Safeholme
The Wilderwood
During Disturbing the Dust
"Burri."
A minuscule snore answered Zippo; having little patience, the frost fae gripped the bundle of leaves that Burri had wrapped himself in and willed a layer of hoarfrost over it.
"Augh! It's winter! It's winter already!" hoarsely snapped Burri, his green and bark laden body erupted from the bundle. With as much haste as an earthen bush sprite could muster, he scrambled to his feet, trying to seek refuge from the coming chill, but found his surroundings still verdant, green, and warm, "Wait, it's not even Fall."
Burri's head swayed slowly into the direction the chill came from, and found Zippo staring down at him with as much warmth as the season he feared. Of the three of them; Zippo, Jakku, and himself; Burri felt that Zippo embodied Mr. Caxton the most, at least with what little he knew of the strange human. They both shared that same cold, winter countenance, as well as a strange knack for waking him from his best naps. What had he been doing again?
"You're supposed to be watching Skarnir," informed Zippo, as if the ice sprite had read his mind.
"I was," defended Burri, who began to wilt under the narrowing gaze of his blue counterpart, "until I fell asleep."
"That's not watching Skarnir."
"But I did watch him."
"You're supposed to be watching him now."
"That's not what you told me to do."
Zippo got that scary look on his face that he had seen Caoranach get when she was displeased. Burri had said something wrong, but he wasn't sure what. The frost sprite had always been so quiet, deferring to Jakku for almost everything. Then, when Percival and Jakku went to Huawei, whatever that was, Zippo had become a tyrant. Suddenly there were things 'to do'. It wasn't even harvest, and he was pretty sure that the planting season was already done.
"C'mooooon, Zippo, don't be such a mortal," groaned Burri, "the sun's so bright, don't you just want to soak it in?"
At that, the autumnal sprite began to yawn, "Ah, I feel a nap coming on."
The border of the glade where Modeka slumbered rustled with the sound of bickering fae and bouts of frost, shaking leaves from the boughs of trees. At the base of these sturdy, wooden giants was a wall of thorns almost a meter high and a meter thick. At the center of this peaceful bunker of nature was a standing stone with a hole punched through it, clean and polished. At the base of this obelisk was a small person, an avatar of what was once a god. That's what Mr. Caxton had told Skarnir when he had asked the man to keep an eye on the godling, and clear the thorns whenever possible. If Modeka was allowed to nest too much, she could either seal herself in and become a problem later, or spread her thorny influence across the forest.
Today, the little godling slept fitfully by her stone, and the thorns had grown exponentially.
[The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
A tune whistled through the trees as the sprites had their back-and-forth. Strolling down the woodland path with relaxed grace despite his size was Safeholme’s resident barbarian; Skarnir. When first Burri had been keeping an eye on the large Northman he had been appraising the current growth of thorns. He had seemed both impressed and annoyed that he needed to double back to grab heavier duty gear. Pail of tools in hand, he reached the brambles once more.
“Making me put in some extra effort today, little lady,” Skarnir’s resonating voice spoke with a hint of mirth as he put on a pair of thick leather gloves and a hefty knife. Inspecting the tangle of harsh plant life as a barber would a mop of hair, he eventually determined a good starting point.
“Cut it low and take it slow,
Clear the path before you go.
Gloves on tight, don’t reach in—
Thorns will always try to win.
Step back quick and mind your way,
Scratchy shrubbery wants to play!”
Skarnir smiled a bit as he recited an old rhyme from his youth when he’d be tasked with cutting back the blackthorns that grew around his homestead.
“Making me put in some extra effort today, little lady,” Skarnir’s resonating voice spoke with a hint of mirth as he put on a pair of thick leather gloves and a hefty knife. Inspecting the tangle of harsh plant life as a barber would a mop of hair, he eventually determined a good starting point.
“Cut it low and take it slow,
Clear the path before you go.
Gloves on tight, don’t reach in—
Thorns will always try to win.
Step back quick and mind your way,
Scratchy shrubbery wants to play!”
Skarnir smiled a bit as he recited an old rhyme from his youth when he’d be tasked with cutting back the blackthorns that grew around his homestead.
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
On the first day, the thorns had been manageable. It looked more like the spread of unkempt rose bushes than that of verdant, magical influence. Each day that had gone on added more sprawling, thorny vines. Skarnir had managed to keep it to the treeline, but much like a trimmed bush would, the thorns began to spread upward to support their continual growth.
Then, there was the enigmatic godling.
A head of wild, golden hair wrapped around her small form, wreathed in tattered cloth that seemed to once been some kind of undersuit that covered her up to her mouth. She had burst from the bushes when Skarnir was a new visitor: snarling, wild, and territorial, bending nature upon him. Now, she tolerated his presence, only opening her eyes if he stepped any further than where thorns had laid. Sometimes she would watch him work, sometimes she would will more thorns to make him work, but no matter what, she watched with those same empty eyes. They were gold, like wheat fresh from they harvest, but lacked vibrancy, energy, or thought.
