Sade Olutola
shark vs the universe
Show & Tell
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tannertan36
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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romaâ
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YOU ARE THE REASON
Kiana Khansmith
Keni
cherry valley forever
todays bird
#extradirty
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
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seen from South Africa
seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from Germany
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
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seen from United States
seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from Pakistan
seen from Iraq
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@bitten-and-beaten
Your Villain Selection:
( Bitten đĄïž ) ( Beaten 𧱠)
( Booked đïž ) ( Blighted đŹ )
( Bewitched đ )
Rules:
No Explicit NSFW
No Autokill (if you want to kill someone it has to be Lyn and he needs to Suffer /hj)
Communicate!
(Remember: prioritize your mental health. I love you, no matter what.)
ïżŒ
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The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
He nods obediently to acknowledge her command, carrying the large stack of cloaks with a practiced smile.
He adjusts the pile of feathers, spacing them out a bit to make each one look as beautiful as possible. He doesn't want to dissapoint Fleur with poor presentation.
He stands up straighter, hands clasped together as he watches the crowd, prepared to answer questions, or just do whatever his mistress asks of him.
She pulls out the top of the pile, clasping it around Assistantâs shoulders, a cue for him to turn around and model it.
âAs you can see, these cloaks are crafted from the finest feathered hides! This one, my favorite, is pure Pegasus wing!â
She lifts a hand, the cloak on his shoulders rising as if it was still ready to fly.
âAs my assistant can confirm, these can turn even the weakest winds into a gliding experience youâll never find without your own natural wings! Just press the enchanted gem on the clasp, and youâll make air!â
Fleur steps back into her seat at the head of the table, smiling at Voss.
âWell, show them.â
He feels bad for the poor creature that was used to make this cloak. Truly, he does, but at the same time... he loves these presentations.
Especially when it comes to the magic flying cloaks. They give him access to flight, something he hasnt really had of his own since before he came to live under Fleurs care. If he ignores all the people watching he can almost imagine its just like back then when he could change his form into any animal he desired, including birds.
He presses the clasp, happy to perform the practiced routine for the audience. Even if all the scrutiny of their gazes does make him feel a little silly.
Fleur sits politely as her customers ooo and awww at the show, standing up as he lands gracefully beside her.
âNow, whoâs willing to buy, Iâll be starting at 500 golden coins!â
It felt claustrophobic as the crowd began to bid, some coming up to inspect the cloak still on Assistantâs shoulders.
âIâve never imagined such a useful accessory! Much more useful than summoning wingsâŠâ
A particularly interested wizard commented, pulling the kitsuneâs arm out to see how the length of the feathers held.
He does his best to keep smiling, focusing in on his own breathing as people get much too close. Theres so many of them, it makes him want to run and hide. He doesn't though, he knows far better.
He does his best to keep his body loose, letting people poke and prod and adjust him any way they like.
He grins at the wizard and responds in his best customer service voice, "Lets you fly better then most birds." He tries to sound like he believes it, even though he knows its bullshit. Nothing can compare to a real bird form.
âGreat!â
They turn to Fleur, placing an order. Soon after that the cloaks begin to sell out immediately.
The entire time, Voss is dressed and undressed, cloaks and shawls, all made from the skin of magical creatures.
His mistress seems overjoyed, even making small talk with her regulars.
âOh no, Iâd never think of selling my assistant! Heâs too good at this, and he can smell expired mandrake from feet away!â
With each new fur and skin and feather he just reminds himself its the circle of life. No different from the deer skins he'd worn as a child during the winter. Sure a lot of these creatures were more intelligent then deer but- ...thats not worth thinking about.
His ears twitch at the meantion of himself and he immediately looks over to see who shes talking to. The very thought of being sold makes his skin crawl. He thinks he'd rather become one of these cloaks then get sold off to a stranger. He inches closer to his Mistress, almost hiding behind her.
Fleur sets a hand on his shoulder, gripping just a bit too tight.
âIf you need something interesting to show your menagerie, try an avian humunculus! They take longer than youâd expect, but are completely worth it.â
The Wizard frowns at her in disappointment before walking off, buying a werewolf fur shawl to take with him.
Fleur leans closer to her assistant, muttering something with a slight forced hint of comfort.
âYouâre alright. Iâd never give you up, youâre priceless, and safest with me.â
Logically, Voss is aware he shouldn't be comforted by the sharp touch or harsh controlling words, but he's always been more emotional then logical. She's probably right anyway, if he did ever leave her he'd just get himself captured again, and that would probably be worse.
He relaxes, giving Fleur a genuine smile. His lone tail brushes against her legs in an affectionate manner, like a cat rubbing against their owner.
"Thank you, Mistress."
âYouâre welcome, Assistant.â
She smiles back, rubbing his back with a gentle touch this time.
âNow, help Earl pack the griffin one into his case. And if he touches you, Iâll have his soul in a mirror before you even get to tell me.â
Fleurâs reassurance felt fake, pulled out at just the right moment to reinforce her authority. But still, it was comforting.
He nods obediently, pleased with the smallest bit of affection he'd received. Its nice to know he's protected, even if it is for a soulless reason.
He trots over to follow his new instructions and assist with the griffin cloak.
By the time heâd returned to his mistress, sheâd sold each remaining cloak, already counting the bits of gold.
âIâd say this deserves a treat, donât you think, Assistant?â
It wasnât a real question, theyâd be going out to a dining hall. Fleur never touched alcohol, but she had a strong penchant for delicacies only found in merchant buildings.
He smiles, tail wagging as he nods in agreement. Even knowing its practically a tradition at this point to go dine after such a successful sale, he still gets excited at the prospect. After all, treats for her often means treats for him as well.
"Yes Miss. What are you craving today?"
âSea monster.â
She smiles, already feeling nostalgic for her younger days.
âHow about I grab some jackalope too, Assistant? Isnât that one of your favorites? You can keep the antlers again.â
Fleur leans over the table, looking Voss in the eye playfully. She knew he preferred the basic options, but it never stopped being satisfying to pick something rarer.
Besides, he knew what her guard dog liked. Jackolope was its favorite magic game too.
He nods enthusiastically. Jackolope is delicious, and he likes how it always puts a smile on the face of his younger companion. Plus its similar to the creatures he used to hunt on his own, which always does improve the taste.
"Yes please! Thank you so much."
âIâm glad I have such a thankful assistant.â
She pats his head lightly, standing up.
âMy bags wonât carry themselves! Chop chop.â
Fleur claps her wings with an air of showmanship, beginning to walk down the hall. She flashes a smile to each passerby, letting her assistant be in charge of waving on her behalf as well.
The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
He nods obediently to acknowledge her command, carrying the large stack of cloaks with a practiced smile.
He adjusts the pile of feathers, spacing them out a bit to make each one look as beautiful as possible. He doesn't want to dissapoint Fleur with poor presentation.
He stands up straighter, hands clasped together as he watches the crowd, prepared to answer questions, or just do whatever his mistress asks of him.
She pulls out the top of the pile, clasping it around Assistantâs shoulders, a cue for him to turn around and model it.
âAs you can see, these cloaks are crafted from the finest feathered hides! This one, my favorite, is pure Pegasus wing!â
She lifts a hand, the cloak on his shoulders rising as if it was still ready to fly.
âAs my assistant can confirm, these can turn even the weakest winds into a gliding experience youâll never find without your own natural wings! Just press the enchanted gem on the clasp, and youâll make air!â
Fleur steps back into her seat at the head of the table, smiling at Voss.
âWell, show them.â
He feels bad for the poor creature that was used to make this cloak. Truly, he does, but at the same time... he loves these presentations.
Especially when it comes to the magic flying cloaks. They give him access to flight, something he hasnt really had of his own since before he came to live under Fleurs care. If he ignores all the people watching he can almost imagine its just like back then when he could change his form into any animal he desired, including birds.
He presses the clasp, happy to perform the practiced routine for the audience. Even if all the scrutiny of their gazes does make him feel a little silly.
Fleur sits politely as her customers ooo and awww at the show, standing up as he lands gracefully beside her.
âNow, whoâs willing to buy, Iâll be starting at 500 golden coins!â
It felt claustrophobic as the crowd began to bid, some coming up to inspect the cloak still on Assistantâs shoulders.
âIâve never imagined such a useful accessory! Much more useful than summoning wingsâŠâ
A particularly interested wizard commented, pulling the kitsuneâs arm out to see how the length of the feathers held.
He does his best to keep smiling, focusing in on his own breathing as people get much too close. Theres so many of them, it makes him want to run and hide. He doesn't though, he knows far better.
He does his best to keep his body loose, letting people poke and prod and adjust him any way they like.
He grins at the wizard and responds in his best customer service voice, "Lets you fly better then most birds." He tries to sound like he believes it, even though he knows its bullshit. Nothing can compare to a real bird form.
âGreat!â
They turn to Fleur, placing an order. Soon after that the cloaks begin to sell out immediately.
The entire time, Voss is dressed and undressed, cloaks and shawls, all made from the skin of magical creatures.
His mistress seems overjoyed, even making small talk with her regulars.
âOh no, Iâd never think of selling my assistant! Heâs too good at this, and he can smell expired mandrake from feet away!â
With each new fur and skin and feather he just reminds himself its the circle of life. No different from the deer skins he'd worn as a child during the winter. Sure a lot of these creatures were more intelligent then deer but- ...thats not worth thinking about.
His ears twitch at the meantion of himself and he immediately looks over to see who shes talking to. The very thought of being sold makes his skin crawl. He thinks he'd rather become one of these cloaks then get sold off to a stranger. He inches closer to his Mistress, almost hiding behind her.
Fleur sets a hand on his shoulder, gripping just a bit too tight.
âIf you need something interesting to show your menagerie, try an avian humunculus! They take longer than youâd expect, but are completely worth it.â
The Wizard frowns at her in disappointment before walking off, buying a werewolf fur shawl to take with him.
Fleur leans closer to her assistant, muttering something with a slight forced hint of comfort.
âYouâre alright. Iâd never give you up, youâre priceless, and safest with me.â
Logically, Voss is aware he shouldn't be comforted by the sharp touch or harsh controlling words, but he's always been more emotional then logical. She's probably right anyway, if he did ever leave her he'd just get himself captured again, and that would probably be worse.
He relaxes, giving Fleur a genuine smile. His lone tail brushes against her legs in an affectionate manner, like a cat rubbing against their owner.
"Thank you, Mistress."
âYouâre welcome, Assistant.â
She smiles back, rubbing his back with a gentle touch this time.
âNow, help Earl pack the griffin one into his case. And if he touches you, Iâll have his soul in a mirror before you even get to tell me.â
Fleurâs reassurance felt fake, pulled out at just the right moment to reinforce her authority. But still, it was comforting.
He nods obediently, pleased with the smallest bit of affection he'd received. Its nice to know he's protected, even if it is for a soulless reason.
He trots over to follow his new instructions and assist with the griffin cloak.
By the time heâd returned to his mistress, sheâd sold each remaining cloak, already counting the bits of gold.
âIâd say this deserves a treat, donât you think, Assistant?â
It wasnât a real question, theyâd be going out to a dining hall. Fleur never touched alcohol, but she had a strong penchant for delicacies only found in merchant buildings.
He smiles, tail wagging as he nods in agreement. Even knowing its practically a tradition at this point to go dine after such a successful sale, he still gets excited at the prospect. After all, treats for her often means treats for him as well.
"Yes Miss. What are you craving today?"
âSea monster.â
She smiles, already feeling nostalgic for her younger days.
âHow about I grab some jackalope too, Assistant? Isnât that one of your favorites? You can keep the antlers again.â
Fleur leans over the table, looking Voss in the eye playfully. She knew he preferred the basic options, but it never stopped being satisfying to pick something rarer.
Besides, he knew what her guard dog liked. Jackolope was its favorite magic game too.
The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
He nods obediently to acknowledge her command, carrying the large stack of cloaks with a practiced smile.
He adjusts the pile of feathers, spacing them out a bit to make each one look as beautiful as possible. He doesn't want to dissapoint Fleur with poor presentation.
He stands up straighter, hands clasped together as he watches the crowd, prepared to answer questions, or just do whatever his mistress asks of him.
She pulls out the top of the pile, clasping it around Assistantâs shoulders, a cue for him to turn around and model it.
âAs you can see, these cloaks are crafted from the finest feathered hides! This one, my favorite, is pure Pegasus wing!â
She lifts a hand, the cloak on his shoulders rising as if it was still ready to fly.
âAs my assistant can confirm, these can turn even the weakest winds into a gliding experience youâll never find without your own natural wings! Just press the enchanted gem on the clasp, and youâll make air!â
Fleur steps back into her seat at the head of the table, smiling at Voss.
âWell, show them.â
He feels bad for the poor creature that was used to make this cloak. Truly, he does, but at the same time... he loves these presentations.
Especially when it comes to the magic flying cloaks. They give him access to flight, something he hasnt really had of his own since before he came to live under Fleurs care. If he ignores all the people watching he can almost imagine its just like back then when he could change his form into any animal he desired, including birds.
He presses the clasp, happy to perform the practiced routine for the audience. Even if all the scrutiny of their gazes does make him feel a little silly.
Fleur sits politely as her customers ooo and awww at the show, standing up as he lands gracefully beside her.
âNow, whoâs willing to buy, Iâll be starting at 500 golden coins!â
It felt claustrophobic as the crowd began to bid, some coming up to inspect the cloak still on Assistantâs shoulders.
âIâve never imagined such a useful accessory! Much more useful than summoning wingsâŠâ
A particularly interested wizard commented, pulling the kitsuneâs arm out to see how the length of the feathers held.
He does his best to keep smiling, focusing in on his own breathing as people get much too close. Theres so many of them, it makes him want to run and hide. He doesn't though, he knows far better.
He does his best to keep his body loose, letting people poke and prod and adjust him any way they like.
