Pleasant Little Nightmare

HUNT YOU DOWN IN A DREAM

Dusk was a dark horse on the horizon, draining light with every rapidfire hoofbeat. It seeped the golden hues from the eternal autumn of the Redwood, leaving behind maroons, mahoganies, reds—the colors of death and decay. Idyllic for the banduri, who spent autumn’s dying days chanting for the demise of a false monarch, and who herself might very well be the last of her kind.


She prowled through the forest, thin and lithe and carved of the silky rendering of shadows around her. Indeed, it looked as though she could have crawled from the earth, painted scarlet by oakwood blood and brushed smooth by creeping alder branches. But from the ground to her elbows and knees was pure charcoal, spilling as well from her crown and down her spine. It was indicative of her oneness with nature, of the fact that she belonged here, no matter how many years and wars passed since the last time she set foot in the Mainland.


From the darkness that masked her, however, peered two brilliant, silver eyes. They were the color of the moon—cold and feminine and beautiful and illuminating. They were the color of her soul.


The woman scouted the area with nefarious purpose. Jacob’s return was much more than a rumor, and as much as she wanted the exiled Prince to topple Adamh’s throne, she wasn’t putting in the footwork for the future of a man. She intended to return the land to her gods, the true rulers of Rionnach. But so far, she was disappointed in the meager allies she’d found since awakening from her long slumber. Aside from Rhiannon, she hadn’t found a single witch to join her sisterhood; even her despondent companion was scarce lately. Perhaps a sacrifice amidst the symbol of vengeance and fire would help her cause.


Just then, the banduri witch caught an unfamiliar scent. She slowed, a small grin spider-crawling across her lips.

code by claerie
@Colburn

D

arkness summoned the little terror from his lair, rising like a zombie from a grave he crawled out of his den, slow and sluggish. Growl. The familiar rumbling in his belly shook off the haze of sleep. There was no time to be standing around. Breakfast wasn't going to steal itself. He stepped out, using the shadows for cover as he moved through the woods. Mud ruined his perfect camouflage with the night, but blended in well with the fiery crisp autumn leaves carpeting the ground. It had become like another layer of fur, a second skin that he felt naked without. People overlooked a dirty beggar more than they did a black eyed demon. He'd seen more than his fair share of hateful glances because of his otherness. It was the reason he was alone out here in the first place.

A cursed changeling child. Misfortune followed him like the shadow he cast. It had infected Snowy and he was afraid of what else it was capable of. He'd been fascinated by the potential of it when Snowy told him about it, and thought it was a cool power that he could play with, but it wasn't. It was bad and because it was his that made him bad too.

Someone else was lurking within the woods. He crept through the wild growth and leaves until he saw her. A wide grin split his dark features, white teeth stark against the black pit of his maw. "Do ya believe in monsters?" he asked, hoping she was the superstitious sort. He liked it when they ran away screaming.

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

What the witch turned to witness was even more thrilling than she imagined. Morrigan sent her not one, but now two black hounds in the same month. Either this meant her time was limited—not something she feared—or her prayers for the destruction of Adamh would soon be answered. As the woman’s moonbright gaze fell over the boy, her eyes widened but her grin did not fade. She was the picture of delight, macabre and unsettling considering the circumstances. True, this was a male child—or he appeared child-like, skinny and short as he was. But he was a harbinger of chaos, and that, the witch could appreciate.


Turning toward him slightly, the banduri lifted one graceful paw and met his gaze with fearsome intensity. “Oh, yes,” she purred. The voice that melted from her throat was deep and husky, but utterly feminine. It was like regal velvet lined in cold, sharp metal. And it was threaded by a thick, Highlander accent. “And you, sweet darling, are the Cù-Sìth. Just the monster I’m looking for.” Both encounters with melanistic wolves happened in or near the Mainland; surely that was favorable. But she had to know…


Stepping just a bit closer, the witch drank him in: his mud-spattered frame, his ragged fur, his eager, hungry visage. “Tell me, Cù-Sìth, do you often haunt these woods?”


@Colburn

D

ark brow inched upwards in momentary surprise and then his grin grew wider, black tongue lolling happily. Rather than afraid the odd woman appeared pleased with his presence. It was an unexpected development and one that intrigued him. Cu-Sith, she called him, a name that was not familiar to him. A type of fae he wondered. It mattered not. He was far too distracted by her honeyed words to care enough to correct her, muddied twig tangled tail swaying with pleasure. The attention hungry boy basked in the praise and let it fill his ego. "Well 'ere I am. Lucky for ya or maybe… not so lucky," he replied, brow wrinkling slightly when he thought about the curse. He looked up at her, wondering if she would still be so pleased to have found him if she knew the risks.

