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It's such a palaver getting pebbles and dust all over the floor, the other races don't have to put up with this, a little nick and their blood has to pool before gravity has any involvement, she's always been so envious of that. Meanwhile for her a little scrape is such a drama, just knowing she has to get the dustpan and brush out immediately is like, it's nothing in the grand scheme but like, uugghh. Especially for her ADHD brain, needing to put a task on hold, there's a non-zero chance it won't be picked up again for many years.She's been applying pressure to the cut for a minute or two now with her hand, she slowly removes it from the back of her arm, to find a amethyst lump, of crystals mind, has now covered the wound. Well wound is selling it, but that's what she means! It's the smallest nick!!! But everything has to stop, battle stations! Least it wasn't a nose leak, having a crystal cluster stuck up there for a day is some right piss. Better yet these nicks often leave scars behind, by the time you get to this Dwarves age, you carry blotches all over your skin, in a deep colour of your Mineral. It’s very rare you get to middle age with the pale hue of your Mineral, the “Baby Colours” as it’s called, in-tact.But such is the nature of a Dwarf like Gossier, she studies the purple blotches on her skin, a sure sign of her Amethystian heritage, before peering into the mirror. Typically an Amethyst Dwarf would have the purple drapes to match, though Gossier has always dyed her hair, facial and dome, a vibrant yellow with red and blue highlights. Some people are content with a little Pansexual pin on their shirt, but Gossier has always been a little dramatic about it.Has always been a little dramatic about it.I mean isn’t that everything? Isn’t that what explains her current predicament and exile? But she’s never really coped with living any other way. Call it determination of will, or sunken cost fallacy, she picks up the box of tools in front of her as she carries it to the other room, where an anxious Monster awaits her. A little fox thing, missing some of their fingers and nicks in their ears. To the ones who reside in the High Realms, this is as much distinction between the Monsters as they can fathom, their complexities and diversities are just kind of consolidated into “Monster” typically. Now you say a Dwarf and Elf are alike? Well boy howdy, you better be ready for a stern talking to mister! But what are the differences between an Eagle and a Goat really? Details, even to the ones who mean well, it’s a viewpoint that’s tough to shake off.―Sorry for the wait! Just nicked myself on something, but here’s all the tools to help with the housing repair. The Dwarf explains. Modded for Monster use of course! Now that just means the Stones inside are pre charged, so when it stops working just try and find a nearby Gnome to reinstate power to the Stones. It might be an odd concept to get used to at first!―Thank you so much Gossier. But, it’s not that hard to understand, I mean it sounds like a battery. The Fox replies.―Well yes it is a battery! Do you have stones that act like this in the Monster world!?―Oh no, I mean they’re usually these little cylinders and boxes…―With Gems inside them?―Well it’s more… like a dust? Then the electric just kind of conducts until the dust is gone, I guess?―Haha oh how novel! Monsters are so fascinating.The Fox kind of nervously laughs in confusion, as they take the box of tools and heads out of the warehouse.Gossier goes on over to the drink machines by all the admin stuff in the reception of the warehouse. There’s machines for the Monsters, Coffee machines, water heaters and even a soda dispenser! But one for the Dwarfs too, which dispenses… Well, I mean it's Lava isn’t it? But with a special kind of mineral, Hacauxlite, mined for its flavour and has a low melting point of 100°C. There’s even a rhinestone dispenser if you want a little extra kick of flavour on top of your cuppa Hash! Needless to say if a Monster drank it, they would suffocate and die!Gossier steps back outside, brew in hand, as she surveys the effort to establish her Monster refuge. There was an influx of Monsters appearing from their realm into this one, all sudden like. It turns out there was a terrible war going on where they came and some hearing of the High realms wanted to take their chances here instead. Now the funny thing was a lot of these refugees left their home Human, but you may already be able to theorise the very contradiction in that. If Human is a state to be maintained, based on the fact they are the only Real things in this world and the Monsters are a divergent state to be suppressed and destroyed, well simply acknowledging the High Realms as a real place to flee too is in contradiction of this dogma. They arrived, losing their Humanity immediately.The Dwarfs were quick to take Monsters under their wing, the only beings in the High Realms who even acknowledge the radical concept of “High Fantasy cities should be home to more than once race” and split them amongst the Dwarf Unions and provided work and housing. Not all Union terms for amnesty were equal however and trying to maintain a workload equal to the abilities of a Dwarf resulted in exhaustion and very likely injury and death. Their reward for putting up with these conditions? Or if Monsters even dared stand up for themselves? Banishment and exile.Now, the Amethyst Union was always one of the more accommodating ones for the Monsters, why couldn’t they be the ones to take them in? To Gossier it made so much sense! They’re one of the small unions, always shot down at the table during the big meets, wouldn’t this be a perfect way to show their greatest quality of their labour? Their empathy? It just made so much sense to her! But she can remember when her idealism came to a screeching haltThis union was established for the enrichment of the Amethyst Dwarves!Idealist thinking, we don’t have the resources to support the excess Monster intakeLet’s just focus on our Monsters first ey?We’re a Union, not an Anarchist Hippie Wippie club!We’re not here to antagonist the other Unions.They’d think we’re making a statement against them by collecting their Exiles.Solidarity and Unity is our most important tool against the Elves and like.Is this a pet project for you? Where is your love for the collective?We do not tolerate individual pursuits.What happened to the bright eyed child singing those songs with her family?Your ancestors were proud Union folks, what would they say to this?Do you love these Monsters more than your Union?I thought better of you. Better of the Fuciastone family. Did you consult with them?Let’s take the vote but it’s clear to me what it’s going to be.All those Aye and all those Nos?Sorry Gossier, we cannot divert resources to this naive pursuit.You’re just a wee pup, you’ll learn what’s important to a Union when you grow up.If you love them so