CuSetanta

(set: $MadeBed to false)(set: $LookVhim to 0)(set: $RunePower to false)(set: $Path to false)(set: $MetSaada to false) //"Tha mi a ’bruidhinn d’ fhìor ainm agus a ’gairm air d’ fheòil."// Dark. Suffocating. The pressure around turns claustrophobic as the first of your thoughts ripple into the folds of your mind. "Return, young' blood, and thrash about once more 'an tha stage pygmies call life." A voice in the dark calls to you, drags its scaled, leathery fingers across the soft flesh of your cold cheeks, and pulls at your nose, the end of which tares slightly within the voice's grasp. You feel like you've known this pool for ages. For decades. Its swirling, slow tug has kept you embraced with careful love. Pearls of opaque white fill the now hollow pits of your eyes. So long has it been since you felt the air that once drowned your lungs in everlasting life. You feel the claw like fingernails scrape into you. Your wind pipe crushed once again by the flow of gravity as you're fished from your watery tomb. [[Breathe.]]

A wall of fluid, viscous, thick, blocks your air way. The pressure expands as you try to stir your muscles to action, but to no avail, your body does not respond to you. "Naw, how's it ya came ta' be, lad? Do ye even knae?" You're stunned. At the mercy of this being, and all you can do is feel its crushing grip as the watery sensation leaves your chest. Its level sinks. First down to your waist, then your knees, slipping past your ankles, until finally the last layer clings to your toe. Hot breath rolls over your skin. "A prize ye'are. Two hundred ye'rs and only missin' yer eyes." Your skin tingles with a lingered sensation as your arm lifts up, not of your own accord, and dangles in the bog air. [[Breathe.|Breathe2.]]

You strain once again. Nothing. "Even though you nae got a lung, yer still tryin'." You feel its gaze. Although your clothes are soaked through, thick with moss slime and years of mucusy amebas digesting the last bits of your greyed meat, that warm tingle of its focus prickles your skin. "Tha fae will coddle to ya jus' fane, an' a tool without fangs be no tool that toils." The creature's grasp shifts. Motion, air rushing past your slackened body flicks your wet, matted hair from your forehead. A sudden slap, a dull thud against your chest, forces out the water in your lungs, pumping it into the bog below your mouth. Needles, dull like chestnut spikes, stab into your body. You wretch, or you would, but no amount of will power, no amount of inner strength you muster pushes fiber within your flesh. The needles continue the carving of your chest, trailing down to your core until your lungs are empty of all. Your ribs. Your cartilage has decayed, rotted, and now the spokes of your ribs form an icicle cage that digs down into your spine. [[Breathe.|Breathe3.]]

Even if you could, that wouldn't be a smart idea. You would instantly feel the jagged point of a rib and then a fragile, yet noticeable, pop as your lungs would simply deflate again. Instead-- you feel the scaled grip of the creature once more around your wrist. A strong tug pulls your body. Your face, unnable to turn or pull itself up, cakes over with mud. Your jaw, unnable to be shut, fills with the coppery taste of grass and dirt, the sensation of pebbles rattle against your teeth. Your neck bends with every bump and crevasse that you glide over. It feels like hours. Maybe even days. The sensation of being pulled hasn't stopped, and all you can do is think. Just drift slowly in and out of sensation until it is but a dull memory. Then, another rock comes along, gashing your cheek to remind you that there is still pain to feel in this state placid. After what must be a time you can't recall, you drift back into abyss. [[Chew your food like a good pigmy.]]

You awaken to a start, sensation flooding every inch of your body. Pain returning once more, color enveloping your eyes, blots of forms, thoughts-- wood, cedar, floor, ceiling-- a bitter flavor swells in your mouth and quickly becomes a sting of acidic. A hand clasps to your mouth, you can feel it. Familiar. Strong. Air fills your lungs. Along with that burning stab from before. Your lungs swell like balloons, rubbery and fragile, not used to this new life yet, but your nose takes another large gulp into your esophagus. Your eyes water. The sting lasts but a moment, but the grip doesn't let go, even as you thrash about. Your wrists are bound. You force yourself to move, ripping at threads that won't let you go, and once again you feel that dull, rivetting pull of life and let the shock roll over your body. "Chew, ya stupid pygmy." Its voice throbs through your face. A fire nearby crackles with warmth and brings the world to life. [[Look up at the beast.]] [[Chew.]]

