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Post by 0 on Nov 5, 2017 1:32:08 GMT
The mouse remained equally silent, shifting his gaze only when the vial-turned-brown was picked up by the snake, carefully watching what it did so that he could commit the act to memory. There was always the chance that something different would be done. Herbs were just as important as food, after all, although alchemy was always a bit less fun than cooking.
After that he turned his eyes back on the fire and continued to watch it, lids slowly falling. A full belly, brain lulled by the crackling of flames and popping of embers...he couldn't help but begin to drift off.
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Loner, Kazetatsu, Kaze
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Post by Loner。 on Nov 7, 2017 16:34:23 GMT
Odd sights and sounds began to overlay the warmth of the cracking fire, growing more and more dominant over reality as time passed.
The smell of popcorn,
A voice like an auctioneer just introducing a wonderful item to purchase.
Bright colors in spinning stripes
an eerie carousel jingle transposed into a minor key.
Rapidly repeated staccato banging sounds.
An open snake's maw swiftly looming down.
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Post by 0 on Nov 7, 2017 19:44:56 GMT
His nose twitched and his whiskers curled at the sights, the sounds, the smells! Oh, the smells!
Popcorn...one of the greatest treats known to mousekind. Automatically his mind was drifting towards it, and he felt wonderfully floaty as bright ember eyes wandered about.
--Oy!
The mouse jolted up; whether awake or asleep he couldn't immediately tell, nor did it cross his mind that the latter could be a possibility. The instant his soles were flat on the ground, however, he leaped forward to wherever he'd saw--or remembered seeing--the gaping jaws, striking out with a spinkick and a taillash.
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Loner, Kazetatsu, Kaze
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Post by Loner。 on Nov 7, 2017 20:52:09 GMT
And nearly into the fire, which had shrunk, but not died since the time the mouse had dozed off.
The snake was still there, as if they'd never moved both sets of eyes open and clear with their differing levels of alertness. Neither head had been attacking. Both of the pair had been sill as stone, easily mistakable for inanimate in the dying firelight. Seeing that the mouse had taken motion, both heads rose smoothly nearly in unison tongues flicking occasionally to taste the scents in the air. They stared unblinkingly at the mouse who had ever so quickly disturbed the peace of the night.
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Post by 0 on Nov 7, 2017 21:59:16 GMT
Fire consumed him. Heat roared in his ears, and burns lashed across his body.
Drowsy eyes stared forward at the flames before him, head tilted back, the writhing light itself like a dancing serpent. His kicks, his lash had done nothing.
Bristling, the mouse growled and leapt forward again, swift to manipulate the flames the second he felt the familiar sensation slip under his skin. The small fire was twisted, spun about in a spiral as he pushed the crackling embers away from his body, some of the flames shooting upwards with a popping roar.
When the mouse landed, he was skidding through hot ash. He tripped, and at the same time his muscles tensed, twitched, immediately pushing him into a forward pounce.
He flew out of the warm, flickering depression, tucking his body inwards. He rolled across the ground, then lay still.
The fire shrunk back, hissing.
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Loner, Kazetatsu, Kaze
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Post by Loner。 on Nov 9, 2017 3:47:44 GMT
There went the fire, beaten nearly into hot embers by the vicious fire-manipulating mouse. The whole manipulation thing had spent much of the fuel.
The residual heat was enough to work by. It was easy to see the mouse too, given surface body temperature was higher due to the tiny creature being caught within the flames.
The snake slowly moved forwards, around the embers and the remains of the mouse's campsite, silent and near predatory in their slow undulating motion. but of course they didn't strike. The Mouse had been twice tonight at a stupidly vulnerable point, but that wasn't all from the kindness of the snakes' heart.
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Post by 0 on Nov 9, 2017 5:03:51 GMT
Although covered in small burns, patches of fur singed or simply gone, tail charred black, the mouse was not dead. Nor did he appear to be in any pain--in fact, he seemed downright peaceful. Even...the mouse snored, asleep and unawares.
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Loner, Kazetatsu, Kaze
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Post by Loner。 on Nov 11, 2017 18:07:35 GMT
Well if the mouse was truly unawares the, choice of action was obvious.
Eat him.
No, the mouse had shown spirit. To render him dinner would be such a waste.
If only he wasn't so stupid to let himself sleep so close to a predator.
A lightning fast strike, impossible to track within the time it could take to bite and withdraw.
