@makehistoria

[fistsofjustice]

Ever since she was old enough to feed herself, Amelia only went after humans who deserved it. They are pitiful creatures, her father said, and that is why you must always be righteous. Killing innocent humans was frowned upon like humans frowned upon kicking small, helpless animals; there was no justice in that.

Hunters were a favored target, as were priests who spoke ill of the Fog God. She wouldn’t usually interfere in human-on-human conflict, unless the crime was especially heinous - sometimes one had to put down a rabid sheep.

Such was her recent prey. A Bavan native, notorious for taking any job, no matter how gruesome. Amelia swooped down on him and carried him all the way back to her nest beyond Lager Woods, on the cliffs by the north-western shore. She put him on a rock ledge where no human could reach without special equipment, plucked his eyes out and left him there to starve, though she gave him water once a day. Amelia always made sure they regretted their crimes before taking their lives.

It’s been a week now, and he wasn’t screaming as much. If he doesn’t throw himself on the rocks soon (like some did. Others would beg her for release) she’ll have to do it herself.

Comments

nobody ever taught him manners, it's awful

[makehistoria]

The gusts tosses up by Amelia's wings aren't too bad without magic to back them up; her feathers batter Stocke as they flap, stinging impacts, but that's also easily fixed. He mists back into incorporeality -

Unfortunately, that doesn't do anything against fire, shoved through his core. The snarl Stocke lets out is half broken television, half sizzle like water dropped onto a blazingly-hot skillet - he jumps back almost immediately, in a motion that doesn't like natural so much as... a glitching image, breaking up and reforming a short distance away. There's still a gap steaming black where the fire curved through him - it's not reforming.

If you don't have sunlight... against a shade, fire really is the next-best thing.

The shade settles into a menacing, curved-over position, claws upraised (and blocking the line of sight to his wound) -

Which is about when fog swirls up from the ground in a whirlwind, turning the small gap between them completely murky.

[fistsofjustice]

The shade's shriek is like music to her ears. Amelia smiles in dark satisfaction when he jumps back, bleeding out a trail of smoke. But before she can burn him again, the fog rises and surrounds her. Tendrils snake around her legs, her wings, her eyes, silence her when she opens her mouth to yell in surprise. The fog is cold and so think she can almost taste it. For a few moments she can't feel anything, as if suspended in void.

When it finally eases up Amelia stumbles forward, gasping. The for hasn't cleared completely, still swirling in gentle waves at her feet, but now she can notice some blurred details of her surroundings. She's no longer on the cliff, or anywhere near the sea, but in a town she doesn't recognize. The buildings have long been abandoned, and several large black stones were set in their center. They were strangely smooth, free of the vines that covered everything else.

[makehistoria]

Stocke's not quite as affected, incorporeal as he is, but he's still hurt: his first reaction is to drawn in on himself. His tendrils snarl close to his back, and his claws flex out as he spins around, trying to find the source -

He's gone and somewhere else in a swirl of mist and cold.

The fog spits him out unceremoniously, flinging him into the air - Stocke's tossed head-over-heels a moment before stabilizing. He spins in place again, trying to figure out what's going on, tendrils bristling and pose tense. He notes the abandoned buildings, the stones; where is this?

At the same moment Amelia staggers free, louder than the echoing silence around them. Stocke glares at her, but decides near-immediately that she's not the cause of this. What -

"My children," the fog whispers.

It doesn't sound entirely pleased.

[fistsofjustice]

Amelia's heart skips a beat. She knows this voice. She only heard it once or twice in her life, and only in her dreams, but no monster will ever mistake it –

"Yes," the fog continues before Amelia can even complete the thought, and she folds her wings at the disapproval in Her voice, "Your games are no longer amusing Over humans, no less. You disappoint me, children."

Amelia wants to say something, argue, tell Her that it's totally this awful shade's thought, but She is much not interested in whatever they have to say in their defense.

"I did not give my children this land so they can fight among themselves. Shall I remind you?"

The starts to recede along with Her presence, though some of it still swirls gently at ground level. She is always watching, of course, but at the same time there's a distinct feeling of being watched by something else. Something uncomfortable.

[makehistoria]

Stocke doesn't shrink back quite so much, his tendrils staying jagged out. A shade caught in the bouts of a grudge isn't easily deterred, even by the Fog God. And though he knows, instantly - he's young enough he's never heard Her voice before.

He stays mute, but he's definitely thinking: if She didn't want him doing this, why would She have made shades with the gift of vengeance?

The fog snaps at him like a whipcrack as it drifts away, in rebuke. It takes that much for the shade to finally flinch.

There's something left behind on the ground as the fog mists away - in spidery handwriting, 'No more schemes. Do your duty for me.' And a pair of gemstones on thin leather cords - they look blue-white, like unmelting ice, and shaped as sharp as icicles. You could easily cut yourself on the point.

Stocke scoops one up wordlessly, tendrils lashing in a way that's decidedly displeased. Before he can truly start inspecting it, his head turns, eyes flickering - is there someone else here, besides him and the harpy? It feels...

when you reread your tags after a while and notice all the typos -_-

[fistsofjustice]

Amelia's crest of feathered hair perks when the fog lashes at the shade. It doesn't help her current situation one bit, but harpies are awfully petty sometimes and now she feels like an unruly child watching another get a worse punishment for misbehaving,

The satisfaction fades the moment she reads the message. I will, I promise, she vows wordlessly, but can no longer feel Her presence. Amelia glances at Stocke – she's just as unhappy to be here with him, but how dare he look anything less than eager to obey their god – and picks up the other gemstone. Despite the different color, something about it makes her look back to the black stone and she realizes the town isn't as abandoned as she thought.

Some are covered with vines like the buildings the pour out of. Some of them wear robes, others armor (didn't humans stop wearing that centuries ago, not that Amelia's sure they are really human?). Some talk but she can't make out the words – compared to other monsters, a harpy's ears aren't all that keen. And they all look like no one's told them they should be long dead.

"I – I don't understand," she says, tail fanning behind her in alarm. "What are we supposed to do?"

same

[makehistoria]

If Amelia was expecting the shade to be helpful she's going to be let down. Stocke's just about as clueless as she is, though he's moved his pendant to floating in between his shadow-black ribs.

"Eat them?" he suggests, eyes flickering like a broken bulb. It's not as though the Fog God expects that much more out of them most of the time, with regards to humans.

But even he's sure enough that's not right. She wouldn't give them additional warning for something that simple. The shade raises his claws again, eyes slit.

[fistsofjustice]

"I'm not eating any of them," she says. "They look disgusting."

Amelia uses the leather cord to tie the gemstone around her neck. She feels nervous on the ground with the figures advancing on them but doesn't take off, not yet. Instead the wind starts to rise around them.

"Can you even eat them?" Are they alive?