much, take them in yourself!Alright settle down, now for our next item….It’s the smash into the window feelings, that maybe they were right, maybe she misinterpreted what the Union stood for this entire time. It’s a hot feeling of embarrassment, a violation, that someone has reached in and recontextualised the person she had been up to that point. She grabs onto her work jacket with her free hand, the standard issue for the Amethyst union, that she always carried and wore with pride. The beanie that covers the hair net that suppresses her locks, carrying that little purple logo to let everyone know who she is and always was, a Union Girl. Her most formative memories were being young and being hoisted on a family member's shoulders, trying desperately to remember the words to the songs about the Union that roared through the crowd, as they marched on strike, refusing to give the Elves their labour until a new contract with Dwarves was negotiated. It’s been her whole life, from when she fell out of the wall, until now.Now she stands a symbol of the desecration of those values she held dear, she looks upon this refuge, a monument to an individualist pursuit, she can’t help but fester in a deep well of shame climbing up between her very minerals. Yet… And maybe it’s that very rot that’s talking here: She knows she isn’t wrong. That extending her hand to the other beings of this realm isn’t wrong. The part of pride she feels for being a Dwarf is things like their close relationship to the Gnomes and how most settlements are multicultural, compared to Elves and the like. This is an extension of that pride! …It’s not wrong. Deep down she is on to something and while she is an individual NOW, while it feels bad NOW, she knows she’s on to something here. She won’t be without a Union for long, already she attracts a flock:―Schoolhouse is done! Passed all the structural tests and should be ready to go!Another Dwarf approaches Gossier, covered in similar memorabilia for her Union, the Jasper Union. She doesn’t carry a huge stereotypical Dwarfen beard like Gossier does, instead it manifests for her with two huge mutton chops down the side of her face. Like Gossier her face is covered in Jasper blotches, over the palest reddy-orange.―But um, any luck of finding, y’know teachers? Caretakers? Someone to distract the little tykes for the day? The Jasper Dwarf asks.―Well Grott, no luck so far on the Dwarfen front. Gossier explains. But I’ve been in contact with some Monsters from their realm, and some Caretakers who did a lot of work during their war are interested! I guess things are calming down on their side of things.―Oh, that’s good to hear but, getting them here?―Yeeaaaahh, that’s gonna be a whole thing ain’t it?―Maybe it would’ve been better to get some fae on board before putting the word out???Gossier takes a deep breath, before facing the other Dwarf.―Your criticisms are duly noted Grotty, I’ll seek your counsel on such matters in the future as I’ve said! Gossier exclaims, pointing her mug towards Grott. But I had been doing this all on my own for a long time, it took a while for me to go back to, well The Old Me I suppose.Gossier takes a long sip out of her brew, as she exhales the steam out of her mouth, nose, ears and tear ducts.―They drilled it in our heads so much in school, how the individualised mind can be a poison. Gossier muses. It’s hard to parse the warnings into reality until it’s bitten you in the arse like that! It’s enough to make you doubt yourself… Doubt this whole operation…―Hey, you’re doing the right thing. Grott reassures, putting her hand on Gossiers shoulder. There’s no handbook for this kind of thing, we’re all kind wandering in with our eyes crystallised shut.Gossier puts her hand on Grotties and sighs, she’s grateful for this era of her life where she has other Dwarfs to support this endeavour.―Besides, I bring more good news. Grott continues. Those Dwarves from the Amethyst Union are here.Gossier’s eyes light up, as she downs the rest of her drink and shoves the mug into Grotties hands.―Yes! I knew someone would come! Once they see how our operation is going, they’ll want to provide resources. It’ll all of been for something!The Dwarf excitedly starts running towards “The Front Gate” of the establishment, in designation only, as the entire refuge rests on, under and around an unoccupied Dwarfen cliff face. It can be accessed from wherever, but for the sake of design it’s good to have some part of it be… The Front Door as it were. Grott looks on with a smile, it’s rare to see Gossier so animated and maybe it’s warranted, maybe this is the big turn around moment for them all.
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Gossier runs up to the scene: Two members of the Amethyst union, wearing the same jacket she was, but unlike her, their beards were both a vibrant purple colour. Next to them talking to them briefly was Agrande, a Jade Dwarf, whose beard was tied in a braid.―Ahhh, here she is. May I present Gossier the CEO of the Monster Refuge Project. Agrande introduces.Gossier gives a bow to the two Union reps in respect, but it’s only then she notices it. The Two Dwarfs were armed with hammers, short lengthened mallets sporting a hilt, not meant for the art of crafting, but for combat. Standard issue though, they gave Gossier one when she had to represent the Union in Elven territories for example, it doesn’t mean anything of course. There could’ve been Elves on the way! She shakes her head a little to regain composure and addresses the Dwarves.―Welcome my comrades! Gossier greets, hoisting her arms wide open. I’m guessing you're here to inspect the refuge! I understand the Union’s initial hesitation in my vision, but as you’ll see on this tour, a venture to integrate Monsters will strengthen the Amethyst Union! We can provide homes, education and labour! Even with how small this operation is, we’ve managed to mine and trade Gem’s with nearby Gnome settlements, and we’re making due! We’re doing better than making due, we’re making a surplus, for both Dwarf and Monster alike!The two Union reps look at each other as they shake their heads, with one of them taking out a pen and pad to scribble something down.―Mountains Crumble, they’ve already started to steal clients.―I told you HQ letting this thing go on for so long was a mistake.The optimism streams out from Gossiers body, like a current from a shower, leaving only a deep anxiety and shame to fill up the gaps left behind. Sometimes it feels like she’s the only one who can’t comprehend or see the world.―Wait just a minute now, you can’t decide that! Gossier protests. I didn’t TAKE a settlement from you, it’s FOR the Amethyst Union, everything I have built here was for you!―And yet, did we request this? This vanity project that washes away our resources into the sewers and the soil? This monument of mockery, built with stolen tools?―Stolen!? These were the tools you entrusted to me when I joined the Union! I use them now as I always had when in service!