Though Malayan pit viper venom was usually quite painful, guaranteeing a slow death as it turned blood and muscle into 'soup', the snake had gone with a second option, of a hidden mutation. Awhi's fangs in particular housed a potent paralytic.
One bite, not even a drop of venom needed to do the trick, ideal against such an energetic fire manipulating morsel.
If it worked, very well. If the mouse actually jumped into action fast enough, also very well.
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Post by 0 on Nov 12, 2017 1:17:24 GMT
There was a twitch in muscles, a wrinkling of the whiskers, but otherwise the mouse was fast asleep.
With a rather obvious pain tolerance he didn't even feel the split-second bite. But he did feel a brush of wind. Go figure.
It didn't wake him, nor was it even a conscious feeling. The snake's movements, though subtle in vibrations, alerted the mouse's instincts the second that the predator's head flashed forward and back, generating the smallest of breezes that whispered between his ears and wavered the sensitive whiskers attached to his nose.
The reaction was simple: his tail lashed out, a simple upwards-downwards sweep with a few sparks coursing along its length; enough to sting, but hardly anywhere near strong enough to flay the plated flesh of a serpent. And then his body went stiff, and the mouse's mind was left to wander through dreamscapes.
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Loner, Kazetatsu, Kaze
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Post by Loner。 on Nov 13, 2017 2:28:08 GMT
It was almost disappointing how little fight came from the sleeping rodent. Today had not been intended as a feeding day, but there was no point in wasting good food that so willingly came into their grasp.
It was nice meeting you pumpkin.
Sevaan picked up the rodent in his jaws, ready to consume the rodent just like that. However, he froze. Something unpleasant was holding him back and it certainly wasn't the taste. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, but there was the distinct feeling of a presence who had suddenly forced his will upon this place. It was heavy and powerful with a hand about their necks.
Awhi squirmed about turning to try and see it. Sevaan, being more immobile while holding a mouse barely moved his eyes. There was nothing to see... but for a wolverine...
Sevaan let go of the mouse, and then slowly began to chuckle. That sound soon grew to a full bodied cackle. "Do you really want that? This fool will get himself killed."
Well agents of chaos need not be predictable. If the demon brother of battle wanted claim over the mouse, there was only one answer. "so be it. But you'll have to antidote the venom." Pumpkin would otherwise be good as dead anyhow. Once the vitals shut off, breathing, heartbeat, etc, that'd be the end for anyone. supernatural intervention could prevent that fate.
The snake touched the mouse's forehead with their tail attempting to create a psychic link. If we meet again, and you leave yourself vulnerable, we will kill you. You almost breathed your last tonight. Pumpkin need not remember the words of the warning, just the spirit of it. He was very very lucky.
Now then...
The snake began to chant and sway. The two heads coming into unison of minds. The words were a deep hissing drone in a language innately sinister, a demonic incantation.
blood and bile come, Bane of strongest warriors, bring your test into his dreams, and leave your mark upon him or cast him to your hounds.
Or that was the translated gist of part of it.
And dreams there might be, dreams so real, that if the mouse didn't make it through them, he surely would not wake up. There would be battles beyond his power to win, glimpses of things feared in their most terrifying states, and choices to make that could leave the mouse permanently physically and mentally scarred. At the end of it, Bane would be waiting. A final choice would remain; to gain a demon's blessing and a name in the language of chaos but predestine his soul to Necropolis, or refuse and be haunted by spiritual warriors turning the odds of future battles against him.
The snake could only wish the mouse luck as they drew the demon's sigil upon the mouse in blood to finish the ritual.
Then, the Malayan pit viper coiled around the paralyzed mouse, but did not squeeze tightly. With an odd undulating-walking gait they moved him to their intended den. Under the earth they deposited the mouse.
And then they departed into the night, leaving him to the the mercy of altered dreams, and untamable spiritual forces.
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Post by 0 on Nov 13, 2017 5:57:27 GMT
Dreams drifted, a wave of restful sleep returning him to the carnival.
The orange mouse stood atop the body of the snake he'd defeated in the fire, dancing joyously upon the flattened head of the fainted reptile. Once his jig was over, the rodent hopped off, pulling aside a few popcorn kernels to leave carefully scattered around the snake's jaw. Then he made a little raisin and went off on his way.
His nose directed him closer to the popcorn stand, and as he began to pick apart the crunchy white pieces with his teeth, a voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Distant, hissing, the words unheard and unspoken. His ears stood tall, but his whiskers twitched in an unworried fashion, the mouse enjoying his snack. Yet a minute kernel of...something began to wrap itself abreast.
