Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Staring blankly at the stars, losing my mind, and spacing out. My neck crunches, like I was a creeper dried over the seasons.

Clutching my journal with a Ravager icon, I posture myself to clutch it with both arms and hang it over my robe. My brain slowly seeps out what I was losing my head about as I move like a statue.

Looking at the path, going away to the rotting frog spiked by an anti-herbivore branch, being eaten alive by butterflies.

The cliff might be a nice way to catch the wind, but oh do I love the leaves, the breeze dodging trees and hitting me. My shoes clopped onto the stones that bloom from my view, my tail curling like a flame the fireflies making stary hues, the wind grazing my horns to ice, and my tusk tasting like bones with the smell of a sweet candle.
As any teeth taste like.

I remember getting those candles from a while ago for my church. The circular granite building on the other side of the cliff sees the ocean horizon of trees. It’s a swampy mangrove, so there is a lot more ocean for the mangroves.

I clank on the steps inside the church, sliding my feet elegantly to the side of my shoe. The jewelled fireflies that go down my robe, flicker up with light. \\as if they were still alive, but hey they're appreciated. Are these taxidermy with cotton? I never asked as much as I forget.

Clopping my way in I see the stage, or one slabbed stage with a cobblestone book holder. With moss coated like glitter mold, pretty.

“Good stature nurse’s apprentice, I'm glad if you seem to get it as a habit.”

I nod with a smile and greeting.

An Evoker doctor needs some spirits to help in sickness to soothe in death. A bit like Vex nurses from those novels; A vex playing gently with a telescope from movies, and another vex holding an axe for happy amputations.

Usual mansions aren't that organized and even the evokers know just how to raid. Which would make them sound stupid, but oh well.

“Heheheha.”
“What are you laughing about?”
“Ehehe.”
“What an answer.” Priest clapped sarcastically, clasping their hands together in their priest wear. Simple and modesty to the swamps royal purple.

European rulers hated us. {Elizabeth}

“Well let's get to work.” Preistest chirped, “I have some task for you to help out in medical research, I told you during the Eclipse funeral festival.”

Some people refer to it as a peekaboo festival during the day people thought the sun died, and the religion was separated in interpretations of whether necromancy was ok.

“Right” If I could remember from yesterday in church, that one thing he might've told me over the music before jazzing…
‘The life, and uniqueness from the dark abstraction that light gives. Let the firefly guide your power in your worth and uniqueness.’...‘There is peace to being hidden with the shade the sun gives us, as its creature we see in the dark that glows that guide us.’

It was a great festival, that's all I remember with all the food.

I follow down the triangular top-cut sandwich steps. With two moons I bet it can have glasses. Or would that be a werewolf and some random werefox? Are werefoxs moon or astroid adjacent, or would that be another mammal? Would it be wrong to use two cobblestone rocks as sunglasses? {with the deities of the moon in mind…}

Twirling a round to the first portrait, and some candles. I sometimes sit there in an abandoned church stairwell. But I haven't been hanging out with coffin-eyes for some time, abroad in all. Not that I lived by her place.

With each step, I hardly pass a glance at the stained glass window, but the sun rises seeping the stairs like pink blazes for the next stained window.

We pass each one, more contrast, more cold, more warm. Nature, Sea, Deserts, Mobs in rays.

My legs hurt. If I haven't been doing this for a while- Ayooo!
Hehe, I'm sounding like the witch Covetouss… Is that a title like the Head of a coven leader?

We're here, lovely wood and the moist air of moss. Closed? This is the first time I've even been this far, and I've only ever seen this door from the outside.

“Come along now” The priest calls me over.

Tailing behind the priest, they seemed farther along, looking behind me I gave a small wave.

Ok, I take it back my calves are just aching.

Oh The Red Stained sun, overseeing poacher’s weapons and hunter’s weapons.

My shoe touched a small water puddle, that sticks a little to my shoes. They don't stick on the walls, but it is probably the lighting.

I lower my head, glancing at the window. Staring at it, blankly, would I ever have to deal with one?

The door creaks open, only hear an echo of my mentor's boots with the metal shackle clanking only so quietly. We did pass the cobblestone gate fence with a lock, I didn't think I'd have to go down for more steps.

Nor did I think how spacious it sounded, this isn't a cave, and from the outside by the stained glass… This way was invisible.

Best be moving. I hear the slow footsteps up the stairs, It's probably the janitor with the way they usually take each of their steps and the bucket clanking with water.

The cut and clean cobblestone embedded with dirt in between the cracks of the cellar, I wonder if there’s wine.

Speed walking by the priest, I re-adjusted my book, only tailing behind the priest. Their tails swish more like water, or one of a snake.

Why have I been smelling iron so strongly?

I can see the end of the tunnel, outside in peace. Two rugged men crouching down to the perched horned man.
“The cold makes it burn.”