Through the sting of tears, you blink, looking up. In the orange glow of embers falling from a nearby fireplace, you see the cracked, withered skull of a deer, a buck, with horns wide and points numbering in digits you couldn't possibly count. (set: $FaeEvents to 1) Green sparks shower the inner crevices of its skull with an eerie light that stops short of its sockets. Blankets of thick moss spring forth from the base of its head, flowing down to an amalgamated body of deer flesh and wood. Oddly, you do not smell rot or decay, and you do indeed smell, nor do you smell a bog, but a draft of pine, juniper, even-- mistletoe. It grows out in various directions off its body. You clench your eyes shut again. Unnable to comprehend the creature for its features. Tree bark covered-- fingers-- clench to your cheeks again. "Chew, ye daft thing." [[Chew.]]

The acidic burn lessens. It's not as strong and even turns into a bittersweet flavor of orange, or grape, or no-- you're not sure how to feel about it. It has an earthen tone. Something like a tea but-- you decide to do as the creature instructs, for better or not is yet to be known, but you chew and let the juice trickle into your throat. A soft stroke on your neck coaxes you into swallowing. You gag as the thick clump of leaves takes a moment to slither past your collar bone. "Good. Yer nae tha' thick ta refuse life." The voice doesn't roll over the kind fire, doesn't play over the crackle or pops of burning wood, no... It comes from somewhere within. You blink(if: $FaeEvents is 1)[ once again](else:)[], opening your eyes (if: $FaeEvents is 1)[ and watching the creature before you shamble away with carefully planned steps. Its hooves tap gently across the hard cobblestone of the rather small cabin the two of you occupy. You trace it with your gaze. Your body slinks, the lack of energy suddenly pulling back against you. Spittle trails from the sides of your lips. [[Speak.]] [[Try to Recall.]]] (else:)[ [[Your gaze falls on this creature.]]]

You just cannot get this right today. Your muscles stretch, you feel your lungs fill with air. Everything to make the catalyst for talking happens. You just get no result. You hear not the vibration of volume escaping you. Not the blossoms of screams. Not the frustration of yells or those of even joy. [[Speak.|Speak2.]]

Across from you, much larger, a few ceim larger in height and many more in width, sits a creature whose cloven hooves tap across the cobblestone floor with careful consideration. You make out the shapes of fur, deer like, brown speckled with white as it fills out something humanoid in shape. Thick carpets of grey and green moss overflow from the base of a large, weathered, white buck skull. Horns branch out into numbers of points that you can keep count without feeling dizzy. The more you try, the harder it gets, and after several moments you give in, thinking that they've grown even more as you've been watching. Its hollow sockets glitter with green light that stops short from the container it sits in rather than illuminating the thick, dusty air around it. Even though you cannot see their direction, you believe the beast to be watching you, just as much as you watch it. (set: $FaeEvents to 1) [[Speak.]] [[Try to Recall.]]