He grins at the wizard and responds in his best customer service voice, "Lets you fly better then most birds." He tries to sound like he believes it, even though he knows its bullshit. Nothing can compare to a real bird form.
âGreat!â
They turn to Fleur, placing an order. Soon after that the cloaks begin to sell out immediately.
The entire time, Voss is dressed and undressed, cloaks and shawls, all made from the skin of magical creatures.
His mistress seems overjoyed, even making small talk with her regulars.
âOh no, Iâd never think of selling my assistant! Heâs too good at this, and he can smell expired mandrake from feet away!â
With each new fur and skin and feather he just reminds himself its the circle of life. No different from the deer skins he'd worn as a child during the winter. Sure a lot of these creatures were more intelligent then deer but- ...thats not worth thinking about.
His ears twitch at the meantion of himself and he immediately looks over to see who shes talking to. The very thought of being sold makes his skin crawl. He thinks he'd rather become one of these cloaks then get sold off to a stranger. He inches closer to his Mistress, almost hiding behind her.
Fleur sets a hand on his shoulder, gripping just a bit too tight.
âIf you need something interesting to show your menagerie, try an avian humunculus! They take longer than youâd expect, but are completely worth it.â
The Wizard frowns at her in disappointment before walking off, buying a werewolf fur shawl to take with him.
Fleur leans closer to her assistant, muttering something with a slight forced hint of comfort.
âYouâre alright. Iâd never give you up, youâre priceless, and safest with me.â
Logically, Voss is aware he shouldn't be comforted by the sharp touch or harsh controlling words, but he's always been more emotional then logical. She's probably right anyway, if he did ever leave her he'd just get himself captured again, and that would probably be worse.
He relaxes, giving Fleur a genuine smile. His lone tail brushes against her legs in an affectionate manner, like a cat rubbing against their owner.
"Thank you, Mistress."
âYouâre welcome, Assistant.â
She smiles back, rubbing his back with a gentle touch this time.
âNow, help Earl pack the griffin one into his case. And if he touches you, Iâll have his soul in a mirror before you even get to tell me.â
Fleurâs reassurance felt fake, pulled out at just the right moment to reinforce her authority. But still, it was comforting.
He nods obediently, pleased with the smallest bit of affection he'd received. Its nice to know he's protected, even if it is for a soulless reason.
He trots over to follow his new instructions and assist with the griffin cloak.
By the time heâd returned to his mistress, sheâd sold each remaining cloak, already counting the bits of gold.
âIâd say this deserves a treat, donât you think, Assistant?â
It wasnât a real question, theyâd be going out to a dining hall. Fleur never touched alcohol, but she had a strong penchant for delicacies only found in merchant buildings.
The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
He nods obediently to acknowledge her command, carrying the large stack of cloaks with a practiced smile.
He adjusts the pile of feathers, spacing them out a bit to make each one look as beautiful as possible. He doesn't want to dissapoint Fleur with poor presentation.
He stands up straighter, hands clasped together as he watches the crowd, prepared to answer questions, or just do whatever his mistress asks of him.
She pulls out the top of the pile, clasping it around Assistantâs shoulders, a cue for him to turn around and model it.
âAs you can see, these cloaks are crafted from the finest feathered hides! This one, my favorite, is pure Pegasus wing!â
She lifts a hand, the cloak on his shoulders rising as if it was still ready to fly.
âAs my assistant can confirm, these can turn even the weakest winds into a gliding experience youâll never find without your own natural wings! Just press the enchanted gem on the clasp, and youâll make air!â
Fleur steps back into her seat at the head of the table, smiling at Voss.
âWell, show them.â
He feels bad for the poor creature that was used to make this cloak. Truly, he does, but at the same time... he loves these presentations.
Especially when it comes to the magic flying cloaks. They give him access to flight, something he hasnt really had of his own since before he came to live under Fleurs care. If he ignores all the people watching he can almost imagine its just like back then when he could change his form into any animal he desired, including birds.
He presses the clasp, happy to perform the practiced routine for the audience. Even if all the scrutiny of their gazes does make him feel a little silly.
Fleur sits politely as her customers ooo and awww at the show, standing up as he lands gracefully beside her.
âNow, whoâs willing to buy, Iâll be starting at 500 golden coins!â
It felt claustrophobic as the crowd began to bid, some coming up to inspect the cloak still on Assistantâs shoulders.
âIâve never imagined such a useful accessory! Much more useful than summoning wingsâŠâ
A particularly interested wizard commented, pulling the kitsuneâs arm out to see how the length of the feathers held.
He does his best to keep smiling, focusing in on his own breathing as people get much too close. Theres so many of them, it makes him want to run and hide. He doesn't though, he knows far better.
He does his best to keep his body loose, letting people poke and prod and adjust him any way they like.
He grins at the wizard and responds in his best customer service voice, "Lets you fly better then most birds." He tries to sound like he believes it, even though he knows its bullshit. Nothing can compare to a real bird form.
âGreat!â
They turn to Fleur, placing an order. Soon after that the cloaks begin to sell out immediately.
The entire time, Voss is dressed and undressed, cloaks and shawls, all made from the skin of magical creatures.
His mistress seems overjoyed, even making small talk with her regulars.
âOh no, Iâd never think of selling my assistant! Heâs too good at this, and he can smell expired mandrake from feet away!â
With each new fur and skin and feather he just reminds himself its the circle of life. No different from the deer skins he'd worn as a child during the winter. Sure a lot of these creatures were more intelligent then deer but- ...thats not worth thinking about.
His ears twitch at the meantion of himself and he immediately looks over to see who shes talking to. The very thought of being sold makes his skin crawl. He thinks he'd rather become one of these cloaks then get sold off to a stranger. He inches closer to his Mistress, almost hiding behind her.
Fleur sets a hand on his shoulder, gripping just a bit too tight.
âIf you need something interesting to show your menagerie, try an avian humunculus! They take longer than youâd expect, but are completely worth it.â
The Wizard frowns at her in disappointment before walking off, buying a werewolf fur shawl to take with him.
Fleur leans closer to her assistant, muttering something with a slight forced hint of comfort.
âYouâre alright. Iâd never give you up, youâre priceless, and safest with me.â
Logically, Voss is aware he shouldn't be comforted by the sharp touch or harsh controlling words, but he's always been more emotional then logical. She's probably right anyway, if he did ever leave her he'd just get himself captured again, and that would probably be worse.
He relaxes, giving Fleur a genuine smile. His lone tail brushes against her legs in an affectionate manner, like a cat rubbing against their owner.
"Thank you, Mistress."
âYouâre welcome, Assistant.â
She smiles back, rubbing his back with a gentle touch this time.
âNow, help Earl pack the griffin one into his case. And if he touches you, Iâll have his soul in a mirror before you even get to tell me.â
Fleurâs reassurance felt fake, pulled out at just the right moment to reinforce her authority. But still, it was comforting.
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The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
He nods obediently to acknowledge her command, carrying the large stack of cloaks with a practiced smile.
He adjusts the pile of feathers, spacing them out a bit to make each one look as beautiful as possible. He doesn't want to dissapoint Fleur with poor presentation.
He stands up straighter, hands clasped together as he watches the crowd, prepared to answer questions, or just do whatever his mistress asks of him.
She pulls out the top of the pile, clasping it around Assistantâs shoulders, a cue for him to turn around and model it.
âAs you can see, these cloaks are crafted from the finest feathered hides! This one, my favorite, is pure Pegasus wing!â
She lifts a hand, the cloak on his shoulders rising as if it was still ready to fly.
âAs my assistant can confirm, these can turn even the weakest winds into a gliding experience youâll never find without your own natural wings! Just press the enchanted gem on the clasp, and youâll make air!â
Fleur steps back into her seat at the head of the table, smiling at Voss.
âWell, show them.â
He feels bad for the poor creature that was used to make this cloak. Truly, he does, but at the same time... he loves these presentations.
Especially when it comes to the magic flying cloaks. They give him access to flight, something he hasnt really had of his own since before he came to live under Fleurs care. If he ignores all the people watching he can almost imagine its just like back then when he could change his form into any animal he desired, including birds.
He presses the clasp, happy to perform the practiced routine for the audience. Even if all the scrutiny of their gazes does make him feel a little silly.
Fleur sits politely as her customers ooo and awww at the show, standing up as he lands gracefully beside her.
âNow, whoâs willing to buy, Iâll be starting at 500 golden coins!â
It felt claustrophobic as the crowd began to bid, some coming up to inspect the cloak still on Assistantâs shoulders.
âIâve never imagined such a useful accessory! Much more useful than summoning wingsâŠâ
A particularly interested wizard commented, pulling the kitsuneâs arm out to see how the length of the feathers held.
He does his best to keep smiling, focusing in on his own breathing as people get much too close. Theres so many of them, it makes him want to run and hide. He doesn't though, he knows far better.
He does his best to keep his body loose, letting people poke and prod and adjust him any way they like.
He grins at the wizard and responds in his best customer service voice, "Lets you fly better then most birds." He tries to sound like he believes it, even though he knows its bullshit. Nothing can compare to a real bird form.
âGreat!â
They turn to Fleur, placing an order. Soon after that the cloaks begin to sell out immediately.
The entire time, Voss is dressed and undressed, cloaks and shawls, all made from the skin of magical creatures.
His mistress seems overjoyed, even making small talk with her regulars.
âOh no, Iâd never think of selling my assistant! Heâs too good at this, and he can smell expired mandrake from feet away!â
With each new fur and skin and feather he just reminds himself its the circle of life. No different from the deer skins he'd worn as a child during the winter. Sure a lot of these creatures were more intelligent then deer but- ...thats not worth thinking about.
His ears twitch at the meantion of himself and he immediately looks over to see who shes talking to. The very thought of being sold makes his skin crawl. He thinks he'd rather become one of these cloaks then get sold off to a stranger. He inches closer to his Mistress, almost hiding behind her.
Fleur sets a hand on his shoulder, gripping just a bit too tight.
âIf you need something interesting to show your menagerie, try an avian humunculus! They take longer than youâd expect, but are completely worth it.â
The Wizard frowns at her in disappointment before walking off, buying a werewolf fur shawl to take with him.
Fleur leans closer to her assistant, muttering something with a slight forced hint of comfort.
âYouâre alright. Iâd never give you up, youâre priceless, and safest with me.â
The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
He nods obediently to acknowledge her command, carrying the large stack of cloaks with a practiced smile.
He adjusts the pile of feathers, spacing them out a bit to make each one look as beautiful as possible. He doesn't want to dissapoint Fleur with poor presentation.
He stands up straighter, hands clasped together as he watches the crowd, prepared to answer questions, or just do whatever his mistress asks of him.
She pulls out the top of the pile, clasping it around Assistantâs shoulders, a cue for him to turn around and model it.
âAs you can see, these cloaks are crafted from the finest feathered hides! This one, my favorite, is pure Pegasus wing!â
She lifts a hand, the cloak on his shoulders rising as if it was still ready to fly.
âAs my assistant can confirm, these can turn even the weakest winds into a gliding experience youâll never find without your own natural wings! Just press the enchanted gem on the clasp, and youâll make air!â
Fleur steps back into her seat at the head of the table, smiling at Voss.
âWell, show them.â
He feels bad for the poor creature that was used to make this cloak. Truly, he does, but at the same time... he loves these presentations.
Especially when it comes to the magic flying cloaks. They give him access to flight, something he hasnt really had of his own since before he came to live under Fleurs care. If he ignores all the people watching he can almost imagine its just like back then when he could change his form into any animal he desired, including birds.
He presses the clasp, happy to perform the practiced routine for the audience. Even if all the scrutiny of their gazes does make him feel a little silly.
Fleur sits politely as her customers ooo and awww at the show, standing up as he lands gracefully beside her.
âNow, whoâs willing to buy, Iâll be starting at 500 golden coins!â
It felt claustrophobic as the crowd began to bid, some coming up to inspect the cloak still on Assistantâs shoulders.
âIâve never imagined such a useful accessory! Much more useful than summoning wingsâŠâ
A particularly interested wizard commented, pulling the kitsuneâs arm out to see how the length of the feathers held.
He does his best to keep smiling, focusing in on his own breathing as people get much too close. Theres so many of them, it makes him want to run and hide. He doesn't though, he knows far better.
He does his best to keep his body loose, letting people poke and prod and adjust him any way they like.
He grins at the wizard and responds in his best customer service voice, "Lets you fly better then most birds." He tries to sound like he believes it, even though he knows its bullshit. Nothing can compare to a real bird form.
âGreat!â
They turn to Fleur, placing an order. Soon after that the cloaks begin to sell out immediately.
The entire time, Voss is dressed and undressed, cloaks and shawls, all made from the skin of magical creatures.
His mistress seems overjoyed, even making small talk with her regulars.
âOh no, Iâd never think of selling my assistant! Heâs too good at this, and he can smell expired mandrake from feet away!â
The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
He nods obediently to acknowledge her command, carrying the large stack of cloaks with a practiced smile.
He adjusts the pile of feathers, spacing them out a bit to make each one look as beautiful as possible. He doesn't want to dissapoint Fleur with poor presentation.
He stands up straighter, hands clasped together as he watches the crowd, prepared to answer questions, or just do whatever his mistress asks of him.
She pulls out the top of the pile, clasping it around Assistantâs shoulders, a cue for him to turn around and model it.
âAs you can see, these cloaks are crafted from the finest feathered hides! This one, my favorite, is pure Pegasus wing!â
She lifts a hand, the cloak on his shoulders rising as if it was still ready to fly.
âAs my assistant can confirm, these can turn even the weakest winds into a gliding experience youâll never find without your own natural wings! Just press the enchanted gem on the clasp, and youâll make air!â
Fleur steps back into her seat at the head of the table, smiling at Voss.
âWell, show them.â
He feels bad for the poor creature that was used to make this cloak. Truly, he does, but at the same time... he loves these presentations.
