Feast of Flowering, Mage


Authors
Tiyre
Published
3 years, 10 days ago
Updated
3 years, 3 days ago
Stats
3 1880

Chapter 1
Published 3 years, 10 days ago
824

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Author's Notes

WC : 822 (8 gold x 2 for prompt = 16)
Goes backwards, toward elder

Mage Prompt 1, Towards Elder


He really had little reason to leave the desert. Really. The desert was a lovely place - bright, hot, and the fungal friends who lived there found had chosen - eons ago - to survive on plants or algae or everything that wasn't sentient. They did not shout at him, just murmured happy little wistful thoughts for rain, the same as everyone else. Well, almost everyone. Some preferred it dry, and that made sense, too. Nigel wasn't sure which he preferred, not really. He just knew the desert was safe. Or, rather, if he stayed in the desert, others would be safe. Sidney had told him once that he didn't need to listen, that the voices couldn't force him to do anything, but Morgan had known better. They'd had the same power, and Morgan had rarely talked about it, but they'd instilled in Nigel the knowledge that when you're only hearing death, it's hard to make a decision that isn't tied to the cries.

He really had little reason to leave the desert. And yet... and yet, here he was, plodding along what had become a road. They hadn't celebrated many holidays in his childhood, but he had to find Morgan. He had to - maybe they'd know how to help him. He should never have lost his parent, but the fungi in the rotting trees had cried until he could not hear and could barely see, and suddenly, he'd been alone. But Morgan needed help, and if he didn't.... Nigel did. He'd lived in the desert, alone, long enough to know that he missed being around his family, small that it was. Six years he'd been alone, save for the hares who apparently thought that he was an abnormally-bodied and so kept near him and warned him when they thought something was dangerous. He'd taken to calling them Harriet and Fanny, after his sisters. Fanny would likely be somewhat offended, but she was not here. Harriet... well, Harriet had vanished a long time ago. He could barely remember her, would likely be unable to recognize her if he saw her in the street. Surely there were many camelids with snaking tails....

He hadn't seen them, though. He'd only just started to pass others, but they all looked so... different. Unusual, strange, brightly colored. Like the fungi he'd seen - large and small, bright and dull, enticing and unwanted. So he traveled, further and further from his lonely haven, Harriet and Fanny hopping at his heels. Nigel was surprised they'd chosen to come - after all, the desert was their home even more than his. Regardless, he was glad they were there, so at least he knew some of the faces he saw.

And faces... so many faces. Different shapes, different colors, different creatures. Creatures his parents had spoken of in passing, a "the world is full of things but your world is here, with us." But he was not with them any more, and so, well... he supposed it was okay to see these others. Though the others were getting more and more, more and more, more and... He stopped, froze, paused, his heart beat racing racing racing until it felt like he couldn't breathe. There were just.... so many people, so close to him, and he could hear the whispers of hungry mushrooms rising and falling like an approaching sandstorm. He didn't want it, it couldn't be, he wouldn't do whatever they said whatever they said they'd say whatever they'd say.

He stood, head lowered, long hare-ears pressed flat, eyes nearly closed. They were not loud, not yet, but they were many. Less than he expected, but many. Angry and sad and hungry, with some of the voices a little too pleased with their current situation. There was one voice that felt different, though, a voice sludged beneath and below, deeper than a thousand small choirs. Perhaps this voice was... well, not not-real, but perhaps it was not fungal. He opened his slitted eyes to see another, slumped even as he had been slumped, crying as he'd almost been crying. They were older, older than any he had met before, but he hesitated. Perhaps this elder was growing mushrooms, already on his way to rot. Should he.... approach, or run? No one else seemed to be stopping, and everywhere he looked there was just more and more and more people. There was no escape, but perhaps there was a breath of space.

"Hello," he said, voice halting unused to speaking to someone who could respond. "Is there any way that I can be of help?" He looked around, eyes searching out what he knew he could only hear through his magic, but the mushrooms seemed to have quieted. Perhaps the old camel was not as infested with corpse eaters as he'd previously feared. It was likely just this elder. Maybe he bathed often and dried more? Whatever the reason, Nigel was grateful.