He ignored it--until a shadow fell over him.
Something swift flashed to one side of his face, the mouse barely managing to roll out of the way and hop back to his feet. It came at him again, a blur of slashing claws and snapping jaws. His tail flared to life with blazing flames, and all at once it seemed as though everything became much clearer.
The smells of popcorn became stronger, the colors of the festival grounds flared so much more vivid, and the sounds of slowed laughter and dissonant music were now far louder in his ears. He could feel the dirt beneath his paws, a pebble pressed up against his heel, threatening to trip him up. A strong wind stirred up, blowing dust into the air, pushing that pebble into his back, and he could feel it all, from the breeze streaking his fur to the grains stinging as they pressed against his eyes.
As his foe struck out once again and once more the mouse leapt out of the way, ferns and grasses, rocks and trees sprouted from the soil, burying the sights and sounds of the circus, replaced by that of wood and wind and the blood pounding in his ears.
Dirt was kicked up from the last impact his opponent made with the ground, which was vibrating when the mouse landed. His tail swung out for balance, and in the next second he was knocked back by a powerful swipe that sent him flying between the leaves and stems, and extinguished the fire from his tail.
The mouse hit the ground hard, bouncing and rolling until his body slid to a stop. He pushed himself back onto his four paws, registering some scrapes from his tumble, and a few new scratches marring his body.
His gaze rose-- something sleek and brown flickered in front of him. Instantly the mouse shot straight up into the air --and his opponent did the same.
It hovered for a moment, brown and crooked, lean and hairy, a soft round face bearing a locked jaw, and two paws wielding wicked blades. Then it swung one of its stubby legs around, twisting its long body in the air, and the mouse was thrown back to the ground by both handles dug into his skull.
The force knocked the breath right out of him, and the mouse lay stunned for a moment, fingers curled up in the dirt. Nimbly the weasel landed in front of him, silent, a stoic face staring down at the dazed mouse. A slight smirk teased its lips, and it struck the blades together with a terrible sound.
Then it swung its arms back, and dropped one of the knives with a noise squeezed out from its tightened mouth. The mouse felt the other blade slice clean through one of his ears, and gave out a shout as he rolled away, tearing it off.
Dust fell from his paws as he stood himself up on two, blood running the ragged length of his ripped ear, ember eyes focused in a glare towards the weasel as it furiously began rubbing at its eyes. The mouse's muscles tensed, his whole body bursting into flame. The weasel squinted through an eye just in time to see a fiery column smash into its chest.
The weasel was knocked flat and the mouse bounced away, gaining distance behind a clump of tall grass. Between the blades, he watched the mustelid carefully. A foot twitched, but it was otherwise still.
The mouse straightened his spine and smiled, wiping the dirt from his hands. Just another day in the life of a mouse.
He kicked out with a foot, swung his body around, and started off, back on his merry way.
He gave a shudder; all of a sudden he felt all around cold.
Eyes drifted down- -a shiny silver blade. Struck through his abdomen, his chest, his throat longer than his feet, his tail.
The mouse tried to take a breath and instead swallowed blood; choking on it, he hacked, and a river of red ran out of his mouth. He stumbled, but couldn't fall; instead his body simply slumped forward upon the sharp edges of the knife, cutting into his lower jaw.
He didn't completely black out, yet a part of him seemed to float, allowing him a wavering view of the scene, as the weasel manipulated his limp body, drawing its other blade forth. It split his body into two jagged halves, flesh and organs spilling out onto the ground, then left it all there as it disappeared into the foliage.
Drearily the mouse's vision returned to his eye sockets, and he struggled to pull the pieces of himself back together. He didn't feel pain so much as simply...sick.
[ . . . ]
It took him a while, and beyond all sensible reasoning, but eventually he managed to pull himself back together, enough to start dragging his body across the ground, leaving a trail of blackened crimson behind him.
He felt dizzy and drowsy. His head burned, though his body was cold.
Somehow he drug himself out of the grove and back into the fairgrounds--no...somewhere else. He blinked a few times, the landscape wavering around him, shifting. In a few moments he was sitting on a boulder up on a hill, dead tired, weary beyond belief.
Muscles ached, and he could feel a sharp pain whenever he tried to move, as though all the tendons in his body had been pulled or torn, leaving him stuck in this one specific position. The mouse managed a sigh and sat still, eyes staring at what lay ahead of him.
