Private A Collection of Horns

[Etoile]

A free city-state, a place for Etoile to wander without fear. The sun was high, the moons translucent with a wash of watercolor blue. The sun spoke to her with gentle, warm whispers, guiding her to where she need be. She wasn't late but right on time, it told her, just a few more steps there, a few more steps here, careful, you nearly bumped into someone.

She wore sandals and muslin, not blending into the crowd or looking like part of a ship's crew. The muslin was too sheer against her pale and see-through skin. The intricate tattoos on her back could be seen, and yet the muslin was thick enough to dim the sparkle of shroud stone embedded into her center. Long, unruly swathes of hair rolled off her shoulders like ink from a poet's quill.

Etoile moved like flowing water, barely seeing anything but the path she was to follow. She heard a commotion but didn't heed the warning until she slipped alongside a dusty alley. Stepping onto a large square, she was behind a crowd of people. A small stage made of stone cracked beneath the weight of an impressively large beastkin. If he didn't move his heavy feet, Etoile might have thought him to be a statue for his skin looked thicker than leather but held the same appearance as the stage below him.

"ONE HORN," he shouted, voice deep and rumbly. He sounded upset, snorting through two large, black nostrils and tossed his head to show off his own horn on his long face. It looks to be almost a foot long, and Etoile tried to measure it between the space of her thumb and forefinger from far away. She squinted.

"But, isn't two horns better?" A woman demanded. The cry of a goat, most likely in disagreement, echoed after.

"Unicorns only have one horn." He said, narrowing round black eyes. He had very long gray eyelashes that looked like boar's hair. "Unicorns only!" He repeated as murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some citizens began to disperse, bringing all their two-horn goats and cows with them, but some stayed. And those who remained had an array of unicorns.

A man held a horned chicken who didn't struggle against his arms, a woman tugged along a miniature horse with one horn, and another man on top of a horse dressed wealthily made a motion with his hands for two men to bring forward a beastkin with blue fur. The sun whispered to Etoile again, and she furrowed her brows, unsure if she had heard right. So she stood there, closing her eyes and concentrating despite the din of bargaining and transactions.

 

[Trevor]

Trevor felt like the slimy thing he just stepped on. Felt like cotton between his ears, all his thoughts fluffed out and fuzzy. A low static ring. Slightly heavier on the right. Reminding him that was the side they clocked him on.

He could see a gathering at the square ahead. It was always some sensation lately. As he drew closer, he could recognize the voice. The bump on his head, reminding him of the Hornlord's authority. Apparently putting up a finger on your forehead and acting self important didn't pass for humor in these parts. So they found him blaspheming and corrected his sinful ways. It was one of those ONE HORN nonsense sermons again. He knew he was unwelcome in these parts, but couldn't help himself. Something was out of balance here. People did not fall to one knee for messiahs based on the number of head bumps just like that. Something strange was at play here. And if they thumped his right a few more times, the bump on his head would make him a unicorn himself.

He found a spot next to the strangest person he saw. And the one most unlikely to whack him over the head. She had something strange going on with her skin, but that was none of his business. He had seen nonsense like this before. War made people mad. Once all normal ways to cope were exhausted, only this delusion remained.

They weren't at war. That made it worse.

Still, this was madness done at a new mastery. Not only were the people listening, gathering and dispersing as the creature called, but they were also providing him with livestock and... His breath caught for a second. That looked like a proper Clawfolk! Slavery wasn't a novelty in the world, but there had clearly been an escalation in the Holy Unicorn's influence. This wasn't right. An entire city couldn't get drunk on one man's madness alone. Shouldn't. And it was just a man, Trevor was certain. A simple Beastkin. If bigger and fatter than any he'd seen before. There was as much holy in the man as whatever stuck to his boot in coming here.

And it only got worse as he saw a little one carry a tray, carefully balancing a one-horned turtle on it. He wanted to yell at them. Show them all what madness this was. And he would've. Yesterday. Hand rubbing the makeup the mob had applied, he was better educated. A lesson perhaps not learned, but remembered.

„Can you believe this shit?“ He was never one for keeping his mouth shut and knowing better. Best he could do was a low growl. Bravery gone as quickly as the words left him. There was no way to stop another beating without seriously harming someone. Looking around, he'd panic. Surely no one heard.