Especially when it comes to the magic flying cloaks. They give him access to flight, something he hasnt really had of his own since before he came to live under Fleurs care. If he ignores all the people watching he can almost imagine its just like back then when he could change his form into any animal he desired, including birds.
He presses the clasp, happy to perform the practiced routine for the audience. Even if all the scrutiny of their gazes does make him feel a little silly.
Fleur sits politely as her customers ooo and awww at the show, standing up as he lands gracefully beside her.
âNow, whoâs willing to buy, Iâll be starting at 500 golden coins!â
It felt claustrophobic as the crowd began to bid, some coming up to inspect the cloak still on Assistantâs shoulders.
âIâve never imagined such a useful accessory! Much more useful than summoning wingsâŠâ
A particularly interested wizard commented, pulling the kitsuneâs arm out to see how the length of the feathers held.
The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
He nods obediently to acknowledge her command, carrying the large stack of cloaks with a practiced smile.
He adjusts the pile of feathers, spacing them out a bit to make each one look as beautiful as possible. He doesn't want to dissapoint Fleur with poor presentation.
He stands up straighter, hands clasped together as he watches the crowd, prepared to answer questions, or just do whatever his mistress asks of him.
She pulls out the top of the pile, clasping it around Assistantâs shoulders, a cue for him to turn around and model it.
âAs you can see, these cloaks are crafted from the finest feathered hides! This one, my favorite, is pure Pegasus wing!â
She lifts a hand, the cloak on his shoulders rising as if it was still ready to fly.
âAs my assistant can confirm, these can turn even the weakest winds into a gliding experience youâll never find without your own natural wings! Just press the enchanted gem on the clasp, and youâll make air!â
Fleur steps back into her seat at the head of the table, smiling at Voss.
âWell, show them.â
The Collecters Assistant
Closed RP with @bitten-and-beaten
Assistant đ§ââïž
Voss had always tried to avoid people. Avoid Hunters. There weren't many of his kind left, none that he'd ever known, so he'd had to do a lot on his own. At fifteen though... his luck had run out. He'd been captured, shoved into shackles and a too small cage, treated like he was worth no more then his pelt. He supposes he's not.
His second tail growing in was one of the worst things to happen, simply because he hadnt gotten to keep it for long. He hadnt had much defiance left in him at that point, but losing such a big part of himself had fully killed any semblance of it.
He's mostly learned the rules by now. Knows when to stay quiet, when to provide his input, how to properly do his job as his Mistresses assistant. Now he follows her around, silent at her side, exactly where he belongs.
âRemember, these shipments need to be sold. If somethingâs itchy, youâll keep your mouth shut.â
The dragon huffs to herself as she walks into the merchant guildâs meeting room, suddenly switching her attitude as she greets the room of customers.
âHello, everyone! I know youâre all starving for new ingredients coming into stock, but Iâve got something youâll only need to buy once to have magic foreverâŠâ
Fleur snaps her fingers, directing Assistant to put his load of feathered cloaks onto the table.
â-and, you all get the first dibs on a limited stock!â
She adds cheerily, as the table claps. Not a single customer gives Voss acknowledgment, eyeing the wears he placed down greedily.
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Hemlock was exploring a new world, one he hadnt been to before. It feels nice here, he can practically taste the hum of magic in the air, the sweet smells that greet him. He'd gotten so used to spending time in worlds where magic is somewhat of a rarity that it feels nice to be somewhere that feels closer to his original home. He walks around aimlessly, soft grass cushioning each step, leaves keeping him shaded. The breeze tickles his bare arms as he walks around in a tank top and shorts, enjoying the sun.
He pauses for a moment, ears twitching as he hears a noise somewhere behind him.
- @variousvossivixens đ„
(For Fleur)
It was surprisingly small for the noise it made, a pixie.
Its wings were torn off, like some creature had been playing with it. The small fae chimes, running away from wherever it emerged with a weak light.
The poor thing wouldnât survive long out here, it barely saw Hemlock, only running in panic.
His eyes narrow and he darts at it, picking the poor thing up with surprising gentleness for how quick he'd grabbed it. He inspects it carefully, casting a healing spell to at least help with the pain, even if he can't regrow its wings.
"Hello there little one... what are you running from?"
Tails flicking as he longs around for the source of the pixies torment.
It shakes its head, curling up into a ball the second it feels hands around it.
It mumbles something in panic, begging to finally just be allowed to return home. It just wants to go home.
The fairy doesnât even recognize the different hands holding it, only begging and crying.
By the time Hemlock had begun to take apart its desperate requests, a wire cord tightens around his back paw, pulling him to the ground tightly.
It was mind numbing as it dug into his fur, feeling almost like he was a kit again. Woven from sparkling iridescent hair, just the sight of it made him feel sick. Even more than the stains of red spotting it.
"Hey, calm down, its okay, I'm not gonna-" He begins to reassure the fairy before he's caught, cursing in silent druidic as he hits the ground hard, barely managing to not hurt the small creature in his hand.
He doesn't know why the sight of the rope fills him with so much dread, but he knows he wants it off, off, off. He sits up quickly, setting the pixie down and leaning over to his leg to try and pull the hair off himself.
It pulls tighter, stinging. Heâs barely able to recognize its grip before something grabs him from behind, folding him over and tying his arms like the worldâs worst paper airplane.
A quiet feminine hum filled the air, muffling his cries.
Maybe the panic numbed his mind, or maybe whoever was capturing him knew what they were dealing with for once. Either way, it was terrifying, feeling himself lifted by the cord, shoved into a crate like an object, and already nailed in.
The worst part, after all the tugging and shoving, a clawed hand runs against his tail, with a gentleness no other part of him was given.
He whimpers, trying to teleport away and failing, something about the restraints creating a disconnect between him and both the magic in the nature around him, and the very magic within him. Its a horrible feeling. He flinches at the touch on his tails and hes suddenly reminded why his tails always go somewhere he can hold them when he's scared. Not being able to hold them close makes him squirm even more. He breathes heavily in the small space, nightmares of hunters flashing through his mind as he tries everything he can think of to free himself, running fully on animal instincts.
The box creaks and snaps, but heâs still just as trapped as the shards of wood make way for him to see where heâs going at least. Above the sides of the cart, the only structure nearby blocked out the sun.
A tower, a large one. It was carved out of white stone, seeming someplace youâd expect a dragon to be keeping a princess.
The cart pulls closer, the driver pulling the reins of a large monstrous lion. Their features were covered by a large pair of webbed draconic wings, other than a pair of horns that had been crudely sawed off.
Fleur stands off her seat as she pulls the cart to a stop. There was truly no place like home sweet home.
The draconian quickly begins to move her crates, different hisses and yelps following each one as theyâre lifted onto a smaller wagon. She finally reaches for Hemlock, seemingly unconcerned by the cracks in it.
He growls as they come to a stop, spitting out curses in multiple different languges.
"Let me out, you bitch, before I seperate your wings from your back and shove them down your fucking throat!"
He yells at the dragon woman as she grabs the crate, his terror only feeding his anger. He wishes his mom were here, she'd tear them to pieces for locking him up like this.
She acts as if heâs not audible, only reacting to seem amused at the uniqueness of his threat.
The creaking doors in front of them open as she begins to push the cart laden with crying creatures. The room awaiting them was split into two sides, a menagerie, and a stock.
The wall of cages seemed much more welcoming than the piles of werewolf fur, dragon claw, and Golden Fleece. Enough of each to keep any wizard or collector satisfied for quite a while.
Fleur opens the door to the cages and traps one by one, putting pixies on shelves and crying dryads into shackles. She tunes out every sound, only paying enough attention to inspect the surety of each enclosure.
She claws the crate holding Hemlock open, once again petting his tails in curiosity. Lucky and soft.
âI wonder if theyâre still growing.â
She mumbles to herself as she pulls him to a long and short cell, not daring to remove the restraints.
He squirms even more as she pets him, trying to pull his tails away and turn so he can bite her. Clearly she knows what shes doing as she avoids his teeth. Seeing the pelts and exactly how many creatures she has here does seem to shut him up, at least for now. He's definitely not going to answer her question, even though the fact the fifth tail is so short probably answers it for him. He goes limp as hes set in the cell, trying to tale in his surroundings and find a way out of this.
She quickly locks him in, adjusting everything with the same shackles put on dryads attached directly to the ground. It was claustrophobic.
Fleur walks away, smiling as she gives a small humanoid resting on the pile of selkie skin a gentle pat on its head.
âWatch the new orders. No sound, and Iâll give you some more of that potion.â
It blinks, nodding with a serious acknowledgment.
He whines as soon as she's gone, the reality of the situation finally setting in. A Hunter. The kind of person he's been terrified of since he was a small kit. They're nothing like he expected, not a human like he'd feared, they're worse.
He tries to break from of the restraints, hoping his metal arm will provide some help, but its no use. He tries to dismiss the arm to at least free his stump but nothing happens. Tries shifting out, creating a storm lockpick, teleporting, but no matter what he tries none of his magic comes to his aid. He even tries pleading with the Exception souls in his head, but all he's met with is silence.
"Please... I cant- dont take them..." He practically whispers it, tears slowly starting to fall as his anger fades, replaced with sorrow.
The golden eyed humanoid lifts its head up with a grunt, hissing at him harshly from its resting spot of selkie skin. Whatever it was, it was also chained into this room, despite its softer bed.
It seemed irritated by the crying and screaming, pulling at its hair quietly until it stands up to growl at its current roommates, pulling at the chain to walk closer to the cages.
It hated when they cried. When they cried, it got hurt. It didnât want that. It wanted the potion and it wanted to be let into the towerâs incubator again.
His red eyes glitter as he looks it over, staring. He should feel bad for it, it looks quiet young, but the way it walks around the room freely while he's stuck in this cramped position just makes him growl at it.
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? He'd try to convince this creature to let him out, but from the looks of things she's stuck too.
Its not fair. He thought he'd escaped this fate. Thought that with all the power he's accrued he'd never have to worry about hunters again. But here he is. The thought just makes him cry harder. He bangs his head on the cage, trying to hide his face, even as his sobs get more and more audible despite his best efforts to keep it down.
It panics in return, screeching back at him with fear in its eyes. It tries and tries to make him stop, but eventually retreats back to a corner, away from its former cozy pelt pile, cowering and shaking as it waits for Fleur to return.
Quiet footsteps follow down the stairs up the tower, the opposite of the wizardâs loud grumbles of annoyance.
He just ignores Trice, too upset to care about her or her panic. Not like being quiet is getting him out. And it hurts. He can already feel himself getting sore from the position he's been forced into.
Fleur storms into the room, bashing the pile of pelts that formerly held her guard with her tail in annoyance.
âThis is why I donât even make it anymore.â
She mutters at the cowering teen, huffing as she turns to Hemlock with a less aggressive expression.
âMake it an all nighter, why donât you?â
She was still talking to her Cockatrice, despite her glaring down the kitsune in front of her. As if he wasnât even worth the mention.
The dragoness pulls out another chain, once again reaching for Hemlock. âThis thing..â
Hatred in her voice for him, like one would describe a malfunctioning microwave.
He sniffles as she walks in, wishing he could wipe away his tears. He feels even more humiliated at the lack of acknowledgement as she complains to the smaller creature.
As soon as she reaches for him through hes growling and baring his fangs, ready to bite her the first chance he gets. He wants to break her bones and taste her blood.
She ignores him, reaching past his face like you would a snake you need to move.
Fleur pulls him to his feet once again, dragging the kitsune behind her. They begin up the stairs, grabbing a spell book from a shelf with their free hand.
Sheâd need to figure a few things out, keeping this thing from interrupting her rest. She reads silently as Hemlock stumbles behind her.
After a long while of walking, theyâd reached the higher room, somehow more disturbing than the downstairs. Open drawers of uncleaned saws and knives, and a wall of her notes on everything sheâd ever captured.
The right way to powder pixie wings, to remove a dragonâs horns and skin a golden ram. It was all in large writing, perfectly legible even in the mild lighting.
The newest note pinned on the wall was a sketch of hemlock, overlayed with text from a book on how to dock a tail. Like the pixies sheâd torn the wings off of, not even giving whatever sheâd caught mercy.
He fights hard as he's pulled along, trying to punch, or kick, or bite, or really do much of anything, but the moment they reach the room that all stops.
His eyes go wide, full of terror. He's seen horrible sights. He's committed massacres, seen the aftermath, witnessed fields of nothing but blood and bones and mangled flesh, but none of that had anything on this. Not to him at least. Its worse then anything his nightmares had been capable of cooking up.
He stares at the notes in utter horror, tails curling around himself. He's speechless. This is it. He's going to lose his tails. Tears fill his eyes again, the world getting blurry as he just mumbles "no" over and over again under his breath.
She pushes him down, adjusting the restraints around the kitsune with a demeaning response.
âYes.â
She said it in a way that almost sung, clicking her tongue happily as she goes to put on a pair of leather gloves. Sheâd get her way into even the most exclusive clubs. Finding a kitsune after all this timeâŠ
The dragon walks over to the cauldron in the corner, if only to fill a wooden bowl with a red potion of some kind.
"No, no, no, w-what i-if we m-made a d-deal?" He can't stop his voice from trembling, mind racing, trying to think of something worthwhile to offer. Its hard to think of anything when his eyes keep flicking back over to those notes. He still cant stop the tears that cloud his vision as he watches what shes doing.
She walks back over with the bowl, grabbing his face to try to pour it down his throat. Her claw slips on his chin, suddenly giving the kitsune more freedom to move.
The chains around his hands were still attached, but if he could only move the hook they hung on.
He grits his teeth and purses his lips together tightly, refusing to take whatever shes trying to give him. He pulls his head back to rip away from her before moving it forward to headbutt her hard. He adjusts his position as much as he can, stretching so much he hears his shoulders pop, but the fear keeps him going trying to unhook the chains or use them to pull himself up.