―You took our means, to make yourself the protagonist of this little venture. To weave a narrative and render all our hard work as machinations of a villain! This isn’t all marches and songs and drowning in mead, we have to make tough sacrifices-―NOT THIS ONE! THIS ONE IS A CHOICE.The two Amethyst Dwarves tut as they draw their hammers and shields, they render Gossiers empathy into the rambles of a narcissist. They render Asylum as a cog of Celebrity. The loyalty that had once been a virtue now removes their ability to remain in the same reality as the peers that warned them constantly how this is the only outcome to the Amethyst Unions involvement. Agrande, weapons drawn, saddles next to Gossier and tries to ask her for the plan, but that shame, it still creeps in vacant spaces, too dense to let the very vibrations in the Jade Dwarf’s throat, reach cognizant ears.Just as the Dwarf was about to swing at Gossier, a gush of force brushes past her ear, in which she instinctively swings her body to the side to get out of the way. Afterwards she peers back to her front to see the Dwarves in front of her, defaced, with a hollow being introduced to both of their heads, with purple crystals forming at an accelerated rate in the vacant space. There’s a poetry in the rhyming of it. Gossier peers around the now lifeless stone and spies the instrument of their demise, a hooded figure in a red cloak just shy of Gossier’s height. They were wielding a vaguely revolver shaped thing, though way too chunky, almost toy-like to be the genuine article, bronze and covered in embroidery. And in place of the end of the barrel: A amethyst gem, with a slight hue of purple mist evaporating from it. It’s wielder, putting the thing back in its holster before approaching Gossier.―You should’ve told me in advance the Union was sending people. I would've come earlier and warned exactly this was going to happen. Whether it would’ve reached common sense or not.The owner of this voice was another close confidant of Gossier: The Gnome: Rauðr, who’s come to be known in the settlement as Red. She pulls down her hood, freeing the two big floppy ears within, one of which was pierced and had a chain connecting to one on her nose. She has a reddish tint to her skin, as all Gnomes do, which paired with her Orange hair which passed down in front of her big old ears. Under her cloak, she wore a red broach and a pink shirt, going down to her burgundy trousers.―Thank you so much, my comrade, but it was not a weakness to hope for my Union to see sense! The Good in our endeavour! Gossier complained.―Well, you can keep your head in the clouds, so long as you let me drag you back to soil when needed, little Amethyst. Red explains.Comradely between the Gnomes and Dwarves is not uncommon, they’re both subterranean dwellers and the very nature of their existences, compliment each other. Gnomes are attuned to the Gems, they have the ability to conduit great magic from these stones, Dwarves may be able to mine the things, but it’s the Gnomes who make them sing. This has led to Gnomes and Dwarves co-inhabiting, or even joining each other in areas where they emmigrate, Dwarves providing minerals and invention and the Gnomes activating and maintaining them.Not too surprising a development for those of us who are… Normal. But these lands are the ones of High Fantasy, where cities and settlements based on single race inhabitants are common and unquestioned. The Elven Cities, The Dwarves Village, The Gnomish Town, how many pieces of fiction have you observed where such things are unquestioned? But Dwarves were the first to encourage the breaking of this barrier and this results in solidarity and a bond, which is not seen elsewhere in the Realms.Red absentminded places a small gemstone, each of differing colour, into the chamber of her revolver, revealing them to be the source of the magic she commands, and the stone in the barrels are merely the conduit.―These Dwarves have been spotted around the refuge Gossier. Red informs. Of course they were just seen as Union reps doing inspections, and we have no idea if they’re privy to this… Escalation. I suggest we hit up the town centre and plan our next move. Least we can establish somewhere for the Monsters to flee.―No, you can’t mean to suggest they ment to…―I hope I’m wrong, but it feels like a classic clean up op to me.―No, they couldn’t of. Not my home…―They aren’t you’re home anymore Gossier and they don’t intend for the sun to set with you still breathing. But let’s try and do this as quietly as possible.Red puts the revolver back in her holster and outstreaches her arm.―Goss… Please.Gossier shakes her head out of her stupor. She takes a deep breath and enters that zen state, when there’s shit to do and there’s no time to feel feelings. She can react later, now is time to forge ahead. She grasps Reds hand and brings her in for an embrace. Despite the density of the Dwarven flesh, she can still pick up on the faintest heat, piercing through the chill of stone. The slight warmth of the Gnome’s breath as she buries her head into Gossier’s neck. It reminds her of the lives that could be snuffed, if she doesn’t cast aside expired loyalty and be there for the ones whom rock to boulder provides no warmth. She let’s Red go and runs as fast as she can to the Town Centre.
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It only takes the sight of two corpses before Gossier collapsed onto her knees. Cover her mouth, as shards of crystal start to cover the bottoms of her eyes. She did everything she could to memorize each and every person who sought sanctuary here, even if it’s a meaningless gesture in the long run, she just wanted to make it feel like a protective eye was watching them. Even just from the corner of her eye she knew who they were, the Wallybe, Sadie, she had just put in a complaint that she couldn’t catch up with her old soaps! We build her something that could pick up the signal through realms, that little comfort meant so much to her. And the Parrot! Dylan! He was waiting for us to get around to building the Arboretum so he could do his first gig, he never had the nerve to do it in his old home, but something about this place was low pressure he said. I even put in a song request. Their dreams where tied to this place and she couldn’t protect them from her own naivety. Now they lay there, dead from a blunt object, the shapes of their faces; Wrong.Red grabs the Dwarf by her arm and drags her back up on her feet, with a snarl and a glare.