#elliot cfd

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The forced march to the Starfall Isles took six days. The dead don’t transform, and only half of the army had wings. But corpses don’t tire, and a steady 24 hour march was enough to see the pink crystal spires breach the horizon after the sixth morning. 

The parasite walked with the rest of the bipedal troops. It moved in a daze, just another limb for the Shade to control, unaware of its surroundings. The lack of tactile feedback and the constant, rhythmic thud of feet drowned out everything, making the outside world recede into the vaguest impression of sunlight and dust. 

Desert turned to grass. The horde stopped as one, in silence. A faint crackle of magic roused the parasite. It tried to turn, but the thick bandage around its neck restricted its movements. It pawed at the bandage and felt the outline of the wound beneath. Its instincts told it that it should be breathless and its heart should have been pounding, but there was nothing. The body was as responsive as a lump of clay, where Leo had been so vibrant and bright and alive. 

Skydancer passed on the right. We are one, it said, a little admonishingly. There is no Leo here. 

The parasite couldn’t nod past the bandage. It broadcast its assent instead, clumsily, unused to telepathy. There was an entire psychic web stretched throughout the army, linking the bodies of the horde together. 

“Where are we?” the parasite said. It took a moment for it to find its tongue. An echo of taste flooded its mouth; dirt and sand, something old and dusty. It coughed weakly and felt something shift in its chest. 

With a frown, Skydancer turned away.

The rest of the horde pinned its many-eyed gaze on the parasite, silently warning it from further speech. It closed its dry mouth, then refused.

“No - I don’t understand,” the parasite rasped, more forcefully. “Tell me where we are!”

Skydancer approached, gazing down at the parasite. It spoke with words this time, though its voice was far smoother and less dead-sounding than the parasite’s. “We follow our mistress.”

We follow our mistress, the horde echoed. 

The parasite had to turn its whole body to scan its surroundings, its neck was so stiff. 

The horde had come to a halt on the crest of a hill. Far below, the land stretched away into a bewildering maze of tents and pavilions organised around the crystal spires. Everything was so neatly organised compared to what the parasite knew; these tents were arranged in strict grids. Trenches were dug into the ground around it. To the east, opposite the setting sun, was a line of enormous metal things, some kind of machinery. 

In the centre of the city-sized barracks was a larger structure, bigger and grander, and the banners that flew from it were purple and marked with moths. Noise rose from the barracks, a constant hum, and despite nightfall the roads between the tents were packed with dragons. 

The horde had begun digging itself in. The bodies would wait underground for Aiteal to call them.

The parasite’s first memory since the event involved clawing its way out of the dirt, surrounded by others doing so. It had no desire to go back underground. It wanted a bed, and the warmth of a fire - though it wasn’t sure if it could feel such things any more. The cold of the previous evenings had meant nothing to it, anyway. 

“Mistress,” Skydancer said suddenly, sweeping into a low bow. 

Aiteal approached from the west, the setting sun at her back. The parasite found that it could stare into the sunlight without suffering any harm, which was certainly preferable to staring at Aiteal anyway. It shrank back from her, the enormous power that menaced the air around her. 

“You haven’t had any trouble, I hope,” Aiteal said. Beside her was a second skydancer, but this one was alive. He held a clipboard and pen and seemed unwilling to approach the undead, half-hiding behind Aiteal. 

“No, mistress,” Skydancer said. It hesitated a moment. “I shielded the horde successfully, mistress. Could you... could you name me?” 

The parasite shifted closer, trying to be unobtrusive. So much for Skydancer’s we are one talk. It wanted its individuality as much as the parasite did. 

Aiteal gazed at Skydancer for a long time. Then she nodded. “Elliot,” she said, and the word rang in some distant part of the parasite’s body. 

Elliot bowed even lower, his feathers quivering with delight. “Thank you, mistress.” Already he seemed distinct, more alive than before (despite being literally a reanimated corpse), and his portion of the telepathic web seemed to fade. 

Aiteal gestured at the horde and addressed the living skydancer. “You see, they are all here. I have six hundred of them, of all breeds. This should be more than enough to sustain the Commander. But I refuse to let him have them if he can’t uphold his side of our bargain.”

“I see, well, that’s only to be expected,” the living skydancer said. “We’ll meet with him for our evening meal. Do the, er... does the horde need anything? Food of some kind?”

“No. They do not.” Aiteal turned to go.

The parasite frowned at her back, but its brief moment of cognizance seemed to be fading. It had to dig now, it had to return to the dirt...

Elliot watched Aiteal go, his longing suffusing the hivemind. As Aiteal left, Elliot dulled again. His thoughts turned outwards and he became Skydancer again. Nameless, part of the horde. 

Names are important, the parasite told itself. Skydancer had no power over its own name, but the parasite was different. The parasite hadn’t been in the horde longer than six days. 

It snatched a word from its borrowed memories. Something from Leo’s past, something to help it reconnect. It seized the first that came to mind. 

“Reginald,” it said. Its hands stopped scooping dirt and it sat back, at the edge of the hole it had unknowingly excavated. “What a fucking... what a name. Okay.” It shook its head, clearing it. What was it doing, digging like that? It wanted a bed. It wanted firelight. It wanted to find out what the fuck was going on in this strange landscape. 

it rose to its feet and strode down the hill. No one stopped it. No one even questioned it. Chanting the name like a spell under its breath, it descended into the edge of the encampment. 

There was Aiteal. She was still with the living skydancer, but now both were accompanied by a huge golden guardian, a dragon so big that he had to carefully pick his way over the tents. Reginald eyed the dragon warily - he was so big, and Reginald was so small. It didn’t know what kind of dragon it was now - a wildclaw, surely? But the lack of sickle claws told it otherwise. That hardly mattered any more, anyway, since it would never be able to shapeshift again. 

Workers and soldiers cast Reginald strange looks, but didn’t stop to question its presence. It trailed after Aiteal, close enough to hear what she said. She didn’t bother to lower her voice. 

“Yes, indeed. They are excellent labourers, though the older ones might need patching up before they get to work. I can restore their bodies to functionality.”

“Excellent,” the living skydancer said. “We’ll have them carrying our gear when we move, or pulling the cannons. The Commander will be pleased to hear of this - you see, his population of mages may suffice to sustain his body, but they are worthless when it comes to manual labour. We’d be killing two birds with one stone, taking on your undead.”

A sharp, shocking smell brought Reginald up short. It had just passed a long, open-sided pavilion that rang with the noise of plates and cutlery. The smell was... indescribable. Reginald ducked into the pavilion without hesitation, staring out at the food arranged on the long tables with greedy eyes. 

eventually he became the subject of her very first shade-control spell. she introduced him to a shade parasite and used her influence over it to try to turn him into a mindless slave. it didn’t quite work and he died. now he’s similar to Scratch and Sketch, he’s a corpse animated by the shade. but Sketch and Scratch are the ‘natural’ result of shade parasitism - they ate up their hosts and now take form around the hosts’ skeletons. Elliot’s parasitism was artificial, and he died prematurely (aka before the parasite consumed his body). meaning that his body is still very much intact, but dead, and would be rotten if Aiteal hadn’t preserved it. his personality is still that of the obedient servant and he is incapable of disobeying her, though he has no memory of his past life