The dragon falls back, stunned by the impact. As he pulls away, the chains slip off the tableâs hook.
Fleur growls loudly as she pulls herself back up, grabbing one of the closest saws to use as a weapon.
His eyes glow bright as he growls, rushing at her semi-recklessly and slamming the chains into the saw blade.
"*Fuck you*."
She huffs, not giving him the pleasure of a response as his chains shattered.
They rush forward, clearly deciding that keeping him alive wasnât worth it at this point. If only she knew he had his magic back.
He can tell, the second its back, that connection reestablished. And he doesnt waste a second on using it. The entire room fills with red smoke and crystals shoot up from the floor creating a cage around Fleur. He makes sure the smoke doesn't get too close, not wanting the poison to kill her. That would be too quick and easy a death. His swords appear in his hands as his armor appears and his mask covers his face.
"Don't fucking touch me Hunter." He says it like its a slur.
She spits in response, growling. For the first time in years, she was back in a cage, but sheâd never let herself act like it.
Crystal covers his metal arm, reinforcing it as he reaches through the bars to grab her by the throat, tightly. He pulls her forward before dismissing some of the bars so he can swing his sword down harshly on her back, slicing through her wings like theyre paper.
She screeches in pain, breathing heavily as she stares at Hemlock. Her air of superiority had vanished, leaving only the same terror sheâd caused him.
Fleur struggles and squirms, trying to free herself as the blood trails down her back, staining her nice robes.
He doesn't say anything, operating on a mix of anger and fear. He casts a healing spell so she wont bleed out before putting the bars back in place and staring at the wings on the floor, breathing heavily. His earlier threat rings in his ears.
"...Dont go anywhere."
Voice trembling as he turns and runs out of the room, feeling like hes going to throw up. He tells himself he'll go back to finish the threat but he isnt sure if he believes himself.
He heads back to the room he had been kept in, continuously looking over his shoulder with paranoia, but knowing he'll hate himself if he doesn't free the others that were left here.
Fleur twitches on the ground, still weakly glaring at him.
As he emerges from the stairway, a chorus of terrified voices greet him in every language. Nymphs begging for freedom and fauns asking what happened to their captor. Despite the lack of conversation, the fairies tapped on their jars to get his attention.
One of the view things remaining silent was the humanoid on the longer chain, still cowering as it stares at him, and the splashes of blood on his armor. It was in the same corner, raw fear in its eyes.
Hemlock was exploring a new world, one he hadnt been to before. It feels nice here, he can practically taste the hum of magic in the air, the sweet smells that greet him. He'd gotten so used to spending time in worlds where magic is somewhat of a rarity that it feels nice to be somewhere that feels closer to his original home. He walks around aimlessly, soft grass cushioning each step, leaves keeping him shaded. The breeze tickles his bare arms as he walks around in a tank top and shorts, enjoying the sun.
He pauses for a moment, ears twitching as he hears a noise somewhere behind him.
- @variousvossivixens đ„
(For Fleur)
It was surprisingly small for the noise it made, a pixie.
Its wings were torn off, like some creature had been playing with it. The small fae chimes, running away from wherever it emerged with a weak light.
The poor thing wouldnât survive long out here, it barely saw Hemlock, only running in panic.
His eyes narrow and he darts at it, picking the poor thing up with surprising gentleness for how quick he'd grabbed it. He inspects it carefully, casting a healing spell to at least help with the pain, even if he can't regrow its wings.
"Hello there little one... what are you running from?"
Tails flicking as he longs around for the source of the pixies torment.
It shakes its head, curling up into a ball the second it feels hands around it.
It mumbles something in panic, begging to finally just be allowed to return home. It just wants to go home.
The fairy doesnât even recognize the different hands holding it, only begging and crying.
By the time Hemlock had begun to take apart its desperate requests, a wire cord tightens around his back paw, pulling him to the ground tightly.
It was mind numbing as it dug into his fur, feeling almost like he was a kit again. Woven from sparkling iridescent hair, just the sight of it made him feel sick. Even more than the stains of red spotting it.
"Hey, calm down, its okay, I'm not gonna-" He begins to reassure the fairy before he's caught, cursing in silent druidic as he hits the ground hard, barely managing to not hurt the small creature in his hand.
He doesn't know why the sight of the rope fills him with so much dread, but he knows he wants it off, off, off. He sits up quickly, setting the pixie down and leaning over to his leg to try and pull the hair off himself.
It pulls tighter, stinging. Heâs barely able to recognize its grip before something grabs him from behind, folding him over and tying his arms like the worldâs worst paper airplane.
A quiet feminine hum filled the air, muffling his cries.
Maybe the panic numbed his mind, or maybe whoever was capturing him knew what they were dealing with for once. Either way, it was terrifying, feeling himself lifted by the cord, shoved into a crate like an object, and already nailed in.
The worst part, after all the tugging and shoving, a clawed hand runs against his tail, with a gentleness no other part of him was given.
He whimpers, trying to teleport away and failing, something about the restraints creating a disconnect between him and both the magic in the nature around him, and the very magic within him. Its a horrible feeling. He flinches at the touch on his tails and hes suddenly reminded why his tails always go somewhere he can hold them when he's scared. Not being able to hold them close makes him squirm even more. He breathes heavily in the small space, nightmares of hunters flashing through his mind as he tries everything he can think of to free himself, running fully on animal instincts.
The box creaks and snaps, but heâs still just as trapped as the shards of wood make way for him to see where heâs going at least. Above the sides of the cart, the only structure nearby blocked out the sun.
A tower, a large one. It was carved out of white stone, seeming someplace youâd expect a dragon to be keeping a princess.
The cart pulls closer, the driver pulling the reins of a large monstrous lion. Their features were covered by a large pair of webbed draconic wings, other than a pair of horns that had been crudely sawed off.
Fleur stands off her seat as she pulls the cart to a stop. There was truly no place like home sweet home.
The draconian quickly begins to move her crates, different hisses and yelps following each one as theyâre lifted onto a smaller wagon. She finally reaches for Hemlock, seemingly unconcerned by the cracks in it.
He growls as they come to a stop, spitting out curses in multiple different languges.
"Let me out, you bitch, before I seperate your wings from your back and shove them down your fucking throat!"
He yells at the dragon woman as she grabs the crate, his terror only feeding his anger. He wishes his mom were here, she'd tear them to pieces for locking him up like this.
She acts as if heâs not audible, only reacting to seem amused at the uniqueness of his threat.
The creaking doors in front of them open as she begins to push the cart laden with crying creatures. The room awaiting them was split into two sides, a menagerie, and a stock.
The wall of cages seemed much more welcoming than the piles of werewolf fur, dragon claw, and Golden Fleece. Enough of each to keep any wizard or collector satisfied for quite a while.
Fleur opens the door to the cages and traps one by one, putting pixies on shelves and crying dryads into shackles. She tunes out every sound, only paying enough attention to inspect the surety of each enclosure.
She claws the crate holding Hemlock open, once again petting his tails in curiosity. Lucky and soft.
âI wonder if theyâre still growing.â
She mumbles to herself as she pulls him to a long and short cell, not daring to remove the restraints.
He squirms even more as she pets him, trying to pull his tails away and turn so he can bite her. Clearly she knows what shes doing as she avoids his teeth. Seeing the pelts and exactly how many creatures she has here does seem to shut him up, at least for now. He's definitely not going to answer her question, even though the fact the fifth tail is so short probably answers it for him. He goes limp as hes set in the cell, trying to tale in his surroundings and find a way out of this.
She quickly locks him in, adjusting everything with the same shackles put on dryads attached directly to the ground. It was claustrophobic.
Fleur walks away, smiling as she gives a small humanoid resting on the pile of selkie skin a gentle pat on its head.
âWatch the new orders. No sound, and Iâll give you some more of that potion.â
It blinks, nodding with a serious acknowledgment.
He whines as soon as she's gone, the reality of the situation finally setting in. A Hunter. The kind of person he's been terrified of since he was a small kit. They're nothing like he expected, not a human like he'd feared, they're worse.
He tries to break from of the restraints, hoping his metal arm will provide some help, but its no use. He tries to dismiss the arm to at least free his stump but nothing happens. Tries shifting out, creating a storm lockpick, teleporting, but no matter what he tries none of his magic comes to his aid. He even tries pleading with the Exception souls in his head, but all he's met with is silence.
"Please... I cant- dont take them..." He practically whispers it, tears slowly starting to fall as his anger fades, replaced with sorrow.
The golden eyed humanoid lifts its head up with a grunt, hissing at him harshly from its resting spot of selkie skin. Whatever it was, it was also chained into this room, despite its softer bed.
It seemed irritated by the crying and screaming, pulling at its hair quietly until it stands up to growl at its current roommates, pulling at the chain to walk closer to the cages.
It hated when they cried. When they cried, it got hurt. It didnât want that. It wanted the potion and it wanted to be let into the towerâs incubator again.
His red eyes glitter as he looks it over, staring. He should feel bad for it, it looks quiet young, but the way it walks around the room freely while he's stuck in this cramped position just makes him growl at it.
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? He'd try to convince this creature to let him out, but from the looks of things she's stuck too.
Its not fair. He thought he'd escaped this fate. Thought that with all the power he's accrued he'd never have to worry about hunters again. But here he is. The thought just makes him cry harder. He bangs his head on the cage, trying to hide his face, even as his sobs get more and more audible despite his best efforts to keep it down.
It panics in return, screeching back at him with fear in its eyes. It tries and tries to make him stop, but eventually retreats back to a corner, away from its former cozy pelt pile, cowering and shaking as it waits for Fleur to return.
Quiet footsteps follow down the stairs up the tower, the opposite of the wizardâs loud grumbles of annoyance.
He just ignores Trice, too upset to care about her or her panic. Not like being quiet is getting him out. And it hurts. He can already feel himself getting sore from the position he's been forced into.
Fleur storms into the room, bashing the pile of pelts that formerly held her guard with her tail in annoyance.
âThis is why I donât even make it anymore.â
She mutters at the cowering teen, huffing as she turns to Hemlock with a less aggressive expression.
âMake it an all nighter, why donât you?â
She was still talking to her Cockatrice, despite her glaring down the kitsune in front of her. As if he wasnât even worth the mention.
The dragoness pulls out another chain, once again reaching for Hemlock. âThis thing..â
Hatred in her voice for him, like one would describe a malfunctioning microwave.
He sniffles as she walks in, wishing he could wipe away his tears. He feels even more humiliated at the lack of acknowledgement as she complains to the smaller creature.
As soon as she reaches for him through hes growling and baring his fangs, ready to bite her the first chance he gets. He wants to break her bones and taste her blood.
She ignores him, reaching past his face like you would a snake you need to move.
Fleur pulls him to his feet once again, dragging the kitsune behind her. They begin up the stairs, grabbing a spell book from a shelf with their free hand.
Sheâd need to figure a few things out, keeping this thing from interrupting her rest. She reads silently as Hemlock stumbles behind her.
After a long while of walking, theyâd reached the higher room, somehow more disturbing than the downstairs. Open drawers of uncleaned saws and knives, and a wall of her notes on everything sheâd ever captured.
The right way to powder pixie wings, to remove a dragonâs horns and skin a golden ram. It was all in large writing, perfectly legible even in the mild lighting.
The newest note pinned on the wall was a sketch of hemlock, overlayed with text from a book on how to dock a tail. Like the pixies sheâd torn the wings off of, not even giving whatever sheâd caught mercy.
He fights hard as he's pulled along, trying to punch, or kick, or bite, or really do much of anything, but the moment they reach the room that all stops.
His eyes go wide, full of terror. He's seen horrible sights. He's committed massacres, seen the aftermath, witnessed fields of nothing but blood and bones and mangled flesh, but none of that had anything on this. Not to him at least. Its worse then anything his nightmares had been capable of cooking up.
He stares at the notes in utter horror, tails curling around himself. He's speechless. This is it. He's going to lose his tails. Tears fill his eyes again, the world getting blurry as he just mumbles "no" over and over again under his breath.
She pushes him down, adjusting the restraints around the kitsune with a demeaning response.
âYes.â
She said it in a way that almost sung, clicking her tongue happily as she goes to put on a pair of leather gloves. Sheâd get her way into even the most exclusive clubs. Finding a kitsune after all this timeâŠ
The dragon walks over to the cauldron in the corner, if only to fill a wooden bowl with a red potion of some kind.
"No, no, no, w-what i-if we m-made a d-deal?" He can't stop his voice from trembling, mind racing, trying to think of something worthwhile to offer. Its hard to think of anything when his eyes keep flicking back over to those notes. He still cant stop the tears that cloud his vision as he watches what shes doing.
She walks back over with the bowl, grabbing his face to try to pour it down his throat. Her claw slips on his chin, suddenly giving the kitsune more freedom to move.
The chains around his hands were still attached, but if he could only move the hook they hung on.
He grits his teeth and purses his lips together tightly, refusing to take whatever shes trying to give him. He pulls his head back to rip away from her before moving it forward to headbutt her hard. He adjusts his position as much as he can, stretching so much he hears his shoulders pop, but the fear keeps him going trying to unhook the chains or use them to pull himself up.
The dragon falls back, stunned by the impact. As he pulls away, the chains slip off the tableâs hook.
Fleur growls loudly as she pulls herself back up, grabbing one of the closest saws to use as a weapon.
His eyes glow bright as he growls, rushing at her semi-recklessly and slamming the chains into the saw blade.
"*Fuck you*."
She huffs, not giving him the pleasure of a response as his chains shattered.
They rush forward, clearly deciding that keeping him alive wasnât worth it at this point. If only she knew he had his magic back.