"Heh. Yep. I 'aunt this place. Did ya' 'ear stories 'bout me, Mooneyes?" he asked, unable to stop himself from leaning a little closer. He'd hardly been subtle when it came to terrorising passersby. The prospect of folklore spreading about him was exciting. For a thief notoriety was bad for business, but Colburn was hardly a professional. His penchant for pranks got him in trouble with others more than his sticky paws did. Stealing merely kept him from going hungry and kept the thieves guild from leaving him bleeding in a ditch. Mischief was his calling. The act that brought him the most joy.

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

The boy was confident. That could be fixed.


And yet, there was a brief moment, nothing but a blink of the eye, where he seemed worried. Self-conscious, even. Curiosity gripped her, but the woman’s obsidian visage did not waver. The most important piece of information was the fact that he lived in the Mainland, after all. The banduri could hardly contain her vicious glee. This was powerful, almost like a promise from her dark, ruthless goddesses. And she would not squander such a gift. Even if it was wrapped in unsavory, masculine and grimy paper.


And if Yvaine was being honest with herself, there was something charming about the little vagrant. She liked the way he called her ‘Mooneyes.’ The witch swept closer as well, her nose nearly touching his own, the scent of blood and incense wafting from her silken coat and coiling its rich perfume around him. “You, Cù-Sìth, are an omen of death. But you can also be so much more… Are there some stories I should have heard, my dear?”


She towered over him, but not with the intent of intimidation; there was something motherly about her aura. Her personality was like a crashing wave, all-encompassing. And she wanted to sweep him into her undertow.


@Colburn

T

he sudden closeness made his skin prickle. Colburn was not used to physical contact and rarely had anyone wanted to touch him. The mud and filth normally deterred them, but not Mooneyes, she seemed delighted by him just as Snowy was. Like a skittish stray he backed up a little and flashed his teeth. He liked the way talked about him, but he didn't trust her yet.

Then finally she told him what his presence heralded and he felt his stomach twist with something heavy and uncomfortable. He felt even more responsible for Snowy's poor condition as if his very existence was sapping the life from her. The impish mask slipped for a moment and a grim expression replaced it. "So I am cursed," he muttered, dark eyes betraying his concern. "If I didn' want someone to die… how can I protect em?" he asked, trying to appear casual about his question, but there was a slight waver in his voice when he mentioned death.

"What more can I be?" Colburn asked, dark eyes betraying his interest and wonder at what she could possibly mean by that. Deep down he hated himself, but he'd hid it well behind false confidence and cockiness. Snowy's fascination with him had made him feel special. He'd grown to like being different and played into it. If he could be more then why wouldn't he want that?

"I scared a few folk. Kinda hoped they might have told stories about a scary shadow monster," he explained, lifting his chin and flashing her a wide grin. It was obvious he was proud of childish pranks.

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

Infection

You cringe with a step forward and turn to see an ulcer on your thigh. That must have been what was bothering you this morning. That, paired with the sudden soarness in your throat, causes you to feel woozy.


To participate in the outbreak, please post in the #outbreak channel

The child backed away, and the flash of his fangs nearly sparked uproarious laughter. But Yvaine controlled herself. She watched, she listened, and she knew the secrets of his identity would unfurl themselves like the thin, purple petals of a belladonna bloom. Every twist of fate, every star in the sky, every cycle of the moon circled the heavens with purpose. So would she circle him, like a ravenous raptor, and twist his fate to suit her needs. It was surely what the Morrigan desired by sending an omen of death. Of course, she refused to believe that the death would be hers.


The witch remained where she was, grinning gently, and indeed the boy spilled his weakness. He was delicate. He was right not to trust her, but she wasn’t going to hurt him—she was going to save him. To give him purpose. All this before she even knew how cursed the orphan truly was. Still she waited quietly, giving him room to answer. And her encouragement brought forth his pride. So like a male, to use small accomplishments to hide his inferiority. But this was only a boon for her. Her grin widened.


“I am a banduri,” she explained, “I know the workings of nature and the spirits beyond the veil. You can call me Yvaine…or ‘mooneyes,’ if you like.” A small chuckle. “I can teach you how to save a dying body, I can teach you how to mend a broken spirit. Faith, dear child, is how you can protect someone. But only if you do something for me.”


The woman’s scarlet neck arched as she tilted her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps I have heard of a dark monster scampering in the wood. But to foster true fear, you would have to poison the hope of a much larger audience. How would you like to reap real destruction, Cù-Sìth?” Even as she asked, she noticed the way the boy cringed. His shifting gaze led hers to the oozing wound on his thigh. This did cause the witch to gasp. She took a step back, but stopped herself, and breathed, “Diptheria…”


She was raised on stories of slumbering diseases; her childhood curriculum was the rotation of curses, deaths and cures. But this was an entirely different sort of monster. She knew that just by breathing his air, by standing so close to the Cù-Sìth, that she was already infected. But no known cure yet existed. Her chest heaved once as she gathered her thoughts. These were the risks of partnering with the Morrigan… Black magic always demanded a steep price. The witch had no choice but to use this to her advantage, instead of crumbling beneath the weight of such a punishment. Suddenly, her eyes flashed to the boy. Her voice was more harried now as she spoke, but still velvety smooth. “Tell me what you call yourself, my dear, and I will give you the power to use your curse for greatness.”


