foreleg to make the telltale cuckoo sign with his paw.

anything else that had come out her mouth from that point on had gone unheard, for he was far too busy trying to figure out why his vision had blurred and three more replicas of the pale sylph had suddenly appeared. "why are there three of you?" he questioned, voice a bit slurred as he took a step in her direction and lifted a paw to try and boop her on the snoot with.

praimfaya whips her head back to look for the apparition to find, with a sinking in her heart, that he is gone. no. not gone. just ...not visible. linkoln is always with her, she knows this. as her head turns back to face her companion, linkoln is forgotten about with the pass of a few heartbeats and the slow blink of her frostbound eyes. the shadowed man emits tendrils of black smoke ...or is it fire?! ( she cannot be sure ) that writhe and curl into the soft mossglow around them. his golden eyes taking on a quality that reminds her of the sun.

why are there three of you? he asks. her reaction time heavily slowed, she does not recoil from his snout boop until it follows thru and even then she only jerks her head back and blinks owlishly at him. i'm — she drawls. nou ste. she protests. there is not three of me. she translates a bit perplexed, as if only remembering that he likely did not speak trigedasleng.

are you a dokwocha? she asks. a ghost? she clarifies, thinking that even as it leaves her lips ...he can't be. it felt very real when he nose booped her. caution gone with the wind and determined to answer her own question, praimfaya seeks to invade his personal space and, should he allow it, press her nose to his cheek in an attempt to see if she would meet flesh or if her nose would pass right thru.

a fog takes hold of him making movements slow and mind slower. her first words are heard but not processed, a vision of white briefly taking his focus as the tension abruptly releases in his muscles. then comes the ecstasy as his body turns weightless, all thoughts of fear or concern suddenly no longer important.

"am i?" he wonders at her question, the cool touch of death not being what he'd thought. if he was a ghost, he certainly was a peaceful one. "are you..." he pauses, a wave of dizziness washing over him as her pale form emitted the smallest breath of smoke from her eyes. "are you a ghost?" he asks, curious if she had died along with him, or if he was simply haunting her until he moved on to whatever was waiting for him on the other side.

praimfaya knows she should be afraid as her senses begin dull and a hazy fog settles over her grasp of reality. she is present and she is aware in some capacity but lacks control of what she does or what she says; as if someone else has snatched her body and was at the helm. a soft, lilting giggle passes from the commander's lips as she studies the ebony stranger and his pondering to her question. maybe you are a ripa, praimfaya wonders aloud, next; a coy curl of her lips as she cants her head ever-so-slightly to the side. a reaper. he certainly looked like what she might imagine a reaper to look like.

the writhing shadows, the burn of his golden gaze ...yes, if she had to put a face to a reaper it would be his. more curious enough she doesn't mean that in a bad way. she does not fear reapers. how can she? she is the commander of death.

no, the commander purls with another giggle. i am no ghost. she assures him. i am wanheda. she corrects. the commander of death. spoken grimly, proudly perhaps; lacing with sincerity that lay as heavy as the crown.

under the impression that he was now deceased, astaroth let whatever last grip of caution he was holding onto slip away as he melted into the comfort of what he thought was death. strange, it felt so real. the touch of the earth beneath him, her voice echoing in his ears. it certainly didn't feel like he was dead, but hey, who was he to argue with her words.

"yes" he agreed, eyes lighting up as she declared him a reaper. her assortment of giggles left him joining in the laughter, tail swaying happily behind him as she went on to inform him of her correct title. "woah" he let out initially, "that's sooo cool." he wondered if that meant she would command him, for he was a reaper and she the commander of death.

yes, he agrees. sha, praimfaya echoes solemnly beneath her breath as she regards the ripa anew. their laughter, his joining in with her's, echoes strangely around the stone walls of the summit; pealing back like the whispering amusement of creatures of the arcane that otherwise go unheard. praimfaya sways upon her feet, as if lulled into a ghost of a pirouette to some music only she can hear. the gentle hum of voices ...of the spirits of the commanders rising in her head. only, it is not a hum but commands. the spirits of her people, her birthright call out to her; reaching in warning. they remain muted, muffled. the throes of the high keep her hazy, strip her of her guard.

the muscle of her left shoulder, the flesh that bears the kill marks twitches. trying to remind her of what it cost her, of what it cost them so she could ascend as heda. it is a burden. praimfaya speaks grimly, as if rationality has returned to her. it is brief. the hazy descends upon her again and she goes into a secondary fit of giggles. did this reaper have a home, she wonders? where do you call home, ripa? she asks, trying to summon her dignity and failing as she plops unceremoniously upon her haunches.

editing and archiving since praimfaya is leaving the game!

where wanheda heard whispers, the reaper heard songs. a lullaby his mother used to lull him to sleep with was playing on repeat inside his head, all while rattling around in the depths of his skull to bring about the start of an irksome headache. even with the mild pain now throbbing away inside his mind, the inky ghoul continued to laugh, the last of her words nearly gone unheard.

"home?", he asks sluggishly before mimicking her position and plopping himself down on inky haunches. "i do not have one" at least not right now he didn't. his birthplace was several moons away and had been stripped of the title as home the day he decided to leave it behind. now, home was wherever he could get a few winks in without being interrupted.

what happened after that was nothing but a blur - a warped memory lost to time. he remembers stumbling around, tripping over his own feet, and then eventually collapsing somewhere to doze off. anything else? forgotten. when he woke, he did so with a massive headache. he let out a grumble as he looked around for the pale girl, quickly realizing that he was alone. with a stretch of his stiff legs he rose, immediately heading out in search of a nearby stream for a quick drink.