Dry, pale grasses in the throes of autumn's end wavered in a light, chill breeze. Silver clouds rolled through a faraway sky, through which only the slimmest of golden rays could slip.
Down the hill was a long stretch of grassland, where between hill and horizon a small cluster of canvas tents had been pitched upon the landscape. Vardos and covered wagons sat in a loose circle around the tents; some of the uncovered carts were filled with hay bales or straw, others were piled high with pelts tied together, or various strange objects that had been roped down so they wouldn't roll out during travel through rolling wilderness. A menagerie of animals big and small mingled around the campsite; some carried boxes and crates, others seemed to box, dance, or perform various acrobatic maneuvers.
The mouse's ears and whiskers pulled forward in recognition. He knew this hill, that arrangement of tents. This was a time and place pulled right from his memories.
A blunt nose poked over the crest of the hill. The strain seemed to ease from his muscles, and the mouse stood up. A familiar shape made its way across the hilltop, sleepy grasses parting in his wake, rustling around the moving figure. An aging yellow-bellied marmot climbed laboriously up onto the boulder, followed close behind by a large number of much smaller rodents, and even a few who weren't rodents.
The woodland jumping mouse gave a short happy bounce. It was his old troupe!
The marmot deposited an armful of dry grass and firewood onto the stone, while others carried food to cook or eat, drinks to enjoy, or pebbles and woodchips to sit on.
A rough wind tossed everyone's fur about, and heavy objects had to be set upon the items so they wouldn't be flung off the boulder. The sunlight that passed through cracks in the clouds became slanted, nearly horizontal, and redder in hue, the evening wearing thin.
Everyone took their place around the piled wood, the marmot sitting tall with a piece of rolled tinder held high. "Here's to a warm winter, and another year of amazing performances!" rumbled the sciurid in a low, rough voice.
"Hear, hear!" clamored the rest.
The marmot struck the tinder with his teeth and dropped it into the firewood. White smoke began to rise in a steady stream, and within moments the fire burst into life. A strand of grass was tossed by each beast into the blaze, and the boulder exploded with activity.
The orange mouse's eyes were drawn to a fellow dipodid, a grayish brown southern birch mouse. He slid smoothly into place beside her, pulling a bowled rock from a pika as he did so, and putting it to his lips to sip the sweet juices from its cupped surface.
Swallowing, the jumping mouse began to chatter, "'Ey, 'ey; so did ya ever pull one over on ol' puffcheeks?" He thumbed in the direction of a European hamster, who sat alone with hunched shouldered in one corner of the rock, glaring daggers at anyone who drew too close to him.
The other gave him a look that caused his laughter to stumble. One glance through him and then her gaze was focused elsewhere. It was as though she didn't see him.
The mouse furrowed his brow and went on to drink the rest of the liquid--only to spit it out seconds later, the taste suddenly horribly bitter on his tongue. He dropped the stony cup, pulling himself over to where much of the food had been set. He began to peel the shells from seeds, popping them into his mouth one by one...no-go--he let them fall out of his jaws before they could slide down his throat.
He stared at the saliva-smeared seeds, which looked positively normal, yet they tasted so--so BAD. Tentatively, he tried a slice of pumpkin.
No--!
His heart nearly burst from his chest, his stomach nearly ruptured as he forced himself to swallow it, for he could not bear to let a pumpkin go to waste. Tears streamed down his face.
Oh, this was an absolutely terrible travesty!
The mouse wiped the tears from his cheeks, and as he looked back around at the dancing and talking animals, a flash of brown tore through the crowd. The mouse blinked. No one showed any sign of seeing it.
Perhaps he was just tired..., the second the thought crossed his mind, the flash reappeared, swooping in a downwards-upwards arc, and when it was gone, two shrews had vanished with it. Again, no one seemed to notice. A vole that had just been conversing with the shrews simply turned away, ambling over to a mole. They were the next to disappear.
The mouse's fur began to prickle. Second by second and two by two the congregation's numbers were reduced, and within a mere minute there was nary a beast left. And still no one appeared to care.
The orange mouse jumped into action, his tail alight, standing between the few who remained as he kept his eyes on the sky. Two more gone; one lash of his tail, hitting nothing but air.
Three remained, himself included. He shoved the birch mouse close to the marmot, and then stood tall on his toes, tail arcing and circling around them. He drew a whirlwind of fire just before the blur came again.