Ah, they're here because they need help adjusting to being a Graveager. Being blessed into a Graveager after a Ravager’s isn't for everyone, cause why enjoy grieving? I mean there are solemn holidays and moments.

I’m not one to know.

Being born one might be natural, with some slight adjusting to turning into just an illager. I was too lazy to figure that out until I was convicted. {-Convention AbuDhabi in April * If you don't see a illager cardboard head(InJireiKei), I just failed <3}

I gaze lower to see their clothes; a simple light grey that contrasts his gray skin. The belt is buttoned with a skull button with crossing shovels.

A Mourge’s worker. Not an unusual pick, I guess that would make sense. I just don’t particularly know a lot of morgues workers

I look at the priest, with the sun-shaded light scruffing the opening of the gate, butterflies tasting rotting leg. shacklet up, and under a sheet of fabric.

They looked up at me, the green eyes looked dull, with dry cheeks, if only for the priest to want to see that man cry, but butterfly demons tempt one to enjoy blood.

It seems you're feeding the butterflies well. ‘They seem more like parasites now’ would be a great response… If they knew Gibberish, as some foreigners would say.

My tail touches a stick, clanking with the metal spike at its head. I look back... Straight to the chained illager.

Their hand looks bruised, and the rope in the side of the room's open cell is scratched up and bloodied.

Harpoons are usually used for a whale modded into the ocean.

The cell, raw stone with moss eats the blood on the dirt floor.

The bony ribcage was broken, it looked like the aftermath of a falling ceiling filled with slimy bloodied worms spilled over the dust of rocks. Or at least their broken bones.
My nose has been scrunching from the smell, I don't know the spell that makes someone withstand rotting alive. You have to be a zombie for that.

And they have horns, a bitten-off tail, and tusks. Their clothes were slightly ripped and tightened around their body. Making their blood from small scratches pulse out unless it became puss. Did they fall in a thorn patch?

The priest decides to answer.

“Poachers deserve to suffer, it's a curse sometimes.” They rummage through their sleeve, “Well unless they mess with someone who curses. Then what are you going to do.”

Exp fell to the ground to my shined shoes. My shoulders flinch up dropping my book on the exp. I quickly picked it up and slid on the smooth stone back.

The fireflies on my robe brightened, as I rubbed off the exp on my robe. Holding the book on my side.

This was a little more terrifying and better than letting foreign doctors and archeologists have our ancestor's bones to keep.

The priest got out a small journal. Pulling their sleeves string, closing it back again with water books that don't seem to poke out. Comfortable sleeves that seemed cushion thats for sure.

It hurts a little, that I still hear panting. The breathy and tired voice easily reached the small enclosed space. If I were a priest, I’d never have the control to use an undying totem for torture, if only the Evokers worry that they'd be a slightly different person.

“So Ghost Nurse, could you remove the stomach guts thing”
… I looked around, and just placed my book by the harpoon.

I yanked the organs, It was so warm.

“...I feel like the witch would've told you even basic of wearing a glo- I'll get the gloves,”

The priest sighed, and left to get it for me, I think. I don’t trust my assumptions. On what they said, forgetting it like a mist spritz in the nether.

Staring blankly, cracking the top back of my neck to the cellmate… The groaning sound not coming from this poacher.

I continue to lay out the guts. It's so much more squashed inside a person. Through the iron bars, I saw The morgue worker clutching their stomach.

Chapter Text

All I see is pink, the floral stench feels revolting like I'm licking the perfume.

My head is slowly unjarring to the brunt force of making a roomier tree-” Aah!”

Augh, am I glad my head isn't heavy enough for me to fall? I drop a glass bottle of wine, whining to the bruise of the bite on my head hitting the back of the tree.

The rhythmic leaves blowing in the wind with the small shake of the tree, with the long front like a skirt. Church’s hand my downs were comfortable, but the idea that it was the only thing I was wearing to feel the wind on my legs was better than I thought.

Just with a migraine, it'd be so hard to feel calm about the wind. That's so boring to have a conversation about…

Someone else was talking to me about the air during a shift, and it'd always be the most insane shit, ‘Do you think we had ancestors in ancient times that tried to communicate with us through the wind, and that's why were always cold before a village raid.’

That's one of many stupidest things I've heard grabbing a haybale. It was an existential thought after a week of feeling ancestral guilt. Where it only let me stare out off into space, wanting to give myself a little rest on the cobblestone fence with a small opening, but feeling the hot breath of the demon child of a ravager we started to call ‘Johnny’

Which, we had to stop doing because the owner of the ranch and ravagers had their kid name tagged Johnny, ‘like I'm name tagging that gruff, that ravager is intelligent as it is to be evil’.

I huffed, remembering the ranch keeper’s look. And they were a dirtied mess. This makes sense because I'd never relax with the face of Nether’s missing daughter. Gruff had dragged them through the dirt. Too Bite Me. And die….

