Oh! and procrastination story has grown into it's own story. As a heads up, this is a pretty adult piece. What I mean is that it's full of icky violence.
If you haven't read the first part of the story, here is it.
The working title for it is Birthright.
---
I will not bore you with the minutiae of how I came to be on the Surface for it is a tedious and unflattering tale. The only fact of any consequence is that I, Lofae, intend to carve out a fulsome existence for myself on the abundant Surface. As such, the first order of conquest would be over the local populace, the ones that the wolf called Monster, and Kite knew to be Human.
Taking Kite as a host had never entered my mind. Firstly, I could not have survived much longer without a decent feed, and secondly, though he could kasta, the wolf’s form was still much more advantageous for survival at this time. We left the half caste’s body to the mercies of nature as the wolf was unwilling to eat anything else odd-smelling. The chickens and pig however, he devoured. It took a few days for the wolf to eat everything, down to the meat and roots in the cellar. I fumbled with his pituitary gland while he gorged, experimenting with the hormone release that would increase his size.
After two days, my work came to fruition; the wolf was now twice the size as he was, with advantageous deformities in the teeth and claws from my clumsy encouragement of his natural defenses. His appearance was now less like a runt and more like the grim wolves Below, though he still maintained the advantageous features that allowed him to survive on the Surface.
We reached the farms skirting the town under the cover of a moonless night. There, the wolf inhaled a flock of sheep quicker than the bleats could escape them. Their brains made me a hearty, rustic meal and the human boy camped out with the flock didn’t so much as stir when I slid into him, slick with the blood of beasts.
The wolf’s brain was still intact but badly marred by my occupation. He was unlikely capable of much independence, which suited my purposes just fine. I put him under my spell and sent him to rest out of sight. The boy’s brain I consumed. It was of no great loss to him, for he was only seven and hadn’t seemed to have used it much anyway.
I trotted a little unsteadily in my new host’s body up to the farmhouse where a single candle still burned. Already I hated this unflattering body that reeked of his own piss. The sight of a woman through the window lifted my spirits, even though she was old and possessing her would yield even less advantage than the boy. As I drew closer I saw that silent tears ran down her face as her leathery hands worked at a creaky spinning wheel.
I hoisted myself onto the windowsill and asked. “Why do you cry?”
The woman looked up sullenly, though her eyes widened as she beheld my appearance. The rhythmic moving of the wheel haltered.
“Come here, child, what has happened?”
I obliged, though I did not know the reason for her concern until she wet her sleeve and wiped the lick of blood that trailed from my jaw to my ear. A closer examination would reveal a bloody ear canal, which I could not afford her questioning.
“The sheep were eaten by the wolf,” I said. “I am fine. It is only their blood.”
The woman seemed unnerved that I had spoken of this all quite calmly. She held me close and stroked my hair before telling me that I should stay here while she confirmed my news. I punished myself for my mistake, constricting my tentacles around myself for a moment so that the pain would serve as a reminder that a Surface child must have been at least wary of wolves.
Luckily, the woman was too occupied to pay me much mind. Soon enough, there were torch lights weaving through the fields and cries of anger and dismay. I was left to my own devices for a while during which I explored the dwelling where the boy must have lived. It was sparsely furnished with nothing of value. Damage to the walls and scrapes on the floor hinted at hardships endured.
Just as I began to dose, the woman returned with a tall, gaunt man dressed in grey. I felt a small fizzle of irritation, though I did not know the cause. She stroked my head, which fueled my growing annoyance, and asked me to recount my story to Brother Endell.
“I don’t remember,” I said, making the effort to quiver my voice.
Before the woman could coax out the story, Endell grabbed me, tearing the seams of my collar as he shook me.
“No, Caryn, your son needs to have a lesson!” He pushed the woman away when she tried to intervene. “He grows soft while the brave are at war. You will tell us everything, boy!”
“Do as you’re told, Thomas,” Caryn pleaded meekly.
“It was dark. I didn’t see much,” I said. The shaking had knocked me painfully against the boy’s skull, and so his tears this time were real. “I heard the wolf crunching on the bones.”
“Hmp!” Endell dropped me. “Clearly still in shock. For all we know, it could have been bandits or even a Silkin! Dunsk was barely spared last time, owed to one man’s bravery and the power of Petramos, but the danger still lurks. ”
I watched Caryn’s reaction to Endell’s exclamation. What was a Silkin, that its mere mention could inspire such terror? My naivety of the Surface had made me overlook the possibility that the humans did not perhaps sit at the pinnacle of power. Having mistaken this of the creature that even a wolf called ‘Monster’, I had neglected to glean much more intelligence from the village boy. Then again, now that I stated to think, the wolf of the Surface had been surprisingly easy to capture. Perhaps he was little more than a runt himself and not the best judge of character.
Caryn settled me down to sleep on my patch of floor but did not retire herself. Instead, she stayed up for the rest of the night, spinning yarn that was quite uneven compared to her previous work.
If you haven't read the first part of the story, here is it.
The working title for it is Birthright.
---
I will not bore you with the minutiae of how I came to be on the Surface for it is a tedious and unflattering tale. The only fact of any consequence is that I, Lofae, intend to carve out a fulsome existence for myself on the abundant Surface. As such, the first order of conquest would be over the local populace, the ones that the wolf called Monster, and Kite knew to be Human.
Taking Kite as a host had never entered my mind. Firstly, I could not have survived much longer without a decent feed, and secondly, though he could kasta, the wolf’s form was still much more advantageous for survival at this time. We left the half caste’s body to the mercies of nature as the wolf was unwilling to eat anything else odd-smelling. The chickens and pig however, he devoured. It took a few days for the wolf to eat everything, down to the meat and roots in the cellar. I fumbled with his pituitary gland while he gorged, experimenting with the hormone release that would increase his size.
After two days, my work came to fruition; the wolf was now twice the size as he was, with advantageous deformities in the teeth and claws from my clumsy encouragement of his