―NO, we do NOT do this here, not now! Red demands. We can cry when it’s all over, but not now.Gossier chips the tears from the bottom of her eyes, she’s right! With what little string and prayers are keeping her together, it’s not time to stop yet.The pair rush to the monument in the centre of… Well the Town Centre, the centrepiece of the refuge, built as a long tower of scrap so that this axis could be viewable while the team was designed and building other parts of the town. It now stands as a trash heap, with three Amethyst Dwarfs on top of it, as if to assert their authority over the place. While two where standard Dwarfs, the one in the middle commanded authority. A Big fucker, as well as forgoing his shield to carry a second Mallet in his hand. The Union isn’t an army, so it’s best to think of this guy like The Manager of this workforce. But this is the guy they sent clearly, his block chipped in every possible way, he has clashed in the strikes. He’s clearly the guy they send. They hoist their arms to greet Gossier.―Well if it isn’t the little narcissist herself? The Manager greets. How does it feel to have your legacy trashed in an instant? As you did your families and the Union when you began this project?Gossier has no energy to even indulge in this debate for a second time. It’s been escalated beyond that now. She grasps her hammer and raises her shield, as she bangs the two together for a thunderous rapture.―Oh? So the lass thinks she’s a match for us ey? Unfortunately we’ve made sure this operation goes as smoothly as possible, we’ve stationed our lads all over this place! One blow of this whistle and the lads will, postpone their clean-up and come join us.And as threatened he grabs the whistle from his neck and a screech travels throughout the entire area, Gossier even being able to feel the very pebbles inside her vibrate under it’s wrath.And yet… A stillness follows.―What in the crease of the stones is happening!? The Commander panics. The rest of our unit should be clearing up the outskirts right now, why do they not come to our aid?The Dwarf looks down at one of his subordinates for clarification and is taken aback by the crystal that now grows out from their forehead. Not of Amethyst, but of clear ice, puncturing through the very mineral of his being. A feat of some incredibly potent magic, as the Dwarf falls to the ground and collapses into pebbles and dust. From the icicle’s direction stands two figures, an Elf clad in a green silken cape and a wolf in a mint shirt and braces.―God finally people who look like they’re in charge! Skumalfar announces. I’m here looking for a…The Elf then holds up her hand, to read of a crudely pencilled name on top of it.―A uh… “Gross Eyre?”There’s a tense pause as all present company tries to process their current situation.―Um, yes, I’m “Gossier” I believe you’re looking for? The Dwarf perks up.Skumalfar looks towards the voice, as she spots the subject of her search.―I have some business regarding your Gnome there. The Elf demands.Red flinches, as she tightens the grip of her revolver.―You may have an audience with us both for as long as you need Elf! Gossier replies. But only if you help us neutralise these Dwarves.Skumalfar looks behind to her Wolf companion, as they both nod and join the company of the Gnome and Dwarves.―You two have names? Gossier asks.―Skumalfar Dawnsaber and the mutt is Lycean… You know I’ve never asked you’re family name Wolf?―Didn’t give it. Lycean comments. That’s a more 3rd “Fight to the death” disclosure.Skumalfar rolls her eyes, as she summons a bolt of fire between her fingers.―How are the others? Did you see Monsters before you came here? Worries Gossier.―They were being annoying and refused to reply to my questions. So, sorry to say I pretty much killed them all. Skumalfar quips, before pausing a moment. Oh, wait you mean the Monsters don’t you? Well they seemed fine enough to me, answering my questions granted them my patience. But the purple Dwarves absence was my doing.―Well… That’s good news to us for now. Red replies. Though maybe you should’ve double checked alliances before firing off the magic?―I did check, they were being annoying so I killed them.Gossier tries to burry the slight panic at the ruthlessness of their current allies. For now there’s a worse enemy in front of them.―What are you doing, Elf!? We’re commencing this clean up for the benefit of the Empire! To continue our contract and alliance! The Commander yells.―Well, then you have your trophy in front of you! Skumalfar taunts. I’m a deserter of the empire. If you crave the favour of fascists, then come and claim my head if you can, cur! You interrupt my business and thus waste my time, an offence none yet walk away from alive, you accursed pebble!The fire in Skumalfar’s grasp has extended to her palm and as soon as it appears it’s tossed into the Dwarven Commander’s face. One of the remaining associates by his side dives in front of the fire’s trajectory and throws it away with their shield, dissipating the fire immediately. Gossier takes this into account, the Elf is clearly a seasoned with Magic, only seen in commanders of the Elven Imperial Army. Her ability isn’t going to be an issue, but the remaining Dwarf’s shield will be. Seeing this, she reaches into her pocket and brings out a small little hammer, one you might spot in a digging site to softly clear away rock from a fossil of some kind. It givesoff a small glow, as a magical aura surrounds the tiny tool.Of course the success of Dwarves in establishing their industry in the High Realms comes from their ability to construct, at a speed and precision unmatched by physical means. No, after showing an aptitude for planning and execution of it, Dwarves are given their own little hammer, a magical item that can take resources from the nearby area and bring idea into matter. The magic can improvise this to an extent, but Dwarves are encouraged to visualise and comprehend how each and every piece of resource will result in the construct desired, thousands of thoughts, plans and visuals, pass in the blink of an eye. Then with a little “Tink Tink” against the infinite well of magic, does the concept come to pass in our reality.Considering the rampage of the Amethystian Dwarves on the town square, theirs plenty of resources available to bring her idea to life:Tink, TinkThe debris, the rubble and misplaced materials, all begin to drag across the floor heading right for the feet of the Dwarf currently holding up their shield. Before they could register what was going on with the moving bits of pebble, screws and other rubbish now congrigating at their feet: They suddenly fuse together, constructing a stable structure that rises to a great height, with enough force to pierce the Dwarves shield and drag it out of their hands and towards the sky along side it. The Dwarf instinctively looks up, as Skumalfar doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of this new opportunity, throwing another fireball and colliding directly with their face. As before a crystalline marvel erroupts from the side of their face where the spell colides, with the rest of their body almost leaning into and embracing the Amythest that now envelops them.Gossier quickly dashes toward the crystal and tinks her tiny hammer while running. This makes the construct collapse, but not before some of it’s contents travel to repair the hole in the shield that she had just made. Gossier puts her little hammer back into her pockets and grabs the shield and martial hammer from the Dwarves remains, as she hoisters her arms back and shatters the crystal hoping to get a better visual on The Manager she knows lies behind it.Unfortunately she might of been a little too correct, as the visual that greets her when the crystals clear is The Manager also winding up for a vertical strike with his hammer. Gossier just missed the strike, as she falls behind on her back, before rolling backwards to dodge the on coming slam of his other Hammer onto the ground where Gossier once lay. Red fires a barrage of flames, courtesy of the gems she loaded into her revolver earlier, to halt The Mannagers contiuned assault on Gossier. He swings his hammers and colides with the fireballs themselves with perfect timing, avoiding sustaining any damage, but allowing Gossier to create enough distance with him, as she returns to The Elf and Gnome.