You reach for memories within you. (set:_MemoryDrag to (random:1,5))(if:_MemoryDrag is 1)[Wet. Mud. Gravel. The taste of death lingers within your mouth, foaming like cotton bursting from the plant, and suddenly you find yourself hurting again. Another cut. Another scrape. Your body doesn't react, but you mentally flinch. Another cut dragged out by a jagged rock. Reeds draw against you. This isn't what you were trying to recall. You remember that, something else though, something-- gone. You reach out, further, deeper. //It's almost--// A synaptic firing in your brain sends you reeling as you stress yourself further. That faint feeling drifts away. Before you can try again, the figure across from you draws your attention from trying again.](if:_MemoryDrag is 2)[Songs. Long. Ghostly. You remember the hands of something icy, cold, raking through your back, causing that oh-so-familiar oozing of blood to warmly slosh down your spine, but the image remains-- fuzzy. Lost. //You don't-- You can't-- Something pushes back against you.// A wall of force slams you with a wave of exhaustion. You strain to grab onto that passing thought, but another wave crashes into your body. You struggle to breathe. The beast across from you grunts. Your mind reels. You're back in the moment and the dull sting of weariness drags against you. Sitting in an oversized chair, oversized for you, you suppose, the creature watches you.](if:_MemoryDrag is 3)[You know not how long you were swimming in that murk. You know not the names of the spirits down there, whirling, swirling around your body, drifting jellyfish in form but not in practice. They slowly ate away from you. Skulls that nibbled upon a drift of yourself. That's not what you're searching for, is it? No, you're searching for something before that. You feel the gap, the information forming at the tip of your tongue, at the edges of the folds in your brain, but-- Any time you touch it, it leaps from your grasp. You force through, pushing against the current of your mind. You feel your arms get heavier, sink further into your seat, the restraints themselves seemingly unravel under the sheer weight in your mind. Just as you grab hold again, you reel back to the present. Your eyes crossing to the beast sat in the chair against the wall.](if:_MemoryDrag is 4)[A flash rips through, searing into your memory. Before the abyss, before the murk, there was something there. Pain. Wood. Steel. Cold, tarnished steel, soaked in a ruby liquor, a smell of turpentine, the sickening fusion of flesh and the sudden seperation of bone from bone. You reach for it. Grabbing the lumps of an unfamiliar memory. You struggle, strain to hold to it before-- It slips, like sand through your fingers. And suddenly the shape is gone within your mind. There's a strange sensation that washes over you. It fills your mind with sudden fear, but subsides just as soon as it came. You know it's important. You know that you might need to remember, yet-- It's gone. You look up at the figure across the room, slouched in its chair. It watches you, you can tell even without eyes with which to see.](if:_MemoryDrag is 5)[You ache. Your chest aches. Your arms ache. Your stomach aches. Your legs, your hair, your teeth, your eyes, your nose, mouth, ears, toes, tongue-- they all ache. You're unsure if they are related to what you're trying to recall, but the sensation, the ache you feel seems more than one person could have in a life time. You slide your aching tongue against your aching teeth and feel the aching pull of cold flesh. A memory, cold, aching, floods your mind as you stare at the beast across from you. Your eyes filled with the same, dull pain, yet unnable to close now. It starts long, slow. You feel the drift and weightlessness of the water surrounding you, a long tide that drags you deep under the murky black that you can recall wrapped around your grain-size body. How long were you there? How long were your lungs filled with that thick bog? When did you get there? Why there? The answer feels like a lump. A dull, aching lump within your chest. A cancerous, obtrusive lump locked within your body, and just as you grab onto the source, your mind snaps back to the creature. It's watching you. Even if it doesn't have eyes, you know it's watching you.] It hasn't said a word since you've been lost in your head. [[Speak.]]

You try again. You feel the hiccup of a word at your lips. Your mouth dries up. Your teeth are dust that clog your every word. "Sometin' tha matta', wee one?" The voice echoes from within your core, where your heart sounds. [[Speak.|Speak3.]]

You resign yourself. No energy left to fill your bones, to contract your diaphragm would be too much for you, so you simply, languidly, nod, looking at the creature. "Well, git on. Say yer mind." [[Speak.|FirstWords]]

"Ya fool deer. I said--" the words fall from your mouth. You heard it. This time, you actually heard them. You let out a gasp, low, underbreath. Shite. Why couldn't ye do that before? You look up at the creature. Down at your bound arms, tied to the chair by simple straps of cloth. Small, frail. Pruned. Bluish. They weren't always so blue, were they? Then you look to the fire. You watch as another spark flies off, the ember caught in a slight gust that carries it off to the cobblestone floor far from its home. Your eyes linger there. "Small pigmy, look 'ere, ya?" [[Look up.]] [[Ignore.|Look up.]]

Regardless of your will, your body springs into action. Slowly, over a few seconds, you look back up at the beast, its green runes, carved into the cracks and sockets, stare back at you. "Thas bettah. Ye look all piss, ye know that?" You try to retort, but find that chalky feeling filling your mouth again. It seems like it didn't want you to answer anyway. The voice continues. "Where ya from, Pigmy?" Pigmy is not your name. It never was. It never will be. Yet you feel compelled to answer all the same. [[Answer it.]] [[Refuse.|Answer it.]]

Your mouth moves first. You taste that air, crisp in your lungs once again, and squeak out, "Brug na Boinde." The creature stirs. His hand, a mass of talons, moss, and scaled flesh, curls around the tip of his notched, boney nose. It leans forward, possibly inspecting, possibly sizing. You watch as fluctuations, like sunflares, escape the whispy light glowing in his sockets. "Ah-- tha' makes nae bleddy sense. Pigmy can't be birthed av' fae mound. Nae, must be a mistake." You feel the voice again as it wells up inside you. You're reminded of song birds. Of rustling leaves. Of moving sky. It speaks not in words. You feel the intention, each minor motion turns into a sonnet, a ballad brought forth together by nature, and it is only your mind that pieces them together to form meaning. "Sae where yer from agin, do nae lie to me." [[Answer it.|Answer it2.]] [[Refuse.|Answer it2.]]