As he began his work today, he could hear her crying. Another terrible dream, a nightmare. Her arms stretched up as if fighting off something from above.
"Go mind the lab," he heard from the bushes. Zippo. One of his two chaperones any time he entered this part of the forest.
"Yay!" celebrated another voice. Burri. The other chaperone. The two of them operated under the assumption that Skarnir was ignorant of their presence, but it was hard to ignore the fighting of sprites, even if it blended into the bickering of other fae who gathered here.
One such fae sprouted from slowly from the earth as Modeka trembled from her sleep. It was a dark creature whose shape was drawn with oily blackness, reaching just the size of a spriggan, with small emaciated arms that clawed their way upward to pull itself out from the grass.
It tumbled over onto its side, hissing against the glory of the sun's rays, letting out what sounded like a shriveled shriek.
Then, there was the enigmatic godling.
A head of wild, golden hair wrapped around her small form, wreathed in tattered cloth that seemed to once been some kind of undersuit that covered her up to her mouth. She had burst from the bushes when Skarnir was a new visitor: snarling, wild, and territorial, bending nature upon him. Now, she tolerated his presence, only opening her eyes if he stepped any further than where thorns had laid. Sometimes she would watch him work, sometimes she would will more thorns to make him work, but no matter what, she watched with those same empty eyes. They were gold, like wheat fresh from they harvest, but lacked vibrancy, energy, or thought.
As he began his work today, he could hear her crying. Another terrible dream, a nightmare. Her arms stretched up as if fighting off something from above.
"Go mind the lab," he heard from the bushes. Zippo. One of his two chaperones any time he entered this part of the forest.
"Yay!" celebrated another voice. Burri. The other chaperone. The two of them operated under the assumption that Skarnir was ignorant of their presence, but it was hard to ignore the fighting of sprites, even if it blended into the bickering of other fae who gathered here.
One such fae sprouted from slowly from the earth as Modeka trembled from her sleep. It was a dark creature whose shape was drawn with oily blackness, reaching just the size of a spriggan, with small emaciated arms that clawed their way upward to pull itself out from the grass.
It tumbled over onto its side, hissing against the glory of the sun's rays, letting out what sounded like a shriveled shriek.
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
“Go on, git,” Skarnir rumbled as he brought the knife to bear, using the flat of it to fling the oily fey off through the trees. Turning back to the bramble he set about breaking the vines down into manageable lengths before piling them onto an opened leather carrier typically used for firewood. Slow and steady work, but with the grounds more or less vacant due to the school being on vacation Skarnir was perfectly fine working at a relaxed pace.
“Now, if I didn’t know any better, missy, I’d say you’re playing hard to get,” offered the Northman with a jovial smile and a lilt to his rumbling that suggested a joke. “Not only sprouting more vines, but there are more and more every time I pay a visit. Haha! If you want me to stick around you can just ask, rather than sticking me.”
Lifting his arm he looked at a spot of blood starting to streak down his arm from where a couple of thorns had jabbed him.
“Now, if I didn’t know any better, missy, I’d say you’re playing hard to get,” offered the Northman with a jovial smile and a lilt to his rumbling that suggested a joke. “Not only sprouting more vines, but there are more and more every time I pay a visit. Haha! If you want me to stick around you can just ask, rather than sticking me.”
Lifting his arm he looked at a spot of blood starting to streak down his arm from where a couple of thorns had jabbed him.
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
The creature that Skarnir weeded from the grass let out a guttural screech as it was ripped from its roots. Once it arced over the brambly perimeter, it erupted into a plume of smoke, leaving nothing but a memory. The thorns were harder to dislodge, and much more corporeal once pulled from the ground. Mostly green, it was easy to cut, but they stretched and loosed like spiny whips.
"Skarnir the Gardener."
She had come again.
"From reaping through the battlelines of your foes, to reaping through the weeds... of your foes."
He had been aware of her presence from the start, but only in recent visits had she revealed herself. She was a woman of broad stature, like the previous Skarnir, but her eyes carried a dead weight to their gaze. Hair of gold, like wheat, flowed over her shoulders. She was wreathed in a gown of white that did not fit her, as if it was borrowed. Across her lap was a broadsword, a weapon considerably used and cared for.
She would sit near Modeka, atop a stump or stone, and watch him work, but never meet his gaze.
"Thanklessly, you toil another's field when there is battle and purpose in distant lands," her lips curled, as if dissatisfied, "you languish in eternal spring, as each summer's harvest of conquest pass you by."
"Skarnir the Gardener."
She had come again.
"From reaping through the battlelines of your foes, to reaping through the weeds... of your foes."