@Colburn

‘B

anduri’. Colburn had heard of no such term before and his ears wiggled at the unfamiliar word. A master of spirits and nature. He wondered if that included the fae and if they counted as spirits or nature. There was so much he didn’t know about himself and it was frustrating that he needed someone else’s help. "I like Mooneyes," he piped up, feeling that it suited her better than Yvaine. The little thief had never cared for names, but he liked giving out childish nicknames when it suited him. A sulky huff was drawn forth from his lips when she referred to him as a child, but he remained silent as he weighed her offer against the concern he felt for Snowy. If she could teach him then Snowy would be safe. Still.. There was a price to pay for the knowledge. Mooneyes wanted him to do something for her. "What’d ya want?" he asked, black eyes regarding her warily. He didn’t mind if it was something illegal as long as it didn’t come back to bite him in the ass. He’d undertaken jobs for the thieves guild before so he was no stranger to getting his paws dirty.

A satisfied grin tugged at his dark lips when she hinted that she might have heard about him before. Then his brow twitched when she suggested that he might do more, reap real destruction, not just the petty games he played by himself. He licked his lips, heart beat steadily rising as he considered what chaos he would rain down on people, especially the Imps. "I want that. I want ‘em all real scared n’ then they’ll give me anythin’ I want," he answered with a slight growl of excitement rumbling through his voice. If they were scared they would just give him all the food and shiny things he wanted. If he had that power he could make the Imps leave him alone. They wouldn’t ever try to arrest him again.

He shifted his weight and hopped awkwardly on three legs when pain lanced through his thigh. A bite? But when? Dark eyes fell upon the wound on his limb. It didn’t appear to be inflicted by teeth. It was a glistening hole in his dark flesh that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. A wave of dizziness forced him to lower his haunches to the ground. He looked over at Mooneyes whose silver gaze seemed to shine painfully bright in the moonlight. "Huh?" he mumbled, confused by her sudden gasp and the word she spoke.

It didn’t matter enough to him for him to make mention of it and he merely shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness away. "It’s…" he started to say and frowned. Shadow? Night Sky? Changeling? Colburn? All these names he had been known by and only one he had chosen for himself. It held no particular meaning to him. It was not lovingly bestowed by a loving parent, but taken by a nameless child who had fancied it for himself. "I wanna be Cu-Sith," he decided, lips bearing a lopsided grin half weary with sickness.

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

He was a wild, delicate creature, a vessel of chaos in its purest form. Yvaine was confident that she could break him, harness him, mold him to her ideals if given the chance. But earning the trust of a flighty orphan bore many challenges. And he was, undeniably, a sign from the Morrigan. There was no telling how much the witch would have to sacrifice to control him. But she was willing to try. The eager grin that split his grimy face was nearly enough to forgive the fact that he’d just infected her. The selfishness, the violent delights behind his black gaze, the impulses that sparked his greedy heart: these were things of beauty.


“You are the Cù-Sìth,” the banduri agreed, her voice silken and smooth. Her silver eyes flickered up and down his frame. He didn’t realize fully what was happening to him, and she debated whether or not she should explain. If only he were a little younger, this would be easier. But she didn’t want him to panic. With a reassuring grin, the female explained, “Right now, you carry sickness with you. You may start to feel very ill, but you will not die, because you’re the Cù-Sìth.” She could not believe her fortune. This was even more perfect than her original plan to make him a spy. Perhaps he could do that later.


“All you have to do…is simply walk through Rionna. Walk through the town around Castle Stuart, slipping by all those ignorant busybodies going about their daily lives in the market. They don’t even have to notice you. And you won’t get in trouble, because you aren’t doing anything wrong…just walking as close to as many wolves as you can.” The witch paused, a cold fire burning in her visage. “Soon, they’ll all be so sick and weak that stealing from them would be effortless. But have patience, Cù-Sìth…that time will come. And once you’ve done that, I’ll teach you anything you want to know about keeping someone safe. I’ll even give you a reward up front…wait here.”

She paused, eyed him, then disappeared into the woods.


If the yearling waited for Yvaine’s return, she would saunter back after a surprisingly short time with a pine marten dangling from her maw. A veritable feast for a hungry, sick young vagrant. Yvaine would toss the meal to the boy and grin once more. “For your trouble, dear.” Whether he liked it or not, he was a witch’s adopted thief, now.


@Colburn