Private A Different Song

[Krava'quiloor]

One of the slim shapes on the roofs was not a weathervane nor a wind-trap tower. A thin figure's attention wandered over the evening streets, and to the multitudes of stars up above that lanterns below mirrored. They had a good thought there, with the sky-ships.

Worse with the local governing body. Too many tadpoles in a basin? Too many cocks in one yard? ...eggs in a basket?
The Trade Dialect, as they called it, was imperfect and linear, but certainly very evocative.

She wore garments in an elven fashion, marigold-yellows and bleak sun-bleached lavender-greys, swallow-tail overcoat and elements of the shirt making her thin, broad-shouldered, flat form look almost like an overturned lily flower. Underneath it all, of course, was a second skin of sorts, transferring smoothly into what looked like a reddish-purple leather, gauntlets and boots from intersecting leaf-like strips. The silk-thin colorless hair was grown out longer by a good two palms' length, still largely untamed, but more manageable now that it could be tucked behind the ears.

Things were getting better, ever so slowly.
And, she got her hands onto enough to make a bottle the size of her own head. For material, if any were to be found on the outings.

A scent clung to the skin, unfamiliar. The direction of it was from an updraft of a western-turned wind, so, north-west. The figure drifted along the roof's silhouette, and leaned over, looking into an alleyway. There?
Oh, but what was going on there?
Rather, who?
The resonance was nearby, somewhere. Not something most passers-by, however violent or shroud-tainted, wore so naturally.

Eyes without pupils searched, head tilting there and back, like an owl. And then, she stepped off to drift down along the wall, and land into the thick dry mud. Despite the big ears - hearing was the last sense to rely on.

Opening a gift box. Sneaking out past curfew. Nobody has to know. Slipping past unnoticed.
Giddy curiosity that was just beginning to emanate outward, got carefully restrained within immediate proximity.

 

[Thraah]

Homelessness sucked.

It sucked more when alone and for the last few weeks Thraah's consistent wanderings had brought her from place to place in a never ending series of things that might have been entertaining or interesting if only certain things like fear and responsibilities did not exist, which were of course terrible all the time forever.

So she lay on the pile of discarded wooden trash in the deepest darkest part of the city where only the worst things went and only the most desperate dared go and she lay there staring up at the night sky counting the moons as they passed by through the sliver of illuminated darkness that she could see.

She had long ago made up her own names for them.

Blippo, Farps, Clup-clup... she could not spot them all and rarely were they all in the sky anyway.

She spat fire straight upwards and caught it in her teeth, chewed and swallowed it again.

She rolled over, then back then sighed then huffed then considered burning the wood just to watch the shadows dance along the walls, then wondered, what if... the City burned down???

Accidentally... and not her fault at all... because geez there's so many people, ANYONE could have left the candles going.

Eyes without conscience examined the gloom of her surroundings, the dry days left the buildings vulnerable to a spark or two or five or just however many it took.
She sat in the pile, hair stuck with twisted nails and splinters, bare legs scratched from rough and hands course from work.

There were too many cities anyway.

Surely she could do away with one and won't it be a story to tell the others?
She knew they thought little of her, that she was never up to much, well... burning Havenhold to the ground was certainly much of a muchness.

Would they be mad with her?

Teeth bit her lip and for a moment hesitation lowered her gaze.

Big Sister might be mad with her.
Big Sister did not have to know.

Flame erupted in her hands as she dismounted and it lit up the area.

Big Sister would never know.

Humming a tune she did not know the origin of Thraah pressed her hands against the wooden wall and let the fire feed on it for a moment before pulling away.
Something had drawn her attention away from her task, the flames faded.

She had been so certain that she was alone until now.
After considering melting the alleyways in an inferno Thraah decided she would like to meet this new person.
It was time to be subtle and friendly.

"Hey if there is somebody there then you better come out now or I will MESS you up!"

Perfect.