Even if you wanted to stop them, the words leave your mouth. "I said, Brug na Boinde." Even your words don't feel right. A part of you has taken that from deep within and formed those as the words, the definitive answer for which the creature seeks. You piece together the lyrics of cold winters in your chest. "If tha will is twice..." It shakes its head. "Nae mind that. Where is yer clan, Pigmy?" You feel the answer bubble in your gut first, then rise into your mouth as a curdle of milk, spoiling your thoughts before attempting to batter through your strained lips. [[Answer it.|Answer it3.]] [[Ignore the question.|Answer it3.]]

Nothing listens to you. Your body gives its answer and you are left with the sensation of the answer, the realization in your mind. "Dead, Lord Vhim." A sob chokes your throat. You're-- alone. Ma. Dads. T'lak. T'yona. They're nowhere. Not alive. Passed onto the mounds. Lost to the blood soaked spears that skewered your village and even-- You look to the creature again. Vhim, you called it. A tear streams down your face. Your eyes well. Water, salty, filled with bog brine, makes rivers down the passages to your chin before falling into your lap. It watches you for a moment longer. "Stahp that, wee pigmy. Nae let it botha ye longer." You stop. Sudden. The emotion worms away from your mind. The sting stays for just a long second and not a moment more. Vhim's word is law. Clear and true. And your body listens. "While ye serve me, ye shall nae be weighed down by needs, by past, by pigmy twists. Nae, ye shall be fae til' ye dain not be. Understan'?" [[Nod.]] [[Shake your head.]]

(set: $ClanWeight to false)(set: $Name to "Setanta")You nod. Of your own will. The sensation feels-- liberating almost. Memories, last of your kind, clan spilled upon the murky floor of the bogs, seem to meld into your back, slipping into the bog you left behind. The weight no longer there. What Vhim says, is law, and it fills your chest with ease. "Good, lad. What name do thae pigmys call ye?" [[Recall your name.]]

(set: $ClanWeight to true)(set: $Name to "Cu")You shake your head. No, there's no way you're going to let those of your past just simply drift away. You're no fae. You're no pigmy. You're not going to let this creature, no matter how powerful it may be, let you forget the things that make you human become nothing. You're not leaving behind that will in the bog. Your ma, her sweet legacy, the woman who took you in of her own accord, found in the house with the twin mares will not be gone. Neither will her cooking. Neither the sweet smell of nutmeg, or the pain of her spoon on your hand as you tried stealing another pastry, will vanish. No, her hugs, her kisses will be forged into your mind. Your teachers, your das, will not fade. They will not be forgotten. Your pain, your study will remain etched into your flesh between the folds of your muscle, under the floods of tears you will cry for each one. Lessons of life, of joy, of war, of strife and pain, nothing these fae know, will not subside. They will remain. Their many gifts to you, both the poison and the gold, will cling to you for all time. Your sisters, the mares, found at your birth, they will forever and always be etched as statues for their many days coddling you during strong storms, letting you ride them in the fields of your home, the times they were-- will for all of time be-- your family. You feel the rush of freedom and linger in it. Your choice. Your body. Vhim knows. It senses your resistence and nods. "Ah will nae understand pigmies. Their pride. Holdin' to that which fades. Tell me your name, lad." [[Recall your name.]]

You remember it now. "$Name," you say, rather defiantly. It feels right. It feels like yours. The words linger in the air. Their power remains thick, heavy. A stone dropped into a pond that causes ripples that flow out to its edges. No-- It feels as though a boulder has dropped in a lake. A mountain crashing into an ocean. Waves of change ripple over you, and, rather suddenly, you feel warmth in your clammy skin. The pink of your flesh returns. Your pale coldness crawls along your body. The fire's warmth eminates onto you. You're freezing. Your teeth chatter. Your body begins to shiver with the temperature that overtakes you within moments. Vhim moves, its foot steps so light, and unbinds your wrists. You feel like death. Tired. Sore. It holds you, scaled hand clutching your small shoulder. You feel its voice again, filling you this time with warm summers, flits of butterfly wings. "Rest, young $Name. Sleep. Let life come beck. In tha mornin', when she rises, wae will prance." [[Let sleep come for once.]]