 

[Etoile]

"Can you believe it?" Etoile opened pale gray eyes, turning her head to the man beside her. Her voice was soft like downy feathers or the fur on a fluffy cat's belly. It wasn't accusatory, the words simply a reflection. Etoile looked back to the scene. There were inspectors who used shroud stone to undo illusion spells, and other inspectors who pulled on the horns to make sure they were real. The last set of inspectors would then measure the horn for a variety of things before conferring with their large leatherbound books the price of the creature.

"I can believe it." Her quiet, airy words didn't hold the weight of the admission, and as she turned to look back at the scene before them, she didn't look bothered, either. "I came from a town miles away from here. A large hole nearby filled with carcasses was causing monsters to come close to the town. The crew got rid of the monsters but the stars told me to go to the hole. I did. I looked into it. It smelled bad. Everything was rotting. All the dead bodies were the same: something was missing from their foreheads. A large, gaping hole right above their eye. I thought someone was collecting the third eye."

Gray eyes became misty, squinting at the too-strong sun. It hurt, and when she closed her eyes, shadows danced beneath her eyelids. They told a story, something big and large hurting things small and little. Etoile opened her eyes, unable to watch any further.

"Everything sold to him will die. Stars never lie."

@Trevor

 

[Trevor]

He didn't laugh. Didn't scoff. He should've.

„I know they're disappearing.“ Voice quiet. Honest. Afraid. „I had my doubts about them being killed.“ He should've seen it coming. He should've known better. And maybe he had. Simply refused to let himself believe. Not again. „Thought maybe they left town, or got sold-off. Hiding maybe. Never seen the bodies.“ Something needed to be done. „Not yet.“

„Stars don't lie.“ They were in agreement. They were simply agreeing to different things. „People do.“ His gaze on the Hornlord. „Loud ones lie the most.“

„This doesn't stop on its own.“ There was no anger or edge. It was a fact. The swelling on his head seemed the funniest thing in the world. Three more hits and it would be him in a hole somewhere. Gap on his face and all.

„If I try to meddle alone...“ He felt like puking. Wasn't sure it was saliva he swallowed. „I'm having the same dream lately. Me, but shorter.“ And he had. For days now. Not being able to reach a shelf he always used. Not having to duck to get into that one Runefolk tavern with the squeaky door. Someone swinging an axe at his head and it passing over. Always the same omen. He didn't care which end they took it from. „And I'm already short for a fella. Can't have em shaving anything else off.“ Maybe that was it.

The turtle was gone now. So was the kid. Gods help them. Hornlord was still busy measuring the other Clawfolk. An unlucky goat waiting its turn.

„She might've been waiting for someone else to meddle with me.“ His head looked up at the sky, gaze pointing. He liked to believe She lived up there. His own pissed-off star.

„Someone braver. Someone dumber.“

The coin in his pocket shifted. Begging to flip. Telling him it'd land on heads. He knew not to let it.

„You either?“

 

[Etoile]

Etoile listened, tilting her head towards the man like a curious bird. Slights and slants, delicate and narrow, composed her. The half-elf seemed half-formed: too short for an elf, too willowy for a human. Sometimes she found her reflection to be one or the other; other times, both.

"I am neither brave nor dumb," Etoile corrected. She was quiet, looking back at the turtle being carried away from an unaware owner busy counting their coin. Her eyes grew faraway, pupils dilating. The air around her stilled, her lively hair slowing their moments before stilling completely, like a painting. "But I know pain. I know hurt. I know the curse of being forlorn and forgotten. They are my best friend, in my darkest times, in my brightest times; they hug me tight whether I want it or not. The caress is ice, the kiss is frozen, and even if I want to scream, my mouth is paralyzed. No sound, no me, I am nothing."

She gasped, taking a step back, a hand reaching her head. It took her a moment to realize she was in her own body, unharmed, alive, and most importantly, loved.

"Wait." Her voice was solid, heavy, ice floating along rambunctious waves, unbroken and relentless. "Do not be foolish. What do you seek to accomplish?"

@Trevor

 

[Trevor]

He knew that look. Worn it once. Woke up mid-sentence he never started. Knew better than to ask. Instead: „Luckier than me then.“ His voice low. „Asked what I was gonna do?“ Glanced at the stage. The Clawfolk gone. The goat too. The Hornlord still shouted. Still smiled. How could anyone be so energetic about so much death?