@Of The Creed

 

[Krava'quiloor]

Fire. Arrogance. And militant attitude. All close to home, much too close to home, and oddly satisfying in how it made her feel. Not a lot of things made her feel that way, the contentment of a venomous snake coiling up and knowing what its fangs could do. Not a lot of things except for fire made her feel like a cornered animal.

She stayed to the shadows, drifting quietly between weightless steps, the fresh colorful clothing shuffling ever so softly.
The source of voice further confirmed location. There was no need to hurry. She would do better to take time for studying someone wielding the deadly element so easily, no?

The Elder would have thrown something at its head. Something heavy, be done with it.
Lock would have growled, chirped, hissed, probably moved to protect her.

Three fingertips pressed against the pale throat gently. Dipped into the skin, until they reached the outside of the area. Moved, each in its own direction, as if tuning an instrument.
"You don't want to do that," said a young man's voice, alarmed.
A sideways step.
"The mess is intricate," a soft, slightly breathy mostly female one echoed. "I like it fine."

A touch, like a soft collision with the back of the head, but none that actually came through contact.
"Your might is not in doubt." the breathy voice continued, neutral, almost in wonder. "Did I interrupt you? Hm. Why, oh why would someone want to reduce this sorry place to cinders?"

 

[Thraah]

"AAAGH!" Thraah yelled in surprise, she had not expected anyone to actually be there.

This one was some kind of super creep, sneaking out from beneath the nothing like that. Was it magic or were they just really good? Whatever the reason, this was a skinny one and no mistake making Thraah instantly think of the starving people who lived in the gutters of the city. Maybe they were hungry. No, she was certain that they were hungry. Taking her hands from the building she left only lightly smoking prints on the wooden wall.

"Uhh because it sucks and I'm bored and I do what I want!"

Thraah spoke as if this was information the stranger should already be aware of. As if destruction for its own sake was something everyone indulged in or should indulge in at least. The white hair reminded her of Illy and she wondered for a second where she was, if she was arrested again for eating vegetables.

"You're not a unicorn are you?"

The simple association of hair and unicorn was cemented in her, besides this one was kinda horse shaped anyway or so she thought. But wouldn't it be keen to meet TWO of them? She could tell Illy and she'd be very impressed with her. Of course she would, who wouldn't be?
The distracting thoughts took her out but she landed again in the moment and the strangers words rose to the top of her mind like dead fish in a pond.

"Why do you like this?"
She waved her hand at the pile of junk she had tried to use as a bed as if it was some terrible stinking pile of dung.
"This sucks!"

@Of The Creed

 

[Krava'quiloor]

@Thraah

A wave rolled in, not all around like the sound would with laughter, but the giddy tickle, the slight strain, the knowledge of amusement. Like a secret to be kept only between them. A whisper in the ear. You're funny.

The real secret she kept to herself was a calm understanding that this creature, if it did let loose for its own amusement, would kill her in that play. Knowingly or unknowingly. Fire made her insides twist with anxiety, and anxiety boil and solidify into a strained decisiveness.

In this moment, Lock was missed so dearly. She wanted to press against the fur, and feel the flow of a simpler, but familiar mind weaving with hers like a warm hug. He was still sleeping. The elder was still dormant. Not enough material. Not just to make them whole again, but to exist with dignity. There was no glamor in loving the grime and misery.
"A unicorn? My, I wonder why you'd think that."

She floated closer, hands at rest at the level of the ribs, long, fragile fingers interwoven.
"I like it fine," the not-elf repeated, calmly. "But I don't love it. It's not my home. It's not yours, either, is it?"

Foot touched the ground, narrow leather shoe that seemed to extend into a low boot under the wide pant leg. Eyes without pupils caught the light of fire - but returned it green, not orange, like sunlight catching imperfections inside gems. Watchful. Careful. Approaching.

"Where is home, child?" The soft voice crept into the synapses like a soothing tide. "Conjure it in your mind, take my hand, and let me see."
One hand drifted from the other, extending slightly towards the entity, inviting.

 

[Thraah]

Home?

"Home?"