He can tell, the second its back, that connection reestablished. And he doesnt waste a second on using it. The entire room fills with red smoke and crystals shoot up from the floor creating a cage around Fleur. He makes sure the smoke doesn't get too close, not wanting the poison to kill her. That would be too quick and easy a death. His swords appear in his hands as his armor appears and his mask covers his face.
"Don't fucking touch me Hunter." He says it like its a slur.
She spits in response, growling. For the first time in years, she was back in a cage, but sheâd never let herself act like it.
Crystal covers his metal arm, reinforcing it as he reaches through the bars to grab her by the throat, tightly. He pulls her forward before dismissing some of the bars so he can swing his sword down harshly on her back, slicing through her wings like theyre paper.
She screeches in pain, breathing heavily as she stares at Hemlock. Her air of superiority had vanished, leaving only the same terror sheâd caused him.
Fleur struggles and squirms, trying to free herself as the blood trails down her back, staining her nice robes.
Hemlock was exploring a new world, one he hadnt been to before. It feels nice here, he can practically taste the hum of magic in the air, the sweet smells that greet him. He'd gotten so used to spending time in worlds where magic is somewhat of a rarity that it feels nice to be somewhere that feels closer to his original home. He walks around aimlessly, soft grass cushioning each step, leaves keeping him shaded. The breeze tickles his bare arms as he walks around in a tank top and shorts, enjoying the sun.
He pauses for a moment, ears twitching as he hears a noise somewhere behind him.
- @variousvossivixens đ„
(For Fleur)
It was surprisingly small for the noise it made, a pixie.
Its wings were torn off, like some creature had been playing with it. The small fae chimes, running away from wherever it emerged with a weak light.
The poor thing wouldnât survive long out here, it barely saw Hemlock, only running in panic.
His eyes narrow and he darts at it, picking the poor thing up with surprising gentleness for how quick he'd grabbed it. He inspects it carefully, casting a healing spell to at least help with the pain, even if he can't regrow its wings.
"Hello there little one... what are you running from?"
Tails flicking as he longs around for the source of the pixies torment.
It shakes its head, curling up into a ball the second it feels hands around it.
It mumbles something in panic, begging to finally just be allowed to return home. It just wants to go home.
The fairy doesnât even recognize the different hands holding it, only begging and crying.
By the time Hemlock had begun to take apart its desperate requests, a wire cord tightens around his back paw, pulling him to the ground tightly.
It was mind numbing as it dug into his fur, feeling almost like he was a kit again. Woven from sparkling iridescent hair, just the sight of it made him feel sick. Even more than the stains of red spotting it.
"Hey, calm down, its okay, I'm not gonna-" He begins to reassure the fairy before he's caught, cursing in silent druidic as he hits the ground hard, barely managing to not hurt the small creature in his hand.
He doesn't know why the sight of the rope fills him with so much dread, but he knows he wants it off, off, off. He sits up quickly, setting the pixie down and leaning over to his leg to try and pull the hair off himself.
It pulls tighter, stinging. Heâs barely able to recognize its grip before something grabs him from behind, folding him over and tying his arms like the worldâs worst paper airplane.
A quiet feminine hum filled the air, muffling his cries.
Maybe the panic numbed his mind, or maybe whoever was capturing him knew what they were dealing with for once. Either way, it was terrifying, feeling himself lifted by the cord, shoved into a crate like an object, and already nailed in.
The worst part, after all the tugging and shoving, a clawed hand runs against his tail, with a gentleness no other part of him was given.
He whimpers, trying to teleport away and failing, something about the restraints creating a disconnect between him and both the magic in the nature around him, and the very magic within him. Its a horrible feeling. He flinches at the touch on his tails and hes suddenly reminded why his tails always go somewhere he can hold them when he's scared. Not being able to hold them close makes him squirm even more. He breathes heavily in the small space, nightmares of hunters flashing through his mind as he tries everything he can think of to free himself, running fully on animal instincts.
The box creaks and snaps, but heâs still just as trapped as the shards of wood make way for him to see where heâs going at least. Above the sides of the cart, the only structure nearby blocked out the sun.
A tower, a large one. It was carved out of white stone, seeming someplace youâd expect a dragon to be keeping a princess.
The cart pulls closer, the driver pulling the reins of a large monstrous lion. Their features were covered by a large pair of webbed draconic wings, other than a pair of horns that had been crudely sawed off.
Fleur stands off her seat as she pulls the cart to a stop. There was truly no place like home sweet home.
The draconian quickly begins to move her crates, different hisses and yelps following each one as theyâre lifted onto a smaller wagon. She finally reaches for Hemlock, seemingly unconcerned by the cracks in it.
He growls as they come to a stop, spitting out curses in multiple different languges.
"Let me out, you bitch, before I seperate your wings from your back and shove them down your fucking throat!"
He yells at the dragon woman as she grabs the crate, his terror only feeding his anger. He wishes his mom were here, she'd tear them to pieces for locking him up like this.
She acts as if heâs not audible, only reacting to seem amused at the uniqueness of his threat.
The creaking doors in front of them open as she begins to push the cart laden with crying creatures. The room awaiting them was split into two sides, a menagerie, and a stock.
The wall of cages seemed much more welcoming than the piles of werewolf fur, dragon claw, and Golden Fleece. Enough of each to keep any wizard or collector satisfied for quite a while.
Fleur opens the door to the cages and traps one by one, putting pixies on shelves and crying dryads into shackles. She tunes out every sound, only paying enough attention to inspect the surety of each enclosure.
She claws the crate holding Hemlock open, once again petting his tails in curiosity. Lucky and soft.
âI wonder if theyâre still growing.â
She mumbles to herself as she pulls him to a long and short cell, not daring to remove the restraints.
He squirms even more as she pets him, trying to pull his tails away and turn so he can bite her. Clearly she knows what shes doing as she avoids his teeth. Seeing the pelts and exactly how many creatures she has here does seem to shut him up, at least for now. He's definitely not going to answer her question, even though the fact the fifth tail is so short probably answers it for him. He goes limp as hes set in the cell, trying to tale in his surroundings and find a way out of this.
She quickly locks him in, adjusting everything with the same shackles put on dryads attached directly to the ground. It was claustrophobic.
Fleur walks away, smiling as she gives a small humanoid resting on the pile of selkie skin a gentle pat on its head.
âWatch the new orders. No sound, and Iâll give you some more of that potion.â
It blinks, nodding with a serious acknowledgment.
He whines as soon as she's gone, the reality of the situation finally setting in. A Hunter. The kind of person he's been terrified of since he was a small kit. They're nothing like he expected, not a human like he'd feared, they're worse.
He tries to break from of the restraints, hoping his metal arm will provide some help, but its no use. He tries to dismiss the arm to at least free his stump but nothing happens. Tries shifting out, creating a storm lockpick, teleporting, but no matter what he tries none of his magic comes to his aid. He even tries pleading with the Exception souls in his head, but all he's met with is silence.
"Please... I cant- dont take them..." He practically whispers it, tears slowly starting to fall as his anger fades, replaced with sorrow.
The golden eyed humanoid lifts its head up with a grunt, hissing at him harshly from its resting spot of selkie skin. Whatever it was, it was also chained into this room, despite its softer bed.
It seemed irritated by the crying and screaming, pulling at its hair quietly until it stands up to growl at its current roommates, pulling at the chain to walk closer to the cages.
It hated when they cried. When they cried, it got hurt. It didnât want that. It wanted the potion and it wanted to be let into the towerâs incubator again.
His red eyes glitter as he looks it over, staring. He should feel bad for it, it looks quiet young, but the way it walks around the room freely while he's stuck in this cramped position just makes him growl at it.
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? He'd try to convince this creature to let him out, but from the looks of things she's stuck too.
Its not fair. He thought he'd escaped this fate. Thought that with all the power he's accrued he'd never have to worry about hunters again. But here he is. The thought just makes him cry harder. He bangs his head on the cage, trying to hide his face, even as his sobs get more and more audible despite his best efforts to keep it down.
It panics in return, screeching back at him with fear in its eyes. It tries and tries to make him stop, but eventually retreats back to a corner, away from its former cozy pelt pile, cowering and shaking as it waits for Fleur to return.
Quiet footsteps follow down the stairs up the tower, the opposite of the wizardâs loud grumbles of annoyance.
He just ignores Trice, too upset to care about her or her panic. Not like being quiet is getting him out. And it hurts. He can already feel himself getting sore from the position he's been forced into.
Fleur storms into the room, bashing the pile of pelts that formerly held her guard with her tail in annoyance.
âThis is why I donât even make it anymore.â
She mutters at the cowering teen, huffing as she turns to Hemlock with a less aggressive expression.
âMake it an all nighter, why donât you?â
She was still talking to her Cockatrice, despite her glaring down the kitsune in front of her. As if he wasnât even worth the mention.
The dragoness pulls out another chain, once again reaching for Hemlock. âThis thing..â
Hatred in her voice for him, like one would describe a malfunctioning microwave.
He sniffles as she walks in, wishing he could wipe away his tears. He feels even more humiliated at the lack of acknowledgement as she complains to the smaller creature.
As soon as she reaches for him through hes growling and baring his fangs, ready to bite her the first chance he gets. He wants to break her bones and taste her blood.
She ignores him, reaching past his face like you would a snake you need to move.
Fleur pulls him to his feet once again, dragging the kitsune behind her. They begin up the stairs, grabbing a spell book from a shelf with their free hand.
Sheâd need to figure a few things out, keeping this thing from interrupting her rest. She reads silently as Hemlock stumbles behind her.
After a long while of walking, theyâd reached the higher room, somehow more disturbing than the downstairs. Open drawers of uncleaned saws and knives, and a wall of her notes on everything sheâd ever captured.
The right way to powder pixie wings, to remove a dragonâs horns and skin a golden ram. It was all in large writing, perfectly legible even in the mild lighting.
The newest note pinned on the wall was a sketch of hemlock, overlayed with text from a book on how to dock a tail. Like the pixies sheâd torn the wings off of, not even giving whatever sheâd caught mercy.
He fights hard as he's pulled along, trying to punch, or kick, or bite, or really do much of anything, but the moment they reach the room that all stops.
His eyes go wide, full of terror. He's seen horrible sights. He's committed massacres, seen the aftermath, witnessed fields of nothing but blood and bones and mangled flesh, but none of that had anything on this. Not to him at least. Its worse then anything his nightmares had been capable of cooking up.
He stares at the notes in utter horror, tails curling around himself. He's speechless. This is it. He's going to lose his tails. Tears fill his eyes again, the world getting blurry as he just mumbles "no" over and over again under his breath.
She pushes him down, adjusting the restraints around the kitsune with a demeaning response.
âYes.â
She said it in a way that almost sung, clicking her tongue happily as she goes to put on a pair of leather gloves. Sheâd get her way into even the most exclusive clubs. Finding a kitsune after all this timeâŠ
The dragon walks over to the cauldron in the corner, if only to fill a wooden bowl with a red potion of some kind.
"No, no, no, w-what i-if we m-made a d-deal?" He can't stop his voice from trembling, mind racing, trying to think of something worthwhile to offer. Its hard to think of anything when his eyes keep flicking back over to those notes. He still cant stop the tears that cloud his vision as he watches what shes doing.
She walks back over with the bowl, grabbing his face to try to pour it down his throat. Her claw slips on his chin, suddenly giving the kitsune more freedom to move.
The chains around his hands were still attached, but if he could only move the hook they hung on.
He grits his teeth and purses his lips together tightly, refusing to take whatever shes trying to give him. He pulls his head back to rip away from her before moving it forward to headbutt her hard. He adjusts his position as much as he can, stretching so much he hears his shoulders pop, but the fear keeps him going trying to unhook the chains or use them to pull himself up.
The dragon falls back, stunned by the impact. As he pulls away, the chains slip off the tableâs hook.
Fleur growls loudly as she pulls herself back up, grabbing one of the closest saws to use as a weapon.
His eyes glow bright as he growls, rushing at her semi-recklessly and slamming the chains into the saw blade.
"*Fuck you*."
She huffs, not giving him the pleasure of a response as his chains shattered.
They rush forward, clearly deciding that keeping him alive wasnât worth it at this point. If only she knew he had his magic back.
He can tell, the second its back, that connection reestablished. And he doesnt waste a second on using it. The entire room fills with red smoke and crystals shoot up from the floor creating a cage around Fleur. He makes sure the smoke doesn't get too close, not wanting the poison to kill her. That would be too quick and easy a death. His swords appear in his hands as his armor appears and his mask covers his face.
"Don't fucking touch me Hunter." He says it like its a slur.
She spits in response, growling. For the first time in years, she was back in a cage, but sheâd never let herself act like it.
Hemlock was exploring a new world, one he hadnt been to before. It feels nice here, he can practically taste the hum of magic in the air, the sweet smells that greet him. He'd gotten so used to spending time in worlds where magic is somewhat of a rarity that it feels nice to be somewhere that feels closer to his original home. He walks around aimlessly, soft grass cushioning each step, leaves keeping him shaded. The breeze tickles his bare arms as he walks around in a tank top and shorts, enjoying the sun.
He pauses for a moment, ears twitching as he hears a noise somewhere behind him.
- @variousvossivixens đ„
(For Fleur)
It was surprisingly small for the noise it made, a pixie.
Its wings were torn off, like some creature had been playing with it. The small fae chimes, running away from wherever it emerged with a weak light.
The poor thing wouldnât survive long out here, it barely saw Hemlock, only running in panic.
His eyes narrow and he darts at it, picking the poor thing up with surprising gentleness for how quick he'd grabbed it. He inspects it carefully, casting a healing spell to at least help with the pain, even if he can't regrow its wings.
"Hello there little one... what are you running from?"
Tails flicking as he longs around for the source of the pixies torment.
It shakes its head, curling up into a ball the second it feels hands around it.
It mumbles something in panic, begging to finally just be allowed to return home. It just wants to go home.
The fairy doesnât even recognize the different hands holding it, only begging and crying.