―Well, do we feel better now we’ve got some new toys? Skumalfar quips.―Go on then, what’s your plan ofn action for the big guy? Red sneers, deflecting the snarky comment from her friend. Cos it seems like we’re dust if we get to close, but he’s got an answer to any long range question we got.―That’s fine, just keep him dancing. In due time.―So you do have a plan? Gossier inquires.A smile creeps on The Elves face, before she strides forward and barrages The Manager with every spell she can conjure on such short notice. The three continue this dance for a short while, Gossier strikes with her hammer colliding with his, as he dodges or sweeps away seemingly every element of the Earth hurtling towards him courtesy of Skumalfar and Red.The Manager gave appropriate barbs and grandstanding to each hit dodged or reflected, but The Elf could not find the motivation to process the audio going into her ears. Instead she was fixated on the sky, which grew darker and darker as a pale yellow light builds and looms over The Manager’s head. A little sun, made of pure moonlight, it’s existence neatly explaining the absence of Lycean during this entire exchange. Indeed, inbetween the foe and the sphere of light, the silhouette of a huge bideal wolf looms over even the Dwarves gargantutan form.It’s far too late before The Manager notices Skumalfar’s gaze is fixed beyond him, instead of on him. He swings around and instinctively raises his hammers to this face to defend himself, but even steel cannot pause the sheer force of the giant Werewolf’s strength. The hammers instead of defending him, crash right through his very body, sounding out as they bounce on the floor. Skumalfar, Gossier and the others, can only observe two massive furry arms protruding through their enemy, the sheer mass of them halting any spread of Amythest from The Managers wounds. But this isn’t enough, as the arms begin to raise and fall, splitting the stone in twain, as Lycean throws both halves onto the floor, creating two huge crystalline towers for each half.He was, to put a term on it: Absolutely fucked.As the silhouette shrinks, the moonlight begins to fade and sunlight takes over again as the main source of light. Skumalfar applauds the scene, as Lycean walks towards to group, rubbing her her neck as it cricks.―Well done girl! Skumalfar congratulates. And would you look at that, the growing fabric thing really worked out!Indeed as Lycean walks towards the group, their outfit remains unscatched! Wearing the same mint shirt and suspenders they had previously destroyed last time she transformed.―I’m glad, but I still think commissioning that tailor to replicate this outfit with it was excessive. Lycean comments.―I’m in so much credit at The Hound though, you know this! Skumalfar explains. They said if I didn’t start diverting it to other things in the pub they were going to kick us out!Gossier and Red start to approach the pair, as the other Dwarves that accompanied them scatter about to assess the damage and help the wounded. Skumalfar turns to Red almost instantly.―So, Red was it? Shall we? Skumalfar asks, as she gestures to her side.―Hey, you don’t have to go on your own if you need one of us as a witness. Goisser assures, tuging on Red’s cape as she starts to walk.―No, this is was the deal wasn’t it? Red reminds. And um, I just remembered during the fighting that…Red turns to face Skumalfar directly.―Me and her, we have unfinished business. Red explains.
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Skúmálfar wanders up to Red, who has walked on ahead to somewhere they can talk in private. The Gnome is sat on an appropriate bench just outside of the fence, overlooking the town square they were just previously standing at when they fought the Amethyst union. She’s passively reloading the barrel of her revolver, with a single kind of purple gemstone into the chamber, as she smokes what looks like a joint in her mouth.―Oh? Do they have cigarettes here? Skúmálfar asks.Red glances up with a look of slight disgust.―You’ve been in the Monster World for too long. Red quips. But it’s Honeyweed, I’d offer some but that was my last rollie.―You’re taking the piss out of me and you call it a rollie?Red pauses their reloading as looks at the side, as if trying to load up how to continue this conversation.―It was during the fighting. Red comments. You came to this place a stranger to me, but being in proximity with you, I started to recall another life. Not memories but recalling the feelings, like something you could put on an OHP and it contradicts, but matches up to this life I know perfectly somehow.Red sighs, exhaling a huge cloud of smoke, before returning to the last of their reloading.―I mean even that, why do I, a Gnome that has grown up in my grove and now live in this refuge, have the cognizant knowledge of what an “OHP” is? I don’t remember looking at a Christian hymn in primary school on one, but I know that. Because I have a treasure trove of this knowing that cannot possibly belong to the life my memories recall.―And is there anything those recollections tell you? Skúmálfar asks. About us?Red clicks the chamber back in place, as she stands up from the bench, gun firmly grasped in hand.―That we fought each other, in the cabin. That I hated you, hated myself so much, that I had to kill you.Skúmálfar braces themselves subtly, in order to summon magic to defend herself or possibly get the drop on The Gnome with a spell herself. But to The Elf’s surprise, Red reacts with a sigh, as she puts the gun back in her holster and stomps out her joint.―But you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Red explains.―Don’t I? Skúmálfar explains.―Well, do I look like “A Thing” anymore? A part of some kind of self-loathing manifest?―But you were undeniably a part of that thing, at least onceRed looks up at Skúmálfar, one eyebrow raised.