That word! It hurt to say it, hurt to hear it even. Why did they all obsess over it so?

"What's a home?"

Shroud Fiends, Demons, Cursed Ones or whatever one cared to call them were not born like other beings.
They did not have families, no relations.
They simply become and in the becoming are for however long until they cease or are destroyed.

So Thraah, as with all of her kind, was without any concept of home either figurative or literal.

It has been attempted to be explained but these had all failed. The best she could fathom was it was a place you'd go to when you are scared to feel not scared.

Which seemed like a swell plan until what scared you found you and ate you.

"And I'm not touching you, you skinny, tall... floater!"

The term made her huff a laugh.

"Floaty floater!"

She waved her arms a bit to mock the stranger.

"Floaaaater!"

@Of The Creed

 

[Krava'quiloor]

There was an intricate interweaving between a toddler simplicity and ingrained societal norms. Perhaps, an awareness of mimics? An intricate mess, just as this city. An unrefined mind and power too much for it to handle without reigning destruction.
It didn't tell. It didn't have. Nor want. The echoes of its thoughts resonating in the air between them colored the Shroud in brimstone and brown, scattering and hopping one to another.

A wildfire was of no more use than a fiend that simply wished to be left alone.
"Home is a place of your own that you keep, to bolster your strength and diminish your weaknesses. Home is where others of your kin reside and weave their own songs. Home is what you have outside yourself that you protect, and it protects you. Home is what belongs to you, where you belong. All these have to be true for it to be a true home." Head tilted. Krava'quiloor would be impressed if the creature could hold attention span past the first four words, much less give thought to the concept.

For a moment, a tiny sliver of pride glimmered at the back of her mind. Trying to teach a wildfire math was silly. But the cadence for mouth-speech was as regal and vast as she remembered the Elder, when he was teaching her. He. She. Perhaps, once the Elder was restored, they'd swap again? It often took a minor change of voice, shape of clothes emphasizing different parameters, especially in an elf among humans and devahni. Elder made for a regal Lady.

Then again, perhaps, once her walking chamber was complete, she could walk... sail, perhaps?.. back to Suldaza. Oh, that was an idea. The thought of rainbow-iridescence, giant flippers and crests like a mixture of a cuttlefish and flying fish, came to mind.
Just... needed enough material. Luckily, there was plenty that died perfectly natural deaths. It just took time. So lonely.

Ah yes. The imminent death threat.
There was a way, perhaps, to get material quickly. But it would take a loathsome call she wasn't keen on making. A human waging war was forgivable. A human killing in subterfuge would be considered cunning and intriguing. Her? She had to keep her for now proverbial clothes as white as could be, if she wanted to survive...

...and yet, the temptation was there. Go slow, masquerade as a healer, unkown, unassuming, un-guilty, do not interfere with the operation of this social structure.
Or - to remember the barbaric defects, judge the city as source of material - and excise. Cull. Gain, then build. A faster way, a way to gain many enemies. Oh, the temptation was there. It would always be, like a part of every creature's mind that put itself first to feed and grow and avoid danger, all else be damned. Especially when means to cover tracks were practically presenting themselves to her.

Krava'quiloor was a communal creature, she reckoned, like most others. Humans hunted in packs. Bears met once in a while to rut and procreate. Fish swam alongside water snakes who flushed the small prey out of the reefs. There was power in collaboration. But this here, this here was not a communal creature. Would it benefit from being one?
Else, she would benefit from its destruction, or staying as far away as feasible.

"Do you gain anything, when you burn things? Do you gain more if you burn them to their smallest part?"

 

[Thraah]

There it was.
The contradiction.
Thraah was by no means a gifted mind for the intricacies of philosophy but she knew when something sounded like it wasn't real.

"So it's like money! It's just a place until you decide it's important?"

She did not understand money either, she knew what to do with it and how people treated it but she didn't understand why the small bits of metal had more value than anything else.
It seemed to her like there was more sense making them out of wood. You'd get plenty and it's less work than digging it out of the ground.