Dreams fill your sleep. (if:$ClanWeight is true)[Although sleep comes easy, peace of mind does not. You dream of your home, of the glades spanning across the valley. Of the dogs you ran with, of your das filling your days with lessons of writing, of language, of hunting and war. This washes over. A flood of spears pierces through each moment. Gashes rip through the hearts of your loved ones. Briggands with swords and spiked helmets charge into the fields. Your mind shifts rapidly. You're back in the bog. You try to breathe and catch no oxygen. Thick goo fills in your body, bloating your corpse, now cold, caught between life and death, sinking slowly-- slowly-- slowly...](else:)[You stand in a field. Naked. The cool night air against your skin. As far as the eye can see, hundreds, maybe even thousands, of lights dance among creatures both big and small. All surround you. Dog beasts with pearly fangs watch on, standing amongst deer like creatures and small gnomes. At first, you didn't notice it, but along the horizon you see a lake-- no-- not a lake. You see an eye. Its deep emerald gaze looks down upon you with mad fervor. All at once, you feel the weight of the bog again. The ground beneath you shifts becoming putty, quicksand. You sink, slowly at first, then you're completely under, lungs filled with water. It's dark. Cold...] A silver hand grabs your wrist. You wake once again with a start. Light breaks through the nearest window. A warm breeze trickles between the thick moss curtains covering the paneless frames. A thought occurs. Vhim isn't inside the hut. Usually, the smell of acorns, of walnuts and honey or venison greets your waking form, but this morning, there seems to be a lack of hospitality. Where could that old fern gone off to? [[Look around the cabin.]] [[Make the bed.]]

You decide to look around the cabin, just with your eyes. You sit in the bed. Your fingers absently brush your deer fur pelts that you hunted last winter to stay warm. Soft, lined with sheep wool, and dipped in oils to keep insects out. Just as Vhim taught you. You listen to the chirp of the morning creatures as they start (or continue), their ever persistent struggle for life. Cicada screams, cricket scrapes, and bird chirps form a cacophony of sounds that make up the orchestra of life. A conversation between two robins breaks into discourse on which grub is tastier than the other. Definitely not the first time you've heard that fly maggots are way superior to earth worms-- they aren't, by the way-- but you tune out the blathering and turn over to watch the last embers of last night's fire dim to nothing but ash. You feel your mind with images of your next meal and decide that, at some point, you'd have to get up and go find Vhim for your next lesson. [[Make the bed.]] [[Look for Vhim outside.]]

You take the extra energy to make your sheets look less crummy. The pelts fold to your desire and after a few minutes of work, you pat them down, satisfied. Stop lolligaggin'.(set: $MadeBed to true) [[Look for Vhim outside.]]

(if: $LookVhim is 0)[(if: $MadeBed is true)[You pride yourself over your shoddy handiwork. It's not like Vhim would care. The old deer usually sleeps outside, amongst leaves and scum. Puca like it there, it says. Many times Vhim offered to let you outside in its bed. Many times you declined. The thought of sleeping among millipedes and earwigs never enticed you. Probably for good reason.](else:)[Without second thought, you leap from your bed, shirking off your covers.] You grab your stick, the water skin, and a handfull of rune stones, which you stuff in your satchel, and crane your neck outside to glance across the open field. You don't find the mossy mound of Vhim's back anywhere. Your eyes trace the soft grass. They follow rays of light as the wind sweeps over and across each blade, bending it to its whim. Sciolla earraigh, garbed in their blue petal gowns, dance with a natural hum that sings of love. Harmony. Peace. (set: $Runestones to 4)(set: $LookVhim to $LookVhim + 1)](else:)[You're back outside of the cabin. (if:$VhimFound is true)[The sun hangs low in the sky. Did your lesson really take that long? Vhim seems tired. It sits quietly to itself, resting its back to the front of the cabin, and whittles away at a small, wooden figure with a make-shift knife the two of you created from flint. It seems quite occupied. [[Go in for the day.]] [[Ask Vhim about the figure.]]](else:)[Spring plays its sonnet off into an unpredictable pattern while the sun continues to beat down from off far away. Vhim is nowhere to be found. It may have gone off into the woods past the field again, to forage or to set up your next lesson. Either of which you aren't sure.]] [[Go out into the fields.]] [[Check out the chopping log.]]