At least I get to have the made-up wine leave from the ranch to the church as remedies. “Grrrgh…” my torsos pains kicked in. Shit, I’d dropped the wine!
“Oh no!”

I'm so thirsty and whiny.

A trickle ran down my face looking at the bottle on the floor, the sun shimmering at the small puddle.

Chapter Text

Blizzard crashed by a small ravine with a cute hill, with two ollager’s cuddling by each other, Hearing the hoard of quick whispers.

Iceolager with sharp blue markings, and orange beaded eyes that seemed shined from a box of glass buttons.

And an ollager with red sickly eye’s huddled next to them on the snow, smushing the side of their coats, their cheeks had a visible hexagon pattern of a potion effect.

Both of them had a Mole, but the Ollager had two. Maybe an angel kissed them twice, as some would say in his tribe. Quite a big bunch, and as hidden as ice spikes.

Well there were many, many visible ice spikes. But not when your falling at high speeds, that's the only type of visitors they get.

“Say, what do you like”

“What's that”

“Liking”

“No, I just didn't hear you from the blizzard.”

“Oh, that's the only thing you're focusing on.”

“It’s really loud, the ravine isnt that deep.”

The ollager whined, playfully, shaking the icollagers shoulder. Watching them block the entrance with simple smooth ice blocks.

“Again what-”

“Note blocks.”

“.. Those are nice, do you know what they look like?”

“I have one.”

They got out those things dogs have with beer, but this one was a- “Note chest my mom gave me, i also have the whinging lever thingy to play it.”

The iceollager leaned their head against the wall, crossing their arms.

“Opening it up would be a bother, but it's more of a fine gimmick at a desk as decoration. That’s my preference, it would be nice to hear and notice someone nearby, but not when they know your area.”

You'd think the iceolagger crossing their arms would mean they wouldn't like to be here, but they have their own body language in holding themselves up from being a little tired. Don't always listen to those pesky, I definitely know psychology, this is the only way this thing works with 8 billion mobs in the world.

“It's as small as a button, that's just cute, I'm dying.”

“It, plays my birth songs melodies~”

The villager rolled their tongue, holding the lully by a box like a statue figure, or no, better yet a trophy.

Of course, the iceollager already knew the music notes, but they just ignored their over-explanation.

-Skip-

Purplish cheeks, and smudged makeup on their cheeks. A pulse as weak as a their music box’s melody. Death reeked and the wind stopped.

The ollager must still have a pulse, at least for them not to suffer through a fever.

Iceollager crouched down on their feet, hands clasped layed on the top of their nose pointing at their forehead.

Looking down at a music box, cracked from the ice to top and bottom. Like a mini chest thats broken without its hinges.

It sounds like the metal is still playing a blocky lullaby.

Chapter Text

next xhapter has something, this one not really

Chapter Text

An illager crowned by old jewel of a royal guard uniform from a fallen empire, sat at their desk, stained exp on the floor, and heavy footsteps echoes behind their door. A flood of guard pushed the door open, shocking the crowned illager in disgust.

======
The light shined through the open gates, to the crown illager, and two evokers behind him.

“I am not a humble corrupt, but i am quite frankly overworked and young.”

The normal un-gemmed fitted illager waved their hand. The armoured guards beside the evoker with an unkempt brow, robed in black and gold with black entrails of potion effects in their golden trim, with their glasses in their pocket broken.

Crowned illager looked glanced back at their evoker on their right. Evoker priestess looked down, with all the self-awareness of their sins. The dullend clothing that comparatively had a bigger gold trim didn't shine as nicely.

“Tch” The crowned illager stared at the lower class guard worker, peeking at the modest maid walking outside the gates, “You have no loyalty, or any respectable understanding of why I controlled this region.”

The worker glanced down at them, their eyes bothered by the sun. Being disturbed in their conversation in the mother tongue, far from the illagerish the once ruler of the land knew.

"My loyalty’s is towards nature, she is a ruthless controller. This is only natural, for fear of you taking away my children, this is for their survival."

They walked out the gate, a cobblestone stage of execution. How wonderful!

==

A basket, dried, used and worn. It had a rag, smelling similarly to some soap with leaves and lemon skin.

Their fresh dried leaves, and there's dust of withered leaves from falls 3 months ago.

A dead wild wasp leg sticks out, or was it a queen bee kicked out my a sister or a hidden code from the workers to overthrew the long emperor.

And with that, the neck hanging over the guillotine dripped out exp into the basket.

The confetti from the witches was the only loudest ones there all the way in the hills, quite far but as visible as the moon. You could still be able to hear a thump of the head go into the basket.

Watery red blood stained the ragged, and dropped head. The heads whittend eyes, seeping to go back in their head. The vocals chopped off of the pittering quietness of and the breezes overshadowed with the quiet and peaceful crowd attachment to the over-excitement of a dead king.