―Yeah. Red replies, nonchalantly. Do you think you weren't? That you weren't someone’s opponent once too?A twinge of discomfort shoots up Skúmálfar’s spine, the possibility that explains their dual chronologies just laid out in front of them. Together with an even crueller insinuation that they are but stop gaps in an on-going cycle, beyond either’s understanding.Red shrugs their shoulders towards Skúmálfar.―So, what now? Red asks. If I’m not gonna fight you then, what are you to do with me?―To ask for aid. Skúmálfar explains. Whatever form That Thing From The Cabin takes now, it’ll eventually gather strength and hunt one of us down, our assured destruction seemingly being its only goal. So I’d ask you to help me hunt it down, while it’s weakened, so we may be rid of the anxiety of being endlessly pursued.―Who says it would pursue me? Why wouldn’t it just stick to the one who killed it last as its target?―I can’t be bothered with this. Skúmálfar sneers. Look at this place you call home, how fragile it is. Now it’s under the crosshairs of the entire Dwarven society and you already know to add a personal beast of yours to things that threaten this… Thing you’ve built is not in your interest. We both know that so please stop wasting our time and come with me.Red takes a moment to feign disinterest with the hope of savouring every second of infuriating Skúmálfar further, but she knows she’s right. The moment she recognised The Elf for who she was, Red understood she was destined for something outside of the refuge. But that doesn’t mean she has to like it, being away from her current family. She reckons she oughta get one last strand of satisfaction from all this.―Well, whatever I decide, we can’t leave tonight. Red explains. I’ll need to say my goodbyes.―Ugh, fine. How long will this take?―It’d go a lot faster if you and the Wolf joined us. Our Entertainment district is standing.―Wait, you’re still building schools, but you have an entertainment district?―This place was built by Dwarfs, like I’m not surprised by that. The comradery of a pint is the structural load of their society, more than traditional education is. Better to learn about the union principles and mathematics from the storytellers with a pint of ale, than I dunno… Cursive?―What does that mean? Do they not learn to read?―Oh of course… I mean, they learn to spot a bad contract and you kind of wing reading from that.Skúmálfar runs their hand through their hair in disbelief, you see this is why they joined the Imperial Military, you can’t let the Chaos of these other societies run unchecked and… No, that feels a lot like REMEMBERING their new history, and now’s not the time for that.―Now come on, let’s get back and collect our sidekicks. Red suggests. I promise, the torture of Having Fun will pass you by faster if you embrace it.❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦Indeed, it was an Entertainment district to behold, the avenue very much implies the final form of the rest of the refuge, when time and resources combine to see it through. Built in the gaps between two Cliff faces, they’re less structures, but caverns built into the cliffs themselves. They say there’s no hole that Dwarves can’t gentrify, and it’s hard not to believe it after witnessing this thus. Crystals and magic contained within illuminate the darkness the towering cliffs invited, the way clever construction was used to illuminate the signage of each establishment, it’s the Organic Cousin of a seedy strip of town.The four come up to one of the caverns, “The Ruby in the Navel” illuminated so much by the gemstone, one can’t help but gaze on their own bodies to observe the uncanny pallet that now covers them. Well except for Red, who experiences very little alterations.It occurred that Skúmálfar has never really internalised Gossier, from the short time she’s known her, as the founder of this place. But the sudden uptick to Star Treatment by virtue of being People Around Her, suddenly cements that association in place. They had reserved seats in the bar, a little boxed-of seating area, placed right in front of the stage, which Skúmálfar noticed protruded in the centre somewhat toward the crowd.Three of them get comfy in their spaces, though Gossier refrains from sitting down.―You three get comfy, I just gotta do a speech, and then I’ll get us our drinks!Gossier then heads up towards the stage, where a microphone is being set up for her.―She’s downplaying “Our Drinks” btw. Red explains. This is the place you come to get fucked and I mean FUCKED.―Elaborate on this. Skúmálfar demands.―It’s not just Alcohol, they got spells being ambient cast in the crystals all around us, Pixies in the back ready to spread Fae Magiks, finely crafted poison in the drinks to alter your entire life. You stop being yourself in here. So y’know… Consent check I suppose.Skúmálfar and Lycean glance at each other from their opposing sides of the seats and… Yeah. Perhaps they had a quick moment of hesitation, but The Elves temporal nightmare and The Wolves newfound abandonment, it feels like it’ll take an ascension to another plane to make either one stop thinking about it. Not just a choice, but a violation, sounds like what they both need right now. They already feel a weight dissolve from even sitting idly, almost as if they were given permission to. This is interrupted by the booming sound of Gossier’s voice, harmonising with all; the crystals that surround them. She addresses a crowd, a mixture of both Monsters and Dwarves alike.―My comrades, we’ve suffered a great loss today. Gossier begins. I could not even begin to articulate what you all must be feeling, that violation of our peace being breached by the very hands we merely asked for aid, assistance in maintaining this sanctuary we’ve built from the very mineral in these cliffs. It reminds us that the struggle to build new avenues of solidarity and community come with the heaviest costs. I can’t promise you that things will not escalate with the old unions, but know we fight for something beautiful that will outlive the greatest of us. A home for disenfranchised Dwarves and the right to extend that home to the Monsters who seek refuge with us! Let’s show them they can’t break us, get shitfaced and have the kind of nasty as hell sex that’d give every member of the Dwarven Council a stroke!The entire club erupts in cheers, as Gossier swings her hands up into the air. Confident her rallying was done, she steps off the stage and returns back to the other three. The Host takes back over and reminds everyone that the “Abrakakinkyous” is about to commence in 5, so this is the last chance for people to ask the bartender for an immunity crystal, to be exempt from the effects of the spell if they’d like one. Of course, patrons can ask for it at any point during the evening if they’d like to bow out early.―You didn’t think to warn us about the love magic before we set in here? Skúmálfar protests.