STOP -- I PLAN ON WORKING ON THIS LATER, RESET THE PAGE IF YOU PLEASE. [[TravelerStart]]

(if: $RunePower is false)[(if: $Path is false)[Given that the fields aren't a long walk away from your house, you take a half forrach's jog into the breadth of an old path, stamped out by your many travels into the woods beyond. A slight tickle of a breeze greets you. Warm sun kisses your skin. You catch conversations in the winds. A field mouse, bounding past your feet, scoops at seeds, murmuring amounts off, counting the children it must feed, and stuffing each cheek with another count for its bounty. Meanwhile, a snake, silent as a whisper, slithers between brush and blades. Hunger possessing its thoughts. You are but a passing tone to the bugs and critters that catch sight of you. Another breathing struggler. Nothing more. Your voice still and calm-- just like Vhim taught you.(set: $Path to true)](else:)[You head back out to the field. The chirping of life, 'its ever expandin', fruitless tangle,' //you imagine Vhim singing into you//, goes on, whether you're there to witness it or not. While you can't hear the sound of the snake from earlier, the scurrying field mouse, Maaz, skitters between golden sheets of grain, still plucking up the fallen alfalfa while dashing over hidden homes like he isn't scared shitless. He's either ignorant, which you doubt, or a brave little fella. Stay nimble, //gaisgeach beag.//] Scanning the horizon, your brush parent is nowhere to be found. Maybe they took off for the forest thicket. You were out of berries and salve. That is where you find knitbone, after all, and from the way Vhim's been complaining about their back pain-- you've been out for days. [[Head back to the house.|Look for Vhim outside.]] [[Head into the forest.|Forest]]](else:)[(set: $NoReason to True)You recognize the cloven hooves of Vhim, its path more pressed into than usual. You know that the forests don't sing as they once did long before the pygmies stopped their worship. That the world weighs more on Vhim everyday. It needs to conserve more of its strength if it plans to live a century or more. (if: $ClanWeight is false)[You pause and give a small prayer to Vhim. Either out of habit or respect. You hope that it offsets the draining the old fern takes from the world, but know that most pygmies care not for the ways of old or nature when they can control it themselves.](else:)[You give thought for just a moment, //'It won't be long until the clans take all of nature.'// It fades, leaving you with both gut punching guilt and burning pride. A mix you're not accustomed to.] The light around has changed from palettes of golden yellows, splotched greens, and vibrant swathes of blue skies to a dimmer orange and muted purple shade. Shadows have taken over the world as a new choir takes the stage. A choir of owls scream war cries or perform mating rituals to the beat of campfire ballads, very show-offy and loud. Centipedes tap a rat-atat-tat in harmony with their complaints of dry weather. Even the trumpet sounds of foxes, hooting and whooping at each other, makes the night sound less like a gentle hum and more like an open battle field. [[Follow Vhim to the house.|Look for Vhim outside.]] [[Go back to the woods.|Forest]]]

You walk around the house. There, planted firmly in the ground and cut at the base, a stump with hundreds of rings holds up a flint axe, an axe you've been warned to be careful with many times. Its glassy black head tempts you with its sharp cut edges. Not today, you mind yourself. Next to that, a pile of chopped firewood threatens to topple over at any minute-- though its been like that for months and the wind has yet to break its spirit. (if: $FaeEvents > 2)[(if: $MetSaada is false)[Just as you're about to turn back around, you catch a glimmer out of the corner of your eye. It was faint. Definitely faint. You turn and find yourself face to face with-- a-- small-- human. No larger than your palm. She floats in mid air. Better to say she hovers as her tiny wings carry her small form. At a quick glance, you admire her chestnut hair. Then you register that she's wrapped around the flint axe, eyes wide and wondering something-- though what you're quite not sure. [[Greet her.|Meet Saada]]](else:)[Saada continues to work away at removing the axe, paying you no mind now. The pixie is intent on using it. Her strength is intent on not working with her. You ponder helping her but remember that she refused to take anything from a human, raised by fae or not.]](else:)[You think you hear a rustling. A sudden warm whisper from the world, but it vanishes. Odd. Besides the chopping axe, there's nothing here.] [[Go back to the front.|Look for Vhim outside.]]