„This needs to be stopped.“ Like he was remembering. „Cause it won't give up on its own.“ Kept touching the bumped side of his face to keep himself in the present. It was far too easy to get carried away with grand ideas. Stopping them. Saving people. But he wasn't a hero. He was a ginger.

„I've seen what happens when they let it grow. Madness in robes and titles. First it's goats. Then it's gods.“ He found himself already clutching the cursed thing. Somehow it had made its way out of his pocket. On his palm, heads. Facing him. Taunting. He knew a piece of metal couldn't wink, but it felt possible.

And he could hear the Hornlord again. Louder. Clearer.

„There is one among you... with a single horn.“ A hush. Then whispers. Crowd turning on each other, first in curiosity. Then more.

„They belong to me now.“

 

[Etoile]

A heavy, pregnant silence was between them.

Etoile felt the pain in her lower back, the strain in her knees, the pressure in her feet. Her shoulders slumped forward as the man's words invaded her mind. He wanted to end this? But this was greater than both of them combined. The crowd became restless, a promise of wealth beyond their imaginations coming to fruition. Find the single-horn, whoever found it first could live in comfort, their children thus living in comfort and then their children's children would still be in comfort.

It was perhaps the first time that Etoile realized that power was money, not just shroudweaving. The translucent hairs on the back of her neck and her arms were raised in premonition, a strong gale blowing across the square to pull her inky dark tendrils away from her face. Gray eyes hardly stood out amongst pale skin.

"Okay," Etoile said, raising a hand to the sky, palm facing the spread of blue and white. "I'm not a fighter, but perhaps you are?" She didn't turn towards him as clouds began to cover the sky, quickly becoming dark. A lonsome shadow settled upon the town's square, murmurs once about greed soon turning to awe and confusion. The darkening sky was enough for the Horn Lord to stop his torrent of words and go silent.

There was a hum in the air as the crowd came to a hush. A crack of thunder, abrupt and yet still a thing that was waited on, before a flash of lightning. Some woman shouted, some men groaned, and the Horn Lord stomped his heavy, round feet. A fizz of tension between Etoile's fingers, a sort of static that made her too prickly to touch and this was known by instinct alone.

"I will part the crowd for you." Her wrist snapped, fingers curling and then unfurling in a dance that situated itself in a woman's hips instead of a man's shoulders. Each step she took brought forth rain, thunder and lightning. And yet, not a single drop would land on the man's head, whatever path he took would be dry no matter how slippery the stone beneath his feet should be.

@Trevor

 

[Trevor]

He accepted her offer without thinking twice. But what the fuck would he do? He wasn't a fighter either. Something still needed to be done!

It was strange to get cover from the rain covering everyone else. The strange woman was powerful. He wanted to ask. Wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Feet quick and pace dry. The Hornlord hadn't seen him yet. Not properly. Not until he got close. When the towering creature turned, eyes too small and wide, one hoof shifted backwards. Maybe not fear. But discomfort. Because the world was about to tilt wrong. In the form of loose footing. In the motion of falling. And the crunch of breaking.

He had gotten too close. The Hornlord was big. Bigger than the stage made him look. Standing beside, he felt small. Short. The dream came back to him all at once. An old coat that finally fit again. But that beat of clarity cost him the moment. The weather no longer had a mind of its own. It was now ruled by a weird woman. Her sense of drama contrasting the rhythm of the street. First flashes, then..Tapan's uncle! That was loud. The thunder that followed shuffled everyone around. When it repeated, someone would yell about bad omens and people would rearrange like the sheep he was in charge of last winter. Slow first, then fast, then utter chaos. The square wouldn't be lost to blood and battle. Feet and panic instead.

The Hornlord stumbled back, pushed further by the crowd. Something slipped from his hand. A ledger. He knelt and picked it up, as something flew over his head violently. The cover felt wrong under his fingers. It was damp, but not from rain. Warm, but not from life. He opened it and the ink slid, staining beyond the pages. Beyond the hands.

Names and symbols moved when he looked too long. Letters took on a mind of their won as they swam the surface. He thought he had recognized something, almost. A place. A date. Then it was all gone.

He didn't even hear the curse that escaped him. Snapped the damn thing shut. It wanted to tell him something, but he had no ears for it. So he looked back to her. Each step shortening the distance. His pace easy enough. No one wanted to stay in the open. The sky was angry with them.

„Not for me.“ And he held it out. „But you. Maybe you could.“