On the next question she thought for a bit about what she'd get from burning the city down, way down to something beyond ashes.

The idea provoked her.

"Maybe I would. It's fun to burn things. All this stuff..."
She gestured about herself at the wider city.
"... it's just stuff. It's all cooked dirt and cut trees and dug stone and it's no better here than wherever it was when the humans found it!"

A shrug and a half hearted kick of the wall said that she was losing her pep for burning.

"So who cares?"

@Of The Creed

 

[Krava'quiloor]

"No. Money gets more inane the more you think about it. A home doesn't - it's what you make and define, based on its actual worth and values." A look up and down the creature. Could it make anything? seemed like one of those ever hungry things... ah. Well, that would make sense. A whole lot of sense, actually...

"You'd have to flash-burn the world to not get people who can and will destroy you for so many lives.
How many people do you think live in this sorry heap of a city, hundreds? Thousands? Someone's kin, someone's friends. Bonds.
Less perfect than a hivemind, but all the same these fleshy things cling to them.
You kill these ones, and their bonds snap.
And humans don't like losing their bonds.
More or less about as much as they hate losing their dead stuff made out of dead things."

The thin-lipped mouth curved. The creature was silly, but it felt good to express frustration, at least.
"Do you have a name, creature? I can sense the Shroud saturation on you from here."

 

[Thraah]

She walked away from the wall, this thin person was making her think and thinking made her stop, stopping was boring.

"I know, I know. They love their stuff SOOOOO much and all their people too."
She kicked a piece of wood that might have at one time been part of the handle to a broom or brush.

"Until they don't, until the get new ones and then leave the old stuff out here in the alleys to rot."
It was another thing that she did not understand about people, mortals really. They were so fickle about everything. Stick around long enough and they'll love you and hate you in no time at all. One day they want you, The next day they can't stand you.

"So what's so great about keeping all of those short bonds? Shouldn't they care for things until they die?"
Her immortal mind conceived of love in such infinite and eternal terms. Caring should not end, or so she thought, because circumstances change yet she had witnessed long loves broken over another person and the partnerships of a lifetime crack like an egg because one of them stole something. It didn't make sense to her. If you cared then you cared.

"In a few seasons they will all be changed, the bonds gone and replaced by ones they have not even thought about yet."
Her short form glared at the slender thing.

"So why should I care if they are cut short sooner than later?"

It asked for her name.
"You first string bean. What kind of name do you have?"

She ignored the topic of the shroud for now. She knew what she was and it did not matter to her that this thing could sense her, Thraah could sense nothing and never could. All were equally as interesting as they could make themselves and nothing more.


@Krava'quiloor

 

[Krava'quiloor]

Force of nature without true wants and needs? Solitary entity with flame all to its own?
Most certainly perpetually angry, the temperament likely did not do it any favors.
"And you are - different from them, in that?" Colorless eyebrows furrowed, then rose, ever so slightly. "I am no less frustrated, but, unlike you, I am in a city because I have use of its contents. At present. In the forseeable. And while I have all the time the world may offer me, I am disinclined to move until I have returned my faithful familiar and hive kith a body."

The name's demand finally sent a ripple of something like emotion through the pallid face. The eyes without whites or pupils curved in a way that would imply a smile, and the thin lips became even thinner in a smirk. Spidery fingers splayed as the not-elf's palms parted, and her chin rose slightly. She rose, slightly, too, taller off the ground.

Her mind rolled out into the world like a tidal wave, enveloping the clearing and the wood scrap heap, the alleyways branching from it, ascending into the distant sky. Her arms spread, though they weren't offering an embrace.
"I am -

---

A split second, sharp as the sound from a slap and just as rapid for a low mind to catch up with. A vision, an understanding like a ghostly pin of knowledge lodging straight into the brain.
An ocean, a vast expanse of thought so powerful it curved matter; immesurably deep, enveloping the strange creature between the surface and the distant winds of ouitside thoughts, locktide in an impossible horizon. Six strokes pressed into thoughts, some broken, some varying in elevation - not writ by pen, not to be read by eyes alone.
Krava'quiloor." Krava.
The meaning unfolded, a wave cresting overhead and crushing down.