STOP -- I PLAN ON WORKING ON THIS LATER, RESET THE PAGE IF YOU PLEASE. THERE MAY BE THINGS YOU HAVEN'T SEEN! [[TravelerStart]]

(if: $NoReason is false)[(if: $RunePower is false)[You trek past old juniper trees, run your palms across the rough, scaly Birch trunks, and tip toe over crossing roots and ferns, careful not to disrupt the songs on display around you. You launch yourself over a fallen log, (if: $ClanWeight is false)[apologizing to the mushrooms and lichen you gently scraped off with your toes.](else:)[flinching slightly and wiping away the gooey residue of a crushed mushroom from your palm against your scratch leather tunic. Yuck.] Down the old path, you find a bit of moss clinging to a tree, pretending to be a spirit, and instantly, you know the track to your moss addled parent. From the direction, it must have wandered to the rune pillars to wait for you. [[Linger for just a moment and find breakfast.]] [[Continue on.|Linger for just a moment and find breakfast.]]](else:)[Vhim, despite its age, walks without waning, without pressure on the floor. The forest listens. It is the conductor and all the players wait for its call, leaning with ears and bending around its whims. No... It's more accurate to say that Vhim doesn't play an instrument. That only when it speaks to you, does it call the nature into you and you can hear it, but Vhim only moves as the music of the world wills. Vhim is a stanza. A ballad unto itself. A ballad you follow. A ballad you listen to. (if: $ClanWeight is true)[One that stirs a caution within you. An anxiety of ancient, older ways. Although you've known for years the melody, you still prefer to shut out the deeper memories of years long gone.](else:)[And one that calms your nerves, $Name. One that breathes life into your lungs and carries you forward. You doubt you could be there without it.] The two of you travel for some time, lost alone in your thoughts and mulling over the day's lessons you've recieved. Suddenly, the forest grows still. A new song starts. No longer filled with the chittering of bugs, the silence is interrupted by the crash of gnashing teeth. Cymbols of strife. You jump forward, just as a moment before the first snout clears your eyes. You whip around and catch a patch of grey fur with the tip of your staff, reeling in time to hear the yelp of a pained beast. Vhim is nowhere to be found. You've gone way off course without realizing it. [[Stand your ground to the wolf.]] [[Run for the clearing.|Stand your ground to the wolf.]]]](else:)[After the fight with the wolf, your more than hesitant to take a step in here alone. Instinctively, you hold your breath. The hound of Annwn seems nowhere found. True as that may be, unnable to see it, you can't help but shudder and wonder what it means. Wonder which god hovers nearby. Vhim warned you not to mingle with fae or mortal gods, bad influences they were, and more than likely to set you to your death than they were to leave you be. That's what the old moss said. With the light growning more sparse, you decide that it's better to head back to the house once more. [[Head back.|Go out into the fields.]]]

Try as you might to ignore your stomach, its wondrous, powerful effect on you, and all the creatures that have one, is impossible to ignore. The drumming thrum of its gurgling compells you to action. Along your way to the rune pillars, you grab a few sloe berries. Though few, the sour pucker and fruit flesh of the blue berries quiets your stomach for a few moments longer. "Tha' cycle grows yet anotha' step. Inconvenient at bes', limitin' at worse." Vhim's words echo through your body. A harsh winter creeps into your pit as your mind processes every sonnet your bones can feel, but the fresh snap of snow is all you need to get that Vhim finds the cycle of life laborsome. (if: $ClanWeight is true)[The frost stays, turning the berries in your stomach sour.](else:)[You get his frustrations. It does suck to have to eat to stay alive unlike a certain someone you know. It might make the winters easier to survive if you didn't have to eat or stay warm or bathe or-- Vhim hears the counter complaining you conjure in your thoughts. In kind, it returns a warm stanza of summer sun that wells in your chest. "I dannae pity ya, pigmy. I dannae pity ya."] "Not everyone can evade it like you, codger." You remind the old Puca. "Aye." You feel a spring of crickets inside you. "And try as I might, ye hardly seem ready to leave tha mortal coil. Nae with the body ye've been buildin' for a fair time." (if: $ClanWeight is true)[[[Remind the bush again.|Progression is natural, it is the way forward and to exist as mortal means to truly live.]]](else:)[[[Remind the bush again.|To appreciate immortality, one must know what it means to feel life.]]]