His whiskers twitched. The flaming twister dissipated, and no one remained.
The mouse bristled. "Come on out!" he shouted with a stomp of his feet, scanning the clouds, the grass. "Show yourself and fight me!" A sound like stone on stone sounded from behind him, and the mouse whirled around.
Leagues taller, a great horned owl loomed over him, yellow eyes gazing down its hooked beak. "And whoo are youu?" it spoke in a poised, staunch voice that almost seemed to purr from within its throat.
"My name's Pumpkin, and I'm going to beat you up!" His feet launched him from the rock at blistering speed, only to be knocked back to the stone by an imperceptible strike from the owl.
"Lucky shot," he growled, wiping a nodule of blood from the corner of his lips while he stood himself back up. "Try this!" He leapt high, trying to come at the owl from the top instead of the front, and was promptly shot down again.
The mouse rolled to his feet, crouching low. Maybe he could knock the owl off-balance by striking its legs--nope. His head spun.
"I don't fight mice," said the owl, watching the mouse with wide, staring eyes. "They're harrdly worth the moorsel they provide." It hadn't moved an inch from its position, not even shifting its head to keep an eye on the rodent.
He tried again, and once more he came nowhere close to actually coming into contact with the bird. His mouth cracked open for wider breaths, the blood pumping steadily through his veins.
"You embarrass yourself," the owl continued. "You cannot win."
"A mouse never gives up!" the mouse snarled, more so to himself than to the owl. Day in and day out, mice had to struggle to survive--they couldn't give up, in body as much as in mind...the second they did, it was over. He shan't be the one to put the lives of countless nameless mice to shame. "Stomach THIS!"
The owl sighed as it once more swiped the mouse back to the stone. "Your antics grow less amusing with every failed attempt."
The mouse was standing still now, his chest heaving. In cross-crossing stains blood, bruises, scrapes, and scratches littered his body. His legs shook.
On his next attempt he was left on his knees, struggling for breath, for strength.
The owl finally made its move, unfolding its wings as it took a step forward. "Your spirit may be strong, but your body is weak," it said. Shadows swept over the mouse as the avian's wings formed an umbrella overhead, walls of feathers closing in around him, the owl's sharp face pulled between the wings, eyes glowing in the darkness. "Why not let me help you?"
"I don't need it," he snapped, biting air when a feather came close enough for him to catch, but which, of course, blew out of the way before he could manage it.
"It's either that or I'll eat you."
The mouse was silent, glaring defiantly into the yellowed, shining disks that were the owl's eyes. He couldn't fear something he'd come close to so many times before. He refused to be intimidated.
"Suit yourself," the owl breathed, and a barrage of colors flooded the mouse's mind before everything went dark.
Pumpkin startled awake. He felt very sore...and wet. Why was he wet?
He blinked, whiskers turning about him. It was very dark, and he could feel walls surrounding him. He sniffed, nose met by the strong smell of earth.
Somehow he'd gotten into a burrow.
His muscles felt very sore. He could almost hear his body creak as he stood himself up, pulling his body out from beneath the ground.
A dark nose popped up from the soil, his bright orange fur following after. Cold air whistled through his fur, and a yellow moon struck pale light through the tree branches.
The mouse stretched, listening to the silence. He felt a twinge, and his gaze drifted, noting a few new burns across his body, blood...smeared across his body...and--he felt his heart hammer.
It looked as though a massive slice of fur had been cleaved from his body, a distinct scar running from the bottom of his chin and down past his stomach, looking as though it had only recently been stitched together by some unknown force. He gave a gasp and twisted about, trying to see if the same applied to his back, but of course he was unable to bend so far around.
He finally noticed the burning, and prodded lightly at one of his ears--half of it was gone, the ragged edges sticky with freshly clotted blood.
"Uh...uh--uh-uh," he stammered quietly to himself.
Impossible.
Had the two-headed snake done all this to him? Why? HOW? The giant scar on his body...that couldn't be reasonably explained. ...Had the winged snake itself even been real?
He peered about, searching for the serpent. He neither heard, nor saw, nor smelled anything that might suggest the reptile was nearby at that very moment, and within seconds he had fled into the foliage, searching for a safe place to bury himself, to bed down, not trusting the burrow he had somehow found himself waking up in. Not that he would be able to sleep so soon after this, what with his mind stirring and all his senses on high alert.
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