He had been aware of her presence from the start, but only in recent visits had she revealed herself. She was a woman of broad stature, like the previous Skarnir, but her eyes carried a dead weight to their gaze. Hair of gold, like wheat, flowed over her shoulders. She was wreathed in a gown of white that did not fit her, as if it was borrowed. Across her lap was a broadsword, a weapon considerably used and cared for.
She would sit near Modeka, atop a stump or stone, and watch him work, but never meet his gaze.
"Thanklessly, you toil another's field when there is battle and purpose in distant lands," her lips curled, as if dissatisfied, "you languish in eternal spring, as each summer's harvest of conquest pass you by."
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
“Ah~ There she is,” Skarnir spoke to the void when she began her subtle derision. She continued as the Northman worked diligently at the brambles, and he found himself idly wondering as he usually did about her role in the woods. He’d seen most all of the otherworldly critters Flynn’s little forest had to offer, but this lass seemed more akin to Caoranach. One of the higher fey, perhaps? His eyes squinted studiously between Modeka and the woman as she finished her opening.
“Thanklessly is a tish dramatic,” Skarnir shifted his attention more onto the woman, but his hands continued working. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good conquest from time to time, but too many of them and the attention I draw starts to trend in the unwanted category. A good soldier of fortune finds a good balance between work and life. The trick is being notorious enough to get job offers, but enough under the radar that I don’t become a target.”
Looking away, his eyes glanced down at a couple more thorn punctures.
“Besides, I do more than just help with the groundskeeping. As opposed to a certain someone who just sits around on her judgement rock.”
“Thanklessly is a tish dramatic,” Skarnir shifted his attention more onto the woman, but his hands continued working. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good conquest from time to time, but too many of them and the attention I draw starts to trend in the unwanted category. A good soldier of fortune finds a good balance between work and life. The trick is being notorious enough to get job offers, but enough under the radar that I don’t become a target.”
Looking away, his eyes glanced down at a couple more thorn punctures.
“Besides, I do more than just help with the groundskeeping. As opposed to a certain someone who just sits around on her judgement rock.”
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
A smile formed, reluctantly, on the woman's lips, starting from the center, before spreading slowly to the rest of her face. At his mention of the rock she sat on, she adjusted herself and got more comfortable, emphasizing the intent to stay on that particular spot.
"If my winter ever ended, I would rush past spring into summer," she answered, looking off to somewhere in the far distance only she could see, "Conquest after conquest. An eternal summer. One that lasted until my spriggans couldn't bear to be without me any longer. Only then would you catch me pruning a glade."
Modeka shuddered, seized by another nightmare. The woman's face began to fall, her smile becoming a memory.
"But spring will never come."
Her eyes found him again.
"To think that nettles would be your downfall," she needled, struggling to find her mirth, "out of all your stories, which of them could possibly end with Skarnir the Slayer laid low by nettles? Have you never fought such a creature before?"
This was her way of demanding a tale, leading with a jab, with the hope he'd rise to it.
"If my winter ever ended, I would rush past spring into summer," she answered, looking off to somewhere in the far distance only she could see, "Conquest after conquest. An eternal summer. One that lasted until my spriggans couldn't bear to be without me any longer. Only then would you catch me pruning a glade."
Modeka shuddered, seized by another nightmare. The woman's face began to fall, her smile becoming a memory.
"But spring will never come."
Her eyes found him again.
"To think that nettles would be your downfall," she needled, struggling to find her mirth, "out of all your stories, which of them could possibly end with Skarnir the Slayer laid low by nettles? Have you never fought such a creature before?"
This was her way of demanding a tale, leading with a jab, with the hope he'd rise to it.
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
Halting his work, Skarnir couldn’t help but hang his head and chuckle. Lifting his gaze he gestured casually with the knife in his hand. It wasn’t a threatening gesture so much as the idle motions of someone comfortable with a tool. His look was appraising as he considered the situation. With a flick of his wrist he flipped the knife a couple times.
“Aaaand that is why I am the professional here,” Skarnir stated with a light smirk as he tapped the end of the knife against his chest before returning to the pruning. Not one to disappoint a lady however, no matter how bloodthirsty, he considered a story that might satisfy the valkyrie in front of him.
“I don’t make a habit of fighting nature types. You see, way back in my earliest days, the land I hailed from was a blasted wasteland that consisted of salt deserts, entire mountain ranges as sharp as jagged glass, and so far beyond hope every god in the pantheon abandoned us. The first time I saw a forest wasn’t until I left my world to go god hunting, and I recall I stood staring at it for a good long while. I did end up scraping my arm pretty good when I excitedly reached into a berry bush; and the berries weren’t even edible! Ha! Ended up fighting a green dragon with crippling stomach cramps. So, while not laid low by nettles, a berry bush should suffice.”