STOP -- I PLAN ON WORKING ON THIS LATER, RESET THE PAGE IF YOU PLEASE. THERE MAY BE THINGS YOU HAVEN'T SEEN! [[TravelerStart]]

(set: $MetSaada to true) STOP -- I PLAN ON WORKING ON THIS LATER, RESET THE PAGE IF YOU PLEASE. THERE MAY BE THINGS YOU HAVEN'T SEEN! [[TravelerStart]]

You turn to Vhim, sizing up its hulking form, imposed upon you with ferocity that could only be described with the word haunting. Despite growing through these past years, the Puca chooses to remain a few troighid taller than you. "I don't see anythin' wrong with wantin' to be human, Vhim. Ye get to eat and pass life through you, taste the rays of Belenus and be a part of that choir ya find revoltin'. It's beautiful." It crouches down. "Nothin' wrong with livin', lad. There's just somethin' wrong with wantin' ta-be a pygmy." You catch a curse, deciding to let it go. "Pygmies get too caught up with life, $Name, and let their feelin's take ova, let their chest thumpers lead them to wars--" A pulsing measure of autumn notes, sad, somber, sifts through you. //"Our thumpers,// Vhim, lead us to progress, an' they are jus' as natural in tha song of tha world as you or me." A chill sweeps you. A burning hot hits your core. You look into that deer skull again, watching the sparks flare into fires. //"Na bruidhinn tuilleadh, gabhadair feòil."// [[Protest.|Listen.]] [[Listen.]]

"One day, Vhim, I'll be old an withered." You hold yourself back from adding, 'just like you,' to that sentence, but continue without giving it another thought. "I'll know of all the pains, the sorrows, and sufferin' of that songs around me." "$Name--" You feel the distant roll of a rain cloud in your lungs. Interrupting that feeling, however, is your own autumn as it resonates back to Vhim in gentle orange hues and canvas browns. "'Cause of that, I'll also know of all the joys, the happy harvests of autumn, the life givin' rain showers of spring. I'll know what it means to 'ave been a part of the cycle and the ballad of life you aren't a part of." That vacant skull it has seems brighter right now. A burning heat rises in your throat. A summer wave. "Sorry, lad. A've been too in me bones." You look at the ever fluctuating horns on his head. You recount days, trying to count the number of points while restling idly in your bed. Hundreds. Thousands. You can't keep track, and everytime you try, you're always off by another ten or twenty. Now-- for some reason-- there are fewer. [[Say something about it.|Syke, you get a Vhim hug.]]

Its seasons rattle through you. Speaking now is useless. Now, you listen to the Puca, its sharp tones now notes of biting cold as they rack your flesh with their awful throbbing. "Progress leads to naethin'. Tha' end of springs. Ta summers. Ta autumns. Ta winters. Ta animals and gods, and it always will." Vhim's scaly bark hands grip your shoulders. It takes you a moment to process it all: wintry stings, cold, dark nights across the icy tundras, mountains carved by water toppling down with the quaking of rocks torn asunder from their mighty frames. There, underneath it all, Vhim shares with you something it hadn't before. Staring at the grey moss in its coat, you take in abyss. An ending that's definite. //"Duilich, cù òg."// You feel your body release tension you didn't even know you had built up. Vhim lets go of you, the smell of a spring shower upon its words. Collecting yourself, you turn to Vhim. "Vhim, thin's end. All thin's do. One day I will be gone." The rain patters your chest. "But the end is natural, just as one note stops, anotha' begins, and you of all fae know that there's nothin' to do to stop it." You look up at the Puca, its shower now a faint glower in your direction. "I wanna be a part of that. That hunger and ballad. To make my own notes, just like tha' rest of my kin." It pauses. You can tell. There's no breath, no rising heart beat. Vhim has never had one before, and it is noticeable by the stillness you get when you two are close together. Rain storms give way to somber, falling leaves. "Alrigh', $Name, I hear yer song." It's relented, maybe you've gotten to it for once in your life. [[Hug Vhim]] [[Go to the Rune Pillars.]]

STOP -- I PLAN ON WORKING ON THIS LATER, RESET THE PAGE IF YOU PLEASE. THERE MAY BE THINGS YOU HAVEN'T SEEN! [[TravelerStart]]

You will your mouth-- Vhim hugs you. Its arms wrap around you, and your face is shoved full with deer fur and earthy smelling moss that tickles your forehead. After the initial shock, you lean into your parent, letting wave after wave of seasons wash through your chest and back, and appreciating the moment that the two of you have. Why does it feel so long since you've felt this? Why of all times now is this big ol' bush just saying these things? You let the anxiety go. You let the next few spring time showers roll on into a horizon you can't see or feel. STOP -- I PLAN ON WORKING ON THIS LATER, RESET THE PAGE IF YOU PLEASE. THERE MAY BE THINGS YOU HAVEN'T SEEN! [[TravelerStart]]