By the time Hemlock had begun to take apart its desperate requests, a wire cord tightens around his back paw, pulling him to the ground tightly.
It was mind numbing as it dug into his fur, feeling almost like he was a kit again. Woven from sparkling iridescent hair, just the sight of it made him feel sick. Even more than the stains of red spotting it.
"Hey, calm down, its okay, I'm not gonna-" He begins to reassure the fairy before he's caught, cursing in silent druidic as he hits the ground hard, barely managing to not hurt the small creature in his hand.
He doesn't know why the sight of the rope fills him with so much dread, but he knows he wants it off, off, off. He sits up quickly, setting the pixie down and leaning over to his leg to try and pull the hair off himself.
It pulls tighter, stinging. Heâs barely able to recognize its grip before something grabs him from behind, folding him over and tying his arms like the worldâs worst paper airplane.
A quiet feminine hum filled the air, muffling his cries.
Maybe the panic numbed his mind, or maybe whoever was capturing him knew what they were dealing with for once. Either way, it was terrifying, feeling himself lifted by the cord, shoved into a crate like an object, and already nailed in.
The worst part, after all the tugging and shoving, a clawed hand runs against his tail, with a gentleness no other part of him was given.
He whimpers, trying to teleport away and failing, something about the restraints creating a disconnect between him and both the magic in the nature around him, and the very magic within him. Its a horrible feeling. He flinches at the touch on his tails and hes suddenly reminded why his tails always go somewhere he can hold them when he's scared. Not being able to hold them close makes him squirm even more. He breathes heavily in the small space, nightmares of hunters flashing through his mind as he tries everything he can think of to free himself, running fully on animal instincts.
The box creaks and snaps, but heâs still just as trapped as the shards of wood make way for him to see where heâs going at least. Above the sides of the cart, the only structure nearby blocked out the sun.
A tower, a large one. It was carved out of white stone, seeming someplace youâd expect a dragon to be keeping a princess.
The cart pulls closer, the driver pulling the reins of a large monstrous lion. Their features were covered by a large pair of webbed draconic wings, other than a pair of horns that had been crudely sawed off.
Fleur stands off her seat as she pulls the cart to a stop. There was truly no place like home sweet home.
The draconian quickly begins to move her crates, different hisses and yelps following each one as theyâre lifted onto a smaller wagon. She finally reaches for Hemlock, seemingly unconcerned by the cracks in it.
He growls as they come to a stop, spitting out curses in multiple different languges.
"Let me out, you bitch, before I seperate your wings from your back and shove them down your fucking throat!"
He yells at the dragon woman as she grabs the crate, his terror only feeding his anger. He wishes his mom were here, she'd tear them to pieces for locking him up like this.
She acts as if heâs not audible, only reacting to seem amused at the uniqueness of his threat.
The creaking doors in front of them open as she begins to push the cart laden with crying creatures. The room awaiting them was split into two sides, a menagerie, and a stock.
The wall of cages seemed much more welcoming than the piles of werewolf fur, dragon claw, and Golden Fleece. Enough of each to keep any wizard or collector satisfied for quite a while.
Fleur opens the door to the cages and traps one by one, putting pixies on shelves and crying dryads into shackles. She tunes out every sound, only paying enough attention to inspect the surety of each enclosure.
She claws the crate holding Hemlock open, once again petting his tails in curiosity. Lucky and soft.
âI wonder if theyâre still growing.â
She mumbles to herself as she pulls him to a long and short cell, not daring to remove the restraints.
He squirms even more as she pets him, trying to pull his tails away and turn so he can bite her. Clearly she knows what shes doing as she avoids his teeth. Seeing the pelts and exactly how many creatures she has here does seem to shut him up, at least for now. He's definitely not going to answer her question, even though the fact the fifth tail is so short probably answers it for him. He goes limp as hes set in the cell, trying to tale in his surroundings and find a way out of this.
She quickly locks him in, adjusting everything with the same shackles put on dryads attached directly to the ground. It was claustrophobic.
Fleur walks away, smiling as she gives a small humanoid resting on the pile of selkie skin a gentle pat on its head.
âWatch the new orders. No sound, and Iâll give you some more of that potion.â
It blinks, nodding with a serious acknowledgment.
He whines as soon as she's gone, the reality of the situation finally setting in. A Hunter. The kind of person he's been terrified of since he was a small kit. They're nothing like he expected, not a human like he'd feared, they're worse.
He tries to break from of the restraints, hoping his metal arm will provide some help, but its no use. He tries to dismiss the arm to at least free his stump but nothing happens. Tries shifting out, creating a storm lockpick, teleporting, but no matter what he tries none of his magic comes to his aid. He even tries pleading with the Exception souls in his head, but all he's met with is silence.
"Please... I cant- dont take them..." He practically whispers it, tears slowly starting to fall as his anger fades, replaced with sorrow.
The golden eyed humanoid lifts its head up with a grunt, hissing at him harshly from its resting spot of selkie skin. Whatever it was, it was also chained into this room, despite its softer bed.
It seemed irritated by the crying and screaming, pulling at its hair quietly until it stands up to growl at its current roommates, pulling at the chain to walk closer to the cages.
It hated when they cried. When they cried, it got hurt. It didnât want that. It wanted the potion and it wanted to be let into the towerâs incubator again.
His red eyes glitter as he looks it over, staring. He should feel bad for it, it looks quiet young, but the way it walks around the room freely while he's stuck in this cramped position just makes him growl at it.
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? He'd try to convince this creature to let him out, but from the looks of things she's stuck too.
Its not fair. He thought he'd escaped this fate. Thought that with all the power he's accrued he'd never have to worry about hunters again. But here he is. The thought just makes him cry harder. He bangs his head on the cage, trying to hide his face, even as his sobs get more and more audible despite his best efforts to keep it down.
It panics in return, screeching back at him with fear in its eyes. It tries and tries to make him stop, but eventually retreats back to a corner, away from its former cozy pelt pile, cowering and shaking as it waits for Fleur to return.
Quiet footsteps follow down the stairs up the tower, the opposite of the wizardâs loud grumbles of annoyance.
He just ignores Trice, too upset to care about her or her panic. Not like being quiet is getting him out. And it hurts. He can already feel himself getting sore from the position he's been forced into.
Fleur storms into the room, bashing the pile of pelts that formerly held her guard with her tail in annoyance.
âThis is why I donât even make it anymore.â
She mutters at the cowering teen, huffing as she turns to Hemlock with a less aggressive expression.
âMake it an all nighter, why donât you?â
She was still talking to her Cockatrice, despite her glaring down the kitsune in front of her. As if he wasnât even worth the mention.
The dragoness pulls out another chain, once again reaching for Hemlock. âThis thing..â
Hatred in her voice for him, like one would describe a malfunctioning microwave.
He sniffles as she walks in, wishing he could wipe away his tears. He feels even more humiliated at the lack of acknowledgement as she complains to the smaller creature.
As soon as she reaches for him through hes growling and baring his fangs, ready to bite her the first chance he gets. He wants to break her bones and taste her blood.
She ignores him, reaching past his face like you would a snake you need to move.
Fleur pulls him to his feet once again, dragging the kitsune behind her. They begin up the stairs, grabbing a spell book from a shelf with their free hand.
Sheâd need to figure a few things out, keeping this thing from interrupting her rest. She reads silently as Hemlock stumbles behind her.
After a long while of walking, theyâd reached the higher room, somehow more disturbing than the downstairs. Open drawers of uncleaned saws and knives, and a wall of her notes on everything sheâd ever captured.
The right way to powder pixie wings, to remove a dragonâs horns and skin a golden ram. It was all in large writing, perfectly legible even in the mild lighting.
The newest note pinned on the wall was a sketch of hemlock, overlayed with text from a book on how to dock a tail. Like the pixies sheâd torn the wings off of, not even giving whatever sheâd caught mercy.
He fights hard as he's pulled along, trying to punch, or kick, or bite, or really do much of anything, but the moment they reach the room that all stops.
His eyes go wide, full of terror. He's seen horrible sights. He's committed massacres, seen the aftermath, witnessed fields of nothing but blood and bones and mangled flesh, but none of that had anything on this. Not to him at least. Its worse then anything his nightmares had been capable of cooking up.
He stares at the notes in utter horror, tails curling around himself. He's speechless. This is it. He's going to lose his tails. Tears fill his eyes again, the world getting blurry as he just mumbles "no" over and over again under his breath.
She pushes him down, adjusting the restraints around the kitsune with a demeaning response.
âYes.â
She said it in a way that almost sung, clicking her tongue happily as she goes to put on a pair of leather gloves. Sheâd get her way into even the most exclusive clubs. Finding a kitsune after all this timeâŠ
The dragon walks over to the cauldron in the corner, if only to fill a wooden bowl with a red potion of some kind.
"No, no, no, w-what i-if we m-made a d-deal?" He can't stop his voice from trembling, mind racing, trying to think of something worthwhile to offer. Its hard to think of anything when his eyes keep flicking back over to those notes. He still cant stop the tears that cloud his vision as he watches what shes doing.
She walks back over with the bowl, grabbing his face to try to pour it down his throat. Her claw slips on his chin, suddenly giving the kitsune more freedom to move.
The chains around his hands were still attached, but if he could only move the hook they hung on.
He grits his teeth and purses his lips together tightly, refusing to take whatever shes trying to give him. He pulls his head back to rip away from her before moving it forward to headbutt her hard. He adjusts his position as much as he can, stretching so much he hears his shoulders pop, but the fear keeps him going trying to unhook the chains or use them to pull himself up.
The dragon falls back, stunned by the impact. As he pulls away, the chains slip off the tableâs hook.
Fleur growls loudly as she pulls herself back up, grabbing one of the closest saws to use as a weapon.
His eyes glow bright as he growls, rushing at her semi-recklessly and slamming the chains into the saw blade.
"*Fuck you*."
She huffs, not giving him the pleasure of a response as his chains shattered.
They rush forward, clearly deciding that keeping him alive wasnât worth it at this point. If only she knew he had his magic back.
Hemlock was exploring a new world, one he hadnt been to before. It feels nice here, he can practically taste the hum of magic in the air, the sweet smells that greet him. He'd gotten so used to spending time in worlds where magic is somewhat of a rarity that it feels nice to be somewhere that feels closer to his original home. He walks around aimlessly, soft grass cushioning each step, leaves keeping him shaded. The breeze tickles his bare arms as he walks around in a tank top and shorts, enjoying the sun.
He pauses for a moment, ears twitching as he hears a noise somewhere behind him.
- @variousvossivixens đ„
(For Fleur)
It was surprisingly small for the noise it made, a pixie.
Its wings were torn off, like some creature had been playing with it. The small fae chimes, running away from wherever it emerged with a weak light.
The poor thing wouldnât survive long out here, it barely saw Hemlock, only running in panic.
His eyes narrow and he darts at it, picking the poor thing up with surprising gentleness for how quick he'd grabbed it. He inspects it carefully, casting a healing spell to at least help with the pain, even if he can't regrow its wings.
"Hello there little one... what are you running from?"
Tails flicking as he longs around for the source of the pixies torment.
It shakes its head, curling up into a ball the second it feels hands around it.
It mumbles something in panic, begging to finally just be allowed to return home. It just wants to go home.
The fairy doesnât even recognize the different hands holding it, only begging and crying.
By the time Hemlock had begun to take apart its desperate requests, a wire cord tightens around his back paw, pulling him to the ground tightly.
It was mind numbing as it dug into his fur, feeling almost like he was a kit again. Woven from sparkling iridescent hair, just the sight of it made him feel sick. Even more than the stains of red spotting it.
"Hey, calm down, its okay, I'm not gonna-" He begins to reassure the fairy before he's caught, cursing in silent druidic as he hits the ground hard, barely managing to not hurt the small creature in his hand.
He doesn't know why the sight of the rope fills him with so much dread, but he knows he wants it off, off, off. He sits up quickly, setting the pixie down and leaning over to his leg to try and pull the hair off himself.
It pulls tighter, stinging. Heâs barely able to recognize its grip before something grabs him from behind, folding him over and tying his arms like the worldâs worst paper airplane.
A quiet feminine hum filled the air, muffling his cries.
Maybe the panic numbed his mind, or maybe whoever was capturing him knew what they were dealing with for once. Either way, it was terrifying, feeling himself lifted by the cord, shoved into a crate like an object, and already nailed in.
The worst part, after all the tugging and shoving, a clawed hand runs against his tail, with a gentleness no other part of him was given.
He whimpers, trying to teleport away and failing, something about the restraints creating a disconnect between him and both the magic in the nature around him, and the very magic within him. Its a horrible feeling. He flinches at the touch on his tails and hes suddenly reminded why his tails always go somewhere he can hold them when he's scared. Not being able to hold them close makes him squirm even more. He breathes heavily in the small space, nightmares of hunters flashing through his mind as he tries everything he can think of to free himself, running fully on animal instincts.
The box creaks and snaps, but heâs still just as trapped as the shards of wood make way for him to see where heâs going at least. Above the sides of the cart, the only structure nearby blocked out the sun.
A tower, a large one. It was carved out of white stone, seeming someplace youâd expect a dragon to be keeping a princess.
The cart pulls closer, the driver pulling the reins of a large monstrous lion. Their features were covered by a large pair of webbed draconic wings, other than a pair of horns that had been crudely sawed off.
Fleur stands off her seat as she pulls the cart to a stop. There was truly no place like home sweet home.
The draconian quickly begins to move her crates, different hisses and yelps following each one as theyâre lifted onto a smaller wagon. She finally reaches for Hemlock, seemingly unconcerned by the cracks in it.
He growls as they come to a stop, spitting out curses in multiple different languges.
"Let me out, you bitch, before I seperate your wings from your back and shove them down your fucking throat!"