―That’s cos I know the bar gives you ample warning about that. Gossier quips. Besides, you two strike me as the “Fuck the dread away” kind of sluts to me.Both the Elf and Wolf sit up, tensing their muscles in protest, before looking at each other and giving up the ruse, relaxing their tension anyways. Like… Yeah, that was an accurate read. Skúmálfar cannot bring herself to move a muscle as the countdown to the spell's casting approaches single digits.The crystal formations of ruby, littered around the establishment, change their hue to a harsh shade of pink immediately. The forbidden charm magiks of the fae, resonating between the rubies and surrounding the patrons within. Their level of infamy does change from culture to culture, for example in the post-Human realm of Monsters, even a tiny whiff of using such spells is cause to be tracked down and torn to shreds in daylight. But in the High Realms, while frowned upon, there are underground scenes experimenting with consensual and non targeted uses of such arcane. Non-targeted meaning not to use such things for Person A to be prone to suggestion from Person B, but casting on a group of people to become more susceptible to each other.Considering an unspoken theme of the refuge is for underground communities to flourish unheeded by Dwarven norms, approving of these controlled nights with forbidden magiks, well it gives the culture of the place its own distinct identity.And if it sounds like Gossier’s lips were clearly getting a little loose, immediately calling people she has known for an amount of time that can only be measured in hours thus far, you’d be right! It’s not enough to have the spell harmonising all around the area, no no no, they’ve found ways to get the very magiks in your bloodstream! Gossier’s currently nursing another Dwarven beverage, molton minerals specialised for their flavour, but sprinkled there in is rhinestones, made of the very same rubies infused with the charm spell. The texture becomes a little more bitty, least more bitty then drinking lava undoubtedly is, but the euphoria hits sooner, as the assault on your sobriety, comes externally and internally.Sadly the non-Dwarven internals are not designed for the microdosing of stones, thus more traditional forms of the magiks, the love potions, are served for the Monsters, Gnomes and miscellaneous other organics. Hey, that includes Skúmálfar and Lycean too! Three glasses of suspiciously sweet smelling pink drink in a wine glass, topped with a little stick covered in Pixies dust with a butterfly motif. There’s a dangerous sense to it, you’re self-inflicting the instruments that predators use to ensnare their prey. The taste of the sweetness on your tongue, the scent you know was someone’s last before walking willingly to their fate. Even using it recreationally, somehow justifies its continued existence on this earth. And that’s the perfect drug: A means to surrender control, with that sweet twinge of guilt.After even just the one round, Skúmálfar, like everyone who’s consented to this harmonizing, is truly fucked. It’s truly been years and years since she’s felt like she’s been able to let go, truly exit the experience of being constantly aware of her own existence. Just for now, she’s a body, and pesky context can all wait until tomorrow.―Heeeeey. Gossier inquires. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. She continues, slapping The Elf on the face to get her attention. HEY! Are you hanging in there? Is it all too STRONK?It honestly takes longer than Skúmálfar would like to admit to process Gossier hitting her, let alone processing the passage of time that’s transpired.―I think… Skúmálfar begins, proceeding with a long pause. It’s getting to me a wee bit.Gossier laughs, as she scoots on over closer to The Elf.―Remember, you can get an immunity crystal aaaannnnyyyy time. Gossier reminds.―Excuse you ma’am, who got rid of them Dwarfy Suits today? That’ll beeeeeeee, me. That’s me weren't it? It’s gonna take more then some Fae brand icing sugar to compromise Skúmálfar Dawnsaber.Skúmálfar scrunches up her face, as she downs the rest of her glass. With a small twinge of pride in her face.―Okay, your majesty. Gossier replies, with a small bow. It’s just you seem all tensed up still.―It’s just… Been some time since I got this kind of downtime. Skúmálfar admits.―Not a day off?―Well, the last few months have been one day off to be honest with you. But even then I was still just… Thinking.―Thinking?―Yeah. All the time.―And now.―Nary a thought, an idea, nor a memory! Completely void. It’s a blessing.―What used to fill up that noggin before?―Guilt I reckon.―And what would you fill it up with now?As she asks this, she lurches forward with her arms to her back, letting her jacket fall off her shoulders. After then taking off her beanie and the net that was holding her locks back. And they were plentiful, reaching down past her shoulders and down her back, being significantly less kempt than her beard. It was dyed the same yellow as appears in her beard, but only minor specks of red and blue in it.God damn tho.Skúmálfar leans back a little to get a better look, now she’s out of uniform she scrubs up so good. She fills out her tank so good, yet her arms are just that little bit toned, she really wants to feel the feedback of trying to grab her shoulder. She wants to feel her strength and then throw her down anyways, tear off those jeans that are barely containing them thighs and feel them squeeze around her head as Skúmálfar buries her face in… Ahem. Skúmálfar leans back even further and averts their gaze to the ceiling.―Well… Hmm. Are you suggesting something? Skúmálfar asks.―Nah, I’m just getting comfortable. Gossier insists. If you’re thinking of something, that’s nothing to do with me.―It don’t? Are you sure you didn’t come shimmy closer? I’m pretty sure we weren’t touching legs a moment ago.―Hmmmm, must be the magiks going to your head, captain.―Well I think it’s too soon to start blaming the spell for anythi-Just then, Skúmálfar actually took in her surroundings for the first time in a while and well, despite her theory, everyone else was letting the magiks lead the charge on their temperament. All kinds of combinations of Dwarves and Monsters, all having orgies in their booths. Skúmálfar then looks not too far from home, just the other side of their table, to witness Red climbing on top of Lycean, grinding against her, making out with The Wolf as she grabs the fur on the side of her head for dear life. The Gnome was past the point of volume control as her pleas could be heard from their other companions.―God, please, put your jaw on my throat. Like you’re really gonna tear me apart, pierce my flesh with your fangs. I need to feel the pain, I wanna nearly fucking die as your prey... God, please fuck me, fuck me and kill me, god pplleeaassee.Skúmálfar can feel the growls coming from Lycean as she starts to place her jaw on the Gnome’s neck. Hooooo, weeeee.