“Aaaand that is why I am the professional here,” Skarnir stated with a light smirk as he tapped the end of the knife against his chest before returning to the pruning. Not one to disappoint a lady however, no matter how bloodthirsty, he considered a story that might satisfy the valkyrie in front of him.
“I don’t make a habit of fighting nature types. You see, way back in my earliest days, the land I hailed from was a blasted wasteland that consisted of salt deserts, entire mountain ranges as sharp as jagged glass, and so far beyond hope every god in the pantheon abandoned us. The first time I saw a forest wasn’t until I left my world to go god hunting, and I recall I stood staring at it for a good long while. I did end up scraping my arm pretty good when I excitedly reached into a berry bush; and the berries weren’t even edible! Ha! Ended up fighting a green dragon with crippling stomach cramps. So, while not laid low by nettles, a berry bush should suffice.”
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
Again, the woman's mouth showed a smile, this time locking a small chortle behind a pearly fence. The way she carried herself made it hard to tell if she didn't want to laugh, or couldn't. Yet, it seemed to help her forget about the creeping doldrums.
"I can forgive you," pardoned the strange woman, holding up a hand, "even of people who live among forests, there are many who would make the same mistake. To do so and fight a dragon? Foolish in the most pleasing way."
Before she could breathe another word, the silent sprite in the treeline was accosted by Burri.
"Z-zippo!"
"Burri, you're supposed to be watching the lab."
"I did! I did! I didn't even fall asleep for that long," Burri defended himself gallantly, almost forgetting why he had come back, "Oh! Oh! But you told me to tell you if I saw anyone."
"Yes?"
Zippo held an expectant silence, but Burri stared at him with leafy, green eyes.
"I saw someone. They had a bad vibe."
"Who?"
"I dunno. They didn't look like students."
"They?"
"Yeah, there were a few of them, and they were trying to get into the lab."
"Why didn't you lead with that!?"
"Didn't I say they had a bad vibe?"
A burst of frosty energy broke into the glade as Zippo moved to act.
"Mr. Skarnir!" called the ice sprite, as if Skarnir or the woman hadn't heard the whole thing. Burri slowly followed, fluttering more like a butterfly than a zipping bee, "There are intruders on the campus! They, they--... Um... Um... I'm Zippo. You don't know be but..."
"I can forgive you," pardoned the strange woman, holding up a hand, "even of people who live among forests, there are many who would make the same mistake. To do so and fight a dragon? Foolish in the most pleasing way."
Before she could breathe another word, the silent sprite in the treeline was accosted by Burri.
"Z-zippo!"
"Burri, you're supposed to be watching the lab."
"I did! I did! I didn't even fall asleep for that long," Burri defended himself gallantly, almost forgetting why he had come back, "Oh! Oh! But you told me to tell you if I saw anyone."
"Yes?"
Zippo held an expectant silence, but Burri stared at him with leafy, green eyes.
"I saw someone. They had a bad vibe."
"Who?"
"I dunno. They didn't look like students."
"They?"
"Yeah, there were a few of them, and they were trying to get into the lab."
"Why didn't you lead with that!?"
"Didn't I say they had a bad vibe?"
A burst of frosty energy broke into the glade as Zippo moved to act.
"Mr. Skarnir!" called the ice sprite, as if Skarnir or the woman hadn't heard the whole thing. Burri slowly followed, fluttering more like a butterfly than a zipping bee, "There are intruders on the campus! They, they--... Um... Um... I'm Zippo. You don't know be but..."
Re: [The Wilderwood] The One They Fear
“Ah, yes yes, one of the little ones. I lose track of how many of you lot are around,” Skarnir’s voice rumbled steadily. He had been enjoying getting a smile out of the woman. For as intense as she presented herself, she gave him the same impression as a barn cat. All bristles and claws, but over time letting her guard down. Work never ends, however, and it wouldn’t be the first time Skarnir had to postpone talking with a lovely lady to go bust skulls. Spinning the knife with a muscle-memory flick he sheathed the blade and stood before dusting himself off. Running a hand through his honey blond hair his finger left a few flecks of dirt, detritus from the brambles, and a couple drops of blood as he swept the hair back.
“Well, Miss, until next we meet. It’s summertime,” the grin the Northman gave was warm, and gave no indication that he fully anticipated causing some people bodily harm in the near future. Reaching out, he grabbed Zippo and moved the sprite to his shoulder. “Hang on and talk as we go.”
With that, Skarnir turned to make his way back out of the woods and to Flynn’s toolshed so he could collect his things.
“Well, Miss, until next we meet. It’s summertime,” the grin the Northman gave was warm, and gave no indication that he fully anticipated causing some people bodily harm in the near future. Reaching out, he grabbed Zippo and moved the sprite to his shoulder. “Hang on and talk as we go.”
With that, Skarnir turned to make his way back out of the woods and to Flynn’s toolshed so he could collect his things.