He yells at the dragon woman as she grabs the crate, his terror only feeding his anger. He wishes his mom were here, she'd tear them to pieces for locking him up like this.
She acts as if heâs not audible, only reacting to seem amused at the uniqueness of his threat.
The creaking doors in front of them open as she begins to push the cart laden with crying creatures. The room awaiting them was split into two sides, a menagerie, and a stock.
The wall of cages seemed much more welcoming than the piles of werewolf fur, dragon claw, and Golden Fleece. Enough of each to keep any wizard or collector satisfied for quite a while.
Fleur opens the door to the cages and traps one by one, putting pixies on shelves and crying dryads into shackles. She tunes out every sound, only paying enough attention to inspect the surety of each enclosure.
She claws the crate holding Hemlock open, once again petting his tails in curiosity. Lucky and soft.
âI wonder if theyâre still growing.â
She mumbles to herself as she pulls him to a long and short cell, not daring to remove the restraints.
He squirms even more as she pets him, trying to pull his tails away and turn so he can bite her. Clearly she knows what shes doing as she avoids his teeth. Seeing the pelts and exactly how many creatures she has here does seem to shut him up, at least for now. He's definitely not going to answer her question, even though the fact the fifth tail is so short probably answers it for him. He goes limp as hes set in the cell, trying to tale in his surroundings and find a way out of this.
She quickly locks him in, adjusting everything with the same shackles put on dryads attached directly to the ground. It was claustrophobic.
Fleur walks away, smiling as she gives a small humanoid resting on the pile of selkie skin a gentle pat on its head.
âWatch the new orders. No sound, and Iâll give you some more of that potion.â
It blinks, nodding with a serious acknowledgment.
He whines as soon as she's gone, the reality of the situation finally setting in. A Hunter. The kind of person he's been terrified of since he was a small kit. They're nothing like he expected, not a human like he'd feared, they're worse.
He tries to break from of the restraints, hoping his metal arm will provide some help, but its no use. He tries to dismiss the arm to at least free his stump but nothing happens. Tries shifting out, creating a storm lockpick, teleporting, but no matter what he tries none of his magic comes to his aid. He even tries pleading with the Exception souls in his head, but all he's met with is silence.
"Please... I cant- dont take them..." He practically whispers it, tears slowly starting to fall as his anger fades, replaced with sorrow.
The golden eyed humanoid lifts its head up with a grunt, hissing at him harshly from its resting spot of selkie skin. Whatever it was, it was also chained into this room, despite its softer bed.
It seemed irritated by the crying and screaming, pulling at its hair quietly until it stands up to growl at its current roommates, pulling at the chain to walk closer to the cages.
It hated when they cried. When they cried, it got hurt. It didnât want that. It wanted the potion and it wanted to be let into the towerâs incubator again.
His red eyes glitter as he looks it over, staring. He should feel bad for it, it looks quiet young, but the way it walks around the room freely while he's stuck in this cramped position just makes him growl at it.
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? He'd try to convince this creature to let him out, but from the looks of things she's stuck too.
Its not fair. He thought he'd escaped this fate. Thought that with all the power he's accrued he'd never have to worry about hunters again. But here he is. The thought just makes him cry harder. He bangs his head on the cage, trying to hide his face, even as his sobs get more and more audible despite his best efforts to keep it down.
It panics in return, screeching back at him with fear in its eyes. It tries and tries to make him stop, but eventually retreats back to a corner, away from its former cozy pelt pile, cowering and shaking as it waits for Fleur to return.
Quiet footsteps follow down the stairs up the tower, the opposite of the wizardâs loud grumbles of annoyance.
He just ignores Trice, too upset to care about her or her panic. Not like being quiet is getting him out. And it hurts. He can already feel himself getting sore from the position he's been forced into.
Fleur storms into the room, bashing the pile of pelts that formerly held her guard with her tail in annoyance.
âThis is why I donât even make it anymore.â
She mutters at the cowering teen, huffing as she turns to Hemlock with a less aggressive expression.
âMake it an all nighter, why donât you?â
She was still talking to her Cockatrice, despite her glaring down the kitsune in front of her. As if he wasnât even worth the mention.
The dragoness pulls out another chain, once again reaching for Hemlock. âThis thing..â
Hatred in her voice for him, like one would describe a malfunctioning microwave.
He sniffles as she walks in, wishing he could wipe away his tears. He feels even more humiliated at the lack of acknowledgement as she complains to the smaller creature.
As soon as she reaches for him through hes growling and baring his fangs, ready to bite her the first chance he gets. He wants to break her bones and taste her blood.
She ignores him, reaching past his face like you would a snake you need to move.
Fleur pulls him to his feet once again, dragging the kitsune behind her. They begin up the stairs, grabbing a spell book from a shelf with their free hand.
Sheâd need to figure a few things out, keeping this thing from interrupting her rest. She reads silently as Hemlock stumbles behind her.
After a long while of walking, theyâd reached the higher room, somehow more disturbing than the downstairs. Open drawers of uncleaned saws and knives, and a wall of her notes on everything sheâd ever captured.
The right way to powder pixie wings, to remove a dragonâs horns and skin a golden ram. It was all in large writing, perfectly legible even in the mild lighting.
The newest note pinned on the wall was a sketch of hemlock, overlayed with text from a book on how to dock a tail. Like the pixies sheâd torn the wings off of, not even giving whatever sheâd caught mercy.
He fights hard as he's pulled along, trying to punch, or kick, or bite, or really do much of anything, but the moment they reach the room that all stops.
His eyes go wide, full of terror. He's seen horrible sights. He's committed massacres, seen the aftermath, witnessed fields of nothing but blood and bones and mangled flesh, but none of that had anything on this. Not to him at least. Its worse then anything his nightmares had been capable of cooking up.
He stares at the notes in utter horror, tails curling around himself. He's speechless. This is it. He's going to lose his tails. Tears fill his eyes again, the world getting blurry as he just mumbles "no" over and over again under his breath.
She pushes him down, adjusting the restraints around the kitsune with a demeaning response.
âYes.â
She said it in a way that almost sung, clicking her tongue happily as she goes to put on a pair of leather gloves. Sheâd get her way into even the most exclusive clubs. Finding a kitsune after all this timeâŠ
The dragon walks over to the cauldron in the corner, if only to fill a wooden bowl with a red potion of some kind.
"No, no, no, w-what i-if we m-made a d-deal?" He can't stop his voice from trembling, mind racing, trying to think of something worthwhile to offer. Its hard to think of anything when his eyes keep flicking back over to those notes. He still cant stop the tears that cloud his vision as he watches what shes doing.
She walks back over with the bowl, grabbing his face to try to pour it down his throat. Her claw slips on his chin, suddenly giving the kitsune more freedom to move.
The chains around his hands were still attached, but if he could only move the hook they hung on.
He grits his teeth and purses his lips together tightly, refusing to take whatever shes trying to give him. He pulls his head back to rip away from her before moving it forward to headbutt her hard. He adjusts his position as much as he can, stretching so much he hears his shoulders pop, but the fear keeps him going trying to unhook the chains or use them to pull himself up.
The dragon falls back, stunned by the impact. As he pulls away, the chains slip off the tableâs hook.
Fleur growls loudly as she pulls herself back up, grabbing one of the closest saws to use as a weapon.
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Hemlock was exploring a new world, one he hadnt been to before. It feels nice here, he can practically taste the hum of magic in the air, the sweet smells that greet him. He'd gotten so used to spending time in worlds where magic is somewhat of a rarity that it feels nice to be somewhere that feels closer to his original home. He walks around aimlessly, soft grass cushioning each step, leaves keeping him shaded. The breeze tickles his bare arms as he walks around in a tank top and shorts, enjoying the sun.
He pauses for a moment, ears twitching as he hears a noise somewhere behind him.
- @variousvossivixens đ„
(For Fleur)
It was surprisingly small for the noise it made, a pixie.
Its wings were torn off, like some creature had been playing with it. The small fae chimes, running away from wherever it emerged with a weak light.
The poor thing wouldnât survive long out here, it barely saw Hemlock, only running in panic.
His eyes narrow and he darts at it, picking the poor thing up with surprising gentleness for how quick he'd grabbed it. He inspects it carefully, casting a healing spell to at least help with the pain, even if he can't regrow its wings.
"Hello there little one... what are you running from?"
Tails flicking as he longs around for the source of the pixies torment.
It shakes its head, curling up into a ball the second it feels hands around it.
It mumbles something in panic, begging to finally just be allowed to return home. It just wants to go home.
The fairy doesnât even recognize the different hands holding it, only begging and crying.
By the time Hemlock had begun to take apart its desperate requests, a wire cord tightens around his back paw, pulling him to the ground tightly.
It was mind numbing as it dug into his fur, feeling almost like he was a kit again. Woven from sparkling iridescent hair, just the sight of it made him feel sick. Even more than the stains of red spotting it.
"Hey, calm down, its okay, I'm not gonna-" He begins to reassure the fairy before he's caught, cursing in silent druidic as he hits the ground hard, barely managing to not hurt the small creature in his hand.
He doesn't know why the sight of the rope fills him with so much dread, but he knows he wants it off, off, off. He sits up quickly, setting the pixie down and leaning over to his leg to try and pull the hair off himself.
It pulls tighter, stinging. Heâs barely able to recognize its grip before something grabs him from behind, folding him over and tying his arms like the worldâs worst paper airplane.
A quiet feminine hum filled the air, muffling his cries.
Maybe the panic numbed his mind, or maybe whoever was capturing him knew what they were dealing with for once. Either way, it was terrifying, feeling himself lifted by the cord, shoved into a crate like an object, and already nailed in.
The worst part, after all the tugging and shoving, a clawed hand runs against his tail, with a gentleness no other part of him was given.
He whimpers, trying to teleport away and failing, something about the restraints creating a disconnect between him and both the magic in the nature around him, and the very magic within him. Its a horrible feeling. He flinches at the touch on his tails and hes suddenly reminded why his tails always go somewhere he can hold them when he's scared. Not being able to hold them close makes him squirm even more. He breathes heavily in the small space, nightmares of hunters flashing through his mind as he tries everything he can think of to free himself, running fully on animal instincts.
The box creaks and snaps, but heâs still just as trapped as the shards of wood make way for him to see where heâs going at least. Above the sides of the cart, the only structure nearby blocked out the sun.
A tower, a large one. It was carved out of white stone, seeming someplace youâd expect a dragon to be keeping a princess.
The cart pulls closer, the driver pulling the reins of a large monstrous lion. Their features were covered by a large pair of webbed draconic wings, other than a pair of horns that had been crudely sawed off.
Fleur stands off her seat as she pulls the cart to a stop. There was truly no place like home sweet home.
The draconian quickly begins to move her crates, different hisses and yelps following each one as theyâre lifted onto a smaller wagon. She finally reaches for Hemlock, seemingly unconcerned by the cracks in it.
He growls as they come to a stop, spitting out curses in multiple different languges.
"Let me out, you bitch, before I seperate your wings from your back and shove them down your fucking throat!"
He yells at the dragon woman as she grabs the crate, his terror only feeding his anger. He wishes his mom were here, she'd tear them to pieces for locking him up like this.
She acts as if heâs not audible, only reacting to seem amused at the uniqueness of his threat.
The creaking doors in front of them open as she begins to push the cart laden with crying creatures. The room awaiting them was split into two sides, a menagerie, and a stock.
The wall of cages seemed much more welcoming than the piles of werewolf fur, dragon claw, and Golden Fleece. Enough of each to keep any wizard or collector satisfied for quite a while.
Fleur opens the door to the cages and traps one by one, putting pixies on shelves and crying dryads into shackles. She tunes out every sound, only paying enough attention to inspect the surety of each enclosure.
She claws the crate holding Hemlock open, once again petting his tails in curiosity. Lucky and soft.
âI wonder if theyâre still growing.â
She mumbles to herself as she pulls him to a long and short cell, not daring to remove the restraints.
He squirms even more as she pets him, trying to pull his tails away and turn so he can bite her. Clearly she knows what shes doing as she avoids his teeth. Seeing the pelts and exactly how many creatures she has here does seem to shut him up, at least for now. He's definitely not going to answer her question, even though the fact the fifth tail is so short probably answers it for him. He goes limp as hes set in the cell, trying to tale in his surroundings and find a way out of this.
She quickly locks him in, adjusting everything with the same shackles put on dryads attached directly to the ground. It was claustrophobic.
Fleur walks away, smiling as she gives a small humanoid resting on the pile of selkie skin a gentle pat on its head.
âWatch the new orders. No sound, and Iâll give you some more of that potion.â
It blinks, nodding with a serious acknowledgment.
He whines as soon as she's gone, the reality of the situation finally setting in. A Hunter. The kind of person he's been terrified of since he was a small kit. They're nothing like he expected, not a human like he'd feared, they're worse.
He tries to break from of the restraints, hoping his metal arm will provide some help, but its no use. He tries to dismiss the arm to at least free his stump but nothing happens. Tries shifting out, creating a storm lockpick, teleporting, but no matter what he tries none of his magic comes to his aid. He even tries pleading with the Exception souls in his head, but all he's met with is silence.
"Please... I cant- dont take them..." He practically whispers it, tears slowly starting to fall as his anger fades, replaced with sorrow.
The golden eyed humanoid lifts its head up with a grunt, hissing at him harshly from its resting spot of selkie skin. Whatever it was, it was also chained into this room, despite its softer bed.
It seemed irritated by the crying and screaming, pulling at its hair quietly until it stands up to growl at its current roommates, pulling at the chain to walk closer to the cages.
It hated when they cried. When they cried, it got hurt. It didnât want that. It wanted the potion and it wanted to be let into the towerâs incubator again.
His red eyes glitter as he looks it over, staring. He should feel bad for it, it looks quiet young, but the way it walks around the room freely while he's stuck in this cramped position just makes him growl at it.