Creature. Entity. Flesh and shroud and mind.
A thrice-broken stroke. Three elevations, lower to higher.
Bright. Clever. Novelty and aspiration.
A stroke of ascending relief, a break in the last sixth of the length.
Quality. Aspect. Attribution. Belonging.
A stroke unbroken, relief down then up, a slight hourglass wave of a groove on top and bottom.
Dream. Future. Wandering thought. A stroke broken in half, ascending with a groove in the side, then even.
A high relief dot, a stroke after the break ascending gracefully in a wave felt at the top.
At dawn. At the beginning of the cycle. At the inception.
First third length of a stroke low, a break, the rest of the stroke then ascending upward.
Fleshweaver. Amalgamous mind-body. Architect of vessel.
Four breaks in a line, first and last longer and almost splitting into six by deep groves at the top and bottom.

And as the name revealed itself, so did the reality come into sharper focus.
Where there was a pallid elf in marigold-colored garments and a skin-tight underlayer of some sort, small and frail - an understanding came. It was a vessel. Not subject of possession, but the origin body that should not have been.
What was contained - was just over six and a half feet tall, lavender-pink in hue, head bald and segmented, chromatophores pulsing slightly on the forehead and cheeks, long tendrils extending from the lower half of the face. A singly row of suckers on every underside, tips a different shade, tentacles joined by a membrane at the base - two longer ones at the sides, curving with whimsy where a smile should have been. Blunt elegant nails, four fingers on each hand, slightly webbed same as the toes. The mind was vaster than the body could contain. The body was vaster than the vessel could contain.

...and therein lay the dilemma.
Most certainly, the creature remained as a not-elf because it didn't want the hassle that would follow.

Krava stood in front of the thing. On the ground. Small. Frail. Contained. Not-elf. Her spidery fingers adjusted the braids of spidersilk not-hair, tucked it behind the barely-functional lopsided pointy ears.
"Your turn."

 

[Thraah]

It wasn't anything that Thraah had seen before but it wasn't a demon.
It certainly wasn't a unicorn or any other form of shape shifter.

It was too ordered, a controlled thing of purpose rather than the innate chaos of her kind and it's implanting of innate understanding of its name was irksome. She did not ask it what it was but perhaps those were the same things.

Unlike the Unicorn though it clearly had an air of danger about it. Thraah did not suspect that it was a vegetarian.

The weirdest thing about it was the octopus shape of its head which prompted an insulting laugh from her lips.
"What are you like some kind of fucked up mermaid?"

Her voice distorted as her smile cut across her face, growing wider. Her face split like a ripe banana and peeled off to reveal another face like an animal, sticky and stinking with acrid vapours like the sensual release of fungal spores.
Her arms flopped to the ground in tangled clumps tipped with noodle fingers and sharp claws, her mouth had many rows of teeth. The half shaved head replaced by a writhing mass of tentacles. Her whole body was transformed red and yellow in no discernable pattern with leaf like folds in mockery of the idea of clothing tipped with spines.
She was naked the way a flower was naked, devoid of shame or subject to sex. Gone was the image of the girl, it now bloomed a grotesque in its place.
Tall and writhing.

When it spoke it's voice was in many pitches, like many screams coming from deep within behind three separate tongues.
"I AM THRAAH!!! AND I DO WHAT I WAAANT!"

A long limb cracked like a whip and destroyed her makeshift bed of garbage and timber. The air became thick with the breaking sound of dust and splinter. It caught in the mouth and stuck to the tongue.

She wondered if this thin thing, this Krava'quiloor, was satisfied with her now or if it meant to test her further.

Motive never bothered her, whatever it's blathering about kin and crafting Thraah payed no mind. Grander plans were the passing of clouds on the horizon, and no more within her reach than that.

@Krava'quiloor