―Okay, well… Maybe not too soon then. Skúmálfar quips.Skúmálfar was approaching the last threshold of holding back, and that’s not because of the spell or nothing. Even though Skúmálfar was attempting to suppress their memories, there’s something they knew in their gut was true. That they came from a culture that would find fraternising with a Dwarf to be abhorrent, a lesser base creature and a mockery of the feminine form. But something wells up inside The Elf, it had to be the same feeling when they first fled from the Empire and first layed in bed in the Monster Realm.What a childish and reductive view of the world. What an absolute waste of life, to close yourself to the rich treasures of diverse forms. Only for the sake of fascist ideology, because what a well of impulses you must suppress, in order for the lie to be accurate. Because how can the want, THE NEED, to kiss, taste and bite every faucet of them, as you sink your face into their softness, before feeling their glorious locks through your fingers, as you shove their face in between your thighs… How can those feelings be anything but natural? And how can any suppression of such, be anything but an affront to Gaia?God look at her, referring to THEIR gods now.Skúmálfar grabs the back of Gossier’s hair and she leans in to embrace the Dwarf, managing to brush through the hair in order to find her firm lips, illuminated as her inner Amethyst itself starts to harmonise with the surrounding magiks. It’s as if she can feel a part of them, too sacred to have made contact with the oxygen thus far, quivering from the slow extensions of a foreign touch. Their very magical incense, innate to an Elf, compromised, changed and oh it is glorious.―Well, this is a surprise. Gossier comments.―What? As if you weren't macking on me. Skúmálfar accuses.―Well yeah, you came waltzing into my refuge and immediately killed the Dwarves threatening me and my community. Like, you didn’t even look like you were trying! I don’t think you understand how unbelievably hot, in kind of a fucked up way, that is.Gossier then leans in to kiss Skúmálfar again, though she interrupts herself, as she leans back, giggling as she rubs her lips.―Sorry, sorry! She exclaims. It just kind of tickles.―Oh? Has it been that long since your last kiss? Skúmálfar teases.―I get it plenty thank you very much Elf! But Dwarves don’t usually kiss too much, the beards and all.―Really?―Yeah, we usually just aggressively grind our heads: The Dwarven kiss, to show affection.―Oh, that seems like a killjoy.―Well, I personally consult the old Dwarven adage: Why not put kissing to better use?Gossier coyly unbuttons the top of her jeans, as Skúmálfar just rubs her face, grasps the Dwarf by the wrists and runs towards… Well wherever rooms may be? That’s more mental processing than thinking solely with your clit can handle right now. Luckily Gossier mentions she has a room at the hotel set aside for her where they can go. That’s enough for Skúmálfar as she darts out of the door, her companion for the evening in tow.
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Skúmálfar kicks the door open and basks in the morning air. Fucking AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Gaia it feels good to feel good, better yet none of that Fae Magiks comes with dehydration or hangover. She’s moisterised, she’s glowing and she’s had the depression fucked out of her. Despite her legs still having a bit of a wobble to them, she dances down the hallway with just panties and Gossier’s workers jacket giving her modesty. The “Hotel” that Gossier gassed up ended up being more of a Hostel, meaning a shared bathroom. The room was dead nice, but this little journey don’t half ruin the luxury mystique of it all.When she gets in the bathroom, she see’s there’s already another occupant scrubbing her teeth. It was Red, covered head to toe in bruises and cuts. She was tending to a black eye, while clearly standing with a lean onto her good leg. She turns to face Skúmálfar, who gives her a concerned look.―Oh don’t worry, if you think this is bad, you should see how she’s doing. Red relates nonchalantly.Skúmálfar just shrugs and goes to begin cleaning her teeth and applying the spells to her hair to make herself look presentable.―Sooooo…? Red beings to broach. How was the evening with the boss?―Someone worse than I, died that night. Skúmálfar replies. Something better than her now walks the earth.―Wow… Yeah that must’ve been good.―Oh it was good, I had no idea you could make a strap on with Amethyst like that and it not be… A Disaster.―We are masters of the mineral down here y’know.―The things she channeled into that thing, felt like I was getting fucked on the molecular level. I meant it before, I think I’m different now. All them old cells are gone.―You’re welcome.―Am I?―Yeah, who do you think taught the Dwarves that stuff? They dig up the gems, but using them? That’s all the Gnomes.―Yeah, yeah, congrats. You’re a pioneer in the Dildo industry. God my legs won’t stop shaking.―Even after a night's sleep?―Elf, remember? We don’t sleep, well I don’t, she’s out for the count. We literally just stopped.Red glances at the clock in the hallway, before giving a brief look of bewilderment to themselves, before going back to tending to her injuries. After a while of just the sound of toothbrushes scrubbing filling the room, Skúmálfar speaks up again.―So you were kidding before with Lycean right?Red just mischievously puts her finger on her lips.―Come on, I’m being serious. Skúmálfar protests. Am I gonna be bringing her home in a wheelbarrow or what?―I mean she is fuuuccked up. Red explains. I guess our hunter and predator sides came out, the fighting can be as much sex as the fucking is to be honest.―…Bbuuuttttt?―She’ll be fine, Skúmálfar, nothing a day's rest won’t solve. If I’m going with you on this hunt for the Cabin Thing, part of my payment is her @ by the by.―So you’re still in?Red gazes over at Skúmálfar, with the kind of look you’d give a cat nagging for it’s dinner.―I’m a Gnome of my word. Red iterates.―Good, because you’ll both need all the help you can get soon.A voice that Red doesn’t recognise sounds off in the room and one Skúmálfar was not expecting yet. Before their eyes the tiles in the bathroom begin to wane and croak, as wooden planks begin to erupt from within. The strands of wood coming together to form an arch and eventually any resemblance of a wall within, flakes off part by part and reveals the inside to a place The Elf is very familiar with. The Hounds of Tyre, the Monster pub from the Monster Realm.In this impossible archway, stands a woman with purple complexion, completely covered in wraps, more tightly wound than when Skúmálfar saw her last. She looks at the Elf and Gnome, up and down.―Am I interrupting something? Mummy asks.―Yeah, you might have been, given a few minutes. Skúmálfar suggests, putting her arm around Red.―What??? Red asks, pulling away.―Or, not, I guess. Whatever. Anyways, what brings you here?―It’s The Thing from The Cabin. Mummy reveals. I think I’ve found its next location.