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? He'd try to convince this creature to let him out, but from the looks of things she's stuck too.
Its not fair. He thought he'd escaped this fate. Thought that with all the power he's accrued he'd never have to worry about hunters again. But here he is. The thought just makes him cry harder. He bangs his head on the cage, trying to hide his face, even as his sobs get more and more audible despite his best efforts to keep it down.
It panics in return, screeching back at him with fear in its eyes. It tries and tries to make him stop, but eventually retreats back to a corner, away from its former cozy pelt pile, cowering and shaking as it waits for Fleur to return.
Quiet footsteps follow down the stairs up the tower, the opposite of the wizardâs loud grumbles of annoyance.
He just ignores Trice, too upset to care about her or her panic. Not like being quiet is getting him out. And it hurts. He can already feel himself getting sore from the position he's been forced into.
Fleur storms into the room, bashing the pile of pelts that formerly held her guard with her tail in annoyance.
âThis is why I donât even make it anymore.â
She mutters at the cowering teen, huffing as she turns to Hemlock with a less aggressive expression.
âMake it an all nighter, why donât you?â
She was still talking to her Cockatrice, despite her glaring down the kitsune in front of her. As if he wasnât even worth the mention.
The dragoness pulls out another chain, once again reaching for Hemlock. âThis thing..â
Hatred in her voice for him, like one would describe a malfunctioning microwave.
He sniffles as she walks in, wishing he could wipe away his tears. He feels even more humiliated at the lack of acknowledgement as she complains to the smaller creature.
As soon as she reaches for him through hes growling and baring his fangs, ready to bite her the first chance he gets. He wants to break her bones and taste her blood.
She ignores him, reaching past his face like you would a snake you need to move.
Fleur pulls him to his feet once again, dragging the kitsune behind her. They begin up the stairs, grabbing a spell book from a shelf with their free hand.
Sheâd need to figure a few things out, keeping this thing from interrupting her rest. She reads silently as Hemlock stumbles behind her.
After a long while of walking, theyâd reached the higher room, somehow more disturbing than the downstairs. Open drawers of uncleaned saws and knives, and a wall of her notes on everything sheâd ever captured.
The right way to powder pixie wings, to remove a dragonâs horns and skin a golden ram. It was all in large writing, perfectly legible even in the mild lighting.
The newest note pinned on the wall was a sketch of hemlock, overlayed with text from a book on how to dock a tail. Like the pixies sheâd torn the wings off of, not even giving whatever sheâd caught mercy.
He fights hard as he's pulled along, trying to punch, or kick, or bite, or really do much of anything, but the moment they reach the room that all stops.
His eyes go wide, full of terror. He's seen horrible sights. He's committed massacres, seen the aftermath, witnessed fields of nothing but blood and bones and mangled flesh, but none of that had anything on this. Not to him at least. Its worse then anything his nightmares had been capable of cooking up.
He stares at the notes in utter horror, tails curling around himself. He's speechless. This is it. He's going to lose his tails. Tears fill his eyes again, the world getting blurry as he just mumbles "no" over and over again under his breath.
She pushes him down, adjusting the restraints around the kitsune with a demeaning response.
âYes.â
She said it in a way that almost sung, clicking her tongue happily as she goes to put on a pair of leather gloves. Sheâd get her way into even the most exclusive clubs. Finding a kitsune after all this timeâŠ
The dragon walks over to the cauldron in the corner, if only to fill a wooden bowl with a red potion of some kind.
"No, no, no, w-what i-if we m-made a d-deal?" He can't stop his voice from trembling, mind racing, trying to think of something worthwhile to offer. Its hard to think of anything when his eyes keep flicking back over to those notes. He still cant stop the tears that cloud his vision as he watches what shes doing.
She walks back over with the bowl, grabbing his face to try to pour it down his throat. Her claw slips on his chin, suddenly giving the kitsune more freedom to move.
The chains around his hands were still attached, but if he could only move the hook they hung on.
Hemlock was exploring a new world, one he hadnt been to before. It feels nice here, he can practically taste the hum of magic in the air, the sweet smells that greet him. He'd gotten so used to spending time in worlds where magic is somewhat of a rarity that it feels nice to be somewhere that feels closer to his original home. He walks around aimlessly, soft grass cushioning each step, leaves keeping him shaded. The breeze tickles his bare arms as he walks around in a tank top and shorts, enjoying the sun.
He pauses for a moment, ears twitching as he hears a noise somewhere behind him.
- @variousvossivixens đ„
(For Fleur)
It was surprisingly small for the noise it made, a pixie.
Its wings were torn off, like some creature had been playing with it. The small fae chimes, running away from wherever it emerged with a weak light.
The poor thing wouldnât survive long out here, it barely saw Hemlock, only running in panic.
His eyes narrow and he darts at it, picking the poor thing up with surprising gentleness for how quick he'd grabbed it. He inspects it carefully, casting a healing spell to at least help with the pain, even if he can't regrow its wings.
"Hello there little one... what are you running from?"
Tails flicking as he longs around for the source of the pixies torment.
It shakes its head, curling up into a ball the second it feels hands around it.
It mumbles something in panic, begging to finally just be allowed to return home. It just wants to go home.
The fairy doesnât even recognize the different hands holding it, only begging and crying.
By the time Hemlock had begun to take apart its desperate requests, a wire cord tightens around his back paw, pulling him to the ground tightly.
It was mind numbing as it dug into his fur, feeling almost like he was a kit again. Woven from sparkling iridescent hair, just the sight of it made him feel sick. Even more than the stains of red spotting it.
"Hey, calm down, its okay, I'm not gonna-" He begins to reassure the fairy before he's caught, cursing in silent druidic as he hits the ground hard, barely managing to not hurt the small creature in his hand.
He doesn't know why the sight of the rope fills him with so much dread, but he knows he wants it off, off, off. He sits up quickly, setting the pixie down and leaning over to his leg to try and pull the hair off himself.
It pulls tighter, stinging. Heâs barely able to recognize its grip before something grabs him from behind, folding him over and tying his arms like the worldâs worst paper airplane.
A quiet feminine hum filled the air, muffling his cries.
Maybe the panic numbed his mind, or maybe whoever was capturing him knew what they were dealing with for once. Either way, it was terrifying, feeling himself lifted by the cord, shoved into a crate like an object, and already nailed in.
The worst part, after all the tugging and shoving, a clawed hand runs against his tail, with a gentleness no other part of him was given.
He whimpers, trying to teleport away and failing, something about the restraints creating a disconnect between him and both the magic in the nature around him, and the very magic within him. Its a horrible feeling. He flinches at the touch on his tails and hes suddenly reminded why his tails always go somewhere he can hold them when he's scared. Not being able to hold them close makes him squirm even more. He breathes heavily in the small space, nightmares of hunters flashing through his mind as he tries everything he can think of to free himself, running fully on animal instincts.
The box creaks and snaps, but heâs still just as trapped as the shards of wood make way for him to see where heâs going at least. Above the sides of the cart, the only structure nearby blocked out the sun.
A tower, a large one. It was carved out of white stone, seeming someplace youâd expect a dragon to be keeping a princess.
The cart pulls closer, the driver pulling the reins of a large monstrous lion. Their features were covered by a large pair of webbed draconic wings, other than a pair of horns that had been crudely sawed off.
Fleur stands off her seat as she pulls the cart to a stop. There was truly no place like home sweet home.
The draconian quickly begins to move her crates, different hisses and yelps following each one as theyâre lifted onto a smaller wagon. She finally reaches for Hemlock, seemingly unconcerned by the cracks in it.
He growls as they come to a stop, spitting out curses in multiple different languges.
"Let me out, you bitch, before I seperate your wings from your back and shove them down your fucking throat!"
He yells at the dragon woman as she grabs the crate, his terror only feeding his anger. He wishes his mom were here, she'd tear them to pieces for locking him up like this.
She acts as if heâs not audible, only reacting to seem amused at the uniqueness of his threat.
The creaking doors in front of them open as she begins to push the cart laden with crying creatures. The room awaiting them was split into two sides, a menagerie, and a stock.
The wall of cages seemed much more welcoming than the piles of werewolf fur, dragon claw, and Golden Fleece. Enough of each to keep any wizard or collector satisfied for quite a while.
Fleur opens the door to the cages and traps one by one, putting pixies on shelves and crying dryads into shackles. She tunes out every sound, only paying enough attention to inspect the surety of each enclosure.
She claws the crate holding Hemlock open, once again petting his tails in curiosity. Lucky and soft.
âI wonder if theyâre still growing.â
She mumbles to herself as she pulls him to a long and short cell, not daring to remove the restraints.
He squirms even more as she pets him, trying to pull his tails away and turn so he can bite her. Clearly she knows what shes doing as she avoids his teeth. Seeing the pelts and exactly how many creatures she has here does seem to shut him up, at least for now. He's definitely not going to answer her question, even though the fact the fifth tail is so short probably answers it for him. He goes limp as hes set in the cell, trying to tale in his surroundings and find a way out of this.
She quickly locks him in, adjusting everything with the same shackles put on dryads attached directly to the ground. It was claustrophobic.
Fleur walks away, smiling as she gives a small humanoid resting on the pile of selkie skin a gentle pat on its head.
âWatch the new orders. No sound, and Iâll give you some more of that potion.â
It blinks, nodding with a serious acknowledgment.
He whines as soon as she's gone, the reality of the situation finally setting in. A Hunter. The kind of person he's been terrified of since he was a small kit. They're nothing like he expected, not a human like he'd feared, they're worse.
He tries to break from of the restraints, hoping his metal arm will provide some help, but its no use. He tries to dismiss the arm to at least free his stump but nothing happens. Tries shifting out, creating a storm lockpick, teleporting, but no matter what he tries none of his magic comes to his aid. He even tries pleading with the Exception souls in his head, but all he's met with is silence.
"Please... I cant- dont take them..." He practically whispers it, tears slowly starting to fall as his anger fades, replaced with sorrow.
The golden eyed humanoid lifts its head up with a grunt, hissing at him harshly from its resting spot of selkie skin. Whatever it was, it was also chained into this room, despite its softer bed.
It seemed irritated by the crying and screaming, pulling at its hair quietly until it stands up to growl at its current roommates, pulling at the chain to walk closer to the cages.
It hated when they cried. When they cried, it got hurt. It didnât want that. It wanted the potion and it wanted to be let into the towerâs incubator again.
His red eyes glitter as he looks it over, staring. He should feel bad for it, it looks quiet young, but the way it walks around the room freely while he's stuck in this cramped position just makes him growl at it.
He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? He'd try to convince this creature to let him out, but from the looks of things she's stuck too.
Its not fair. He thought he'd escaped this fate. Thought that with all the power he's accrued he'd never have to worry about hunters again. But here he is. The thought just makes him cry harder. He bangs his head on the cage, trying to hide his face, even as his sobs get more and more audible despite his best efforts to keep it down.
It panics in return, screeching back at him with fear in its eyes. It tries and tries to make him stop, but eventually retreats back to a corner, away from its former cozy pelt pile, cowering and shaking as it waits for Fleur to return.
Quiet footsteps follow down the stairs up the tower, the opposite of the wizardâs loud grumbles of annoyance.
He just ignores Trice, too upset to care about her or her panic. Not like being quiet is getting him out. And it hurts. He can already feel himself getting sore from the position he's been forced into.
Fleur storms into the room, bashing the pile of pelts that formerly held her guard with her tail in annoyance.
âThis is why I donât even make it anymore.â
She mutters at the cowering teen, huffing as she turns to Hemlock with a less aggressive expression.
âMake it an all nighter, why donât you?â
She was still talking to her Cockatrice, despite her glaring down the kitsune in front of her. As if he wasnât even worth the mention.
The dragoness pulls out another chain, once again reaching for Hemlock. âThis thing..â
Hatred in her voice for him, like one would describe a malfunctioning microwave.
He sniffles as she walks in, wishing he could wipe away his tears. He feels even more humiliated at the lack of acknowledgement as she complains to the smaller creature.
As soon as she reaches for him through hes growling and baring his fangs, ready to bite her the first chance he gets. He wants to break her bones and taste her blood.
She ignores him, reaching past his face like you would a snake you need to move.
Fleur pulls him to his feet once again, dragging the kitsune behind her. They begin up the stairs, grabbing a spell book from a shelf with their free hand.
Sheâd need to figure a few things out, keeping this thing from interrupting her rest. She reads silently as Hemlock stumbles behind her.
After a long while of walking, theyâd reached the higher room, somehow more disturbing than the downstairs. Open drawers of uncleaned saws and knives, and a wall of her notes on everything sheâd ever captured.
The right way to powder pixie wings, to remove a dragonâs horns and skin a golden ram. It was all in large writing, perfectly legible even in the mild lighting.
The newest note pinned on the wall was a sketch of hemlock, overlayed with text from a book on how to dock a tail. Like the pixies sheâd torn the wings off of, not even giving whatever sheâd caught mercy.
He fights hard as he's pulled along, trying to punch, or kick, or bite, or really do much of anything, but the moment they reach the room that all stops.
His eyes go wide, full of terror. He's seen horrible sights. He's committed massacres, seen the aftermath, witnessed fields of nothing but blood and bones and mangled flesh, but none of that had anything on this. Not to him at least. Its worse then anything his nightmares had been capable of cooking up.
He stares at the notes in utter horror, tails curling around himself. He's speechless. This is it. He's going to lose his tails. Tears fill his eyes again, the world getting blurry as he just mumbles "no" over and over again under his breath.
She pushes him down, adjusting the restraints around the kitsune with a demeaning response.
âYes.â
She said it in a way that almost sung, clicking her tongue happily as she goes to put on a pair of leather gloves. Sheâd get her way into even the most exclusive clubs. Finding a kitsune after all this timeâŠ
The dragon walks over to the cauldron in the corner, if only to fill a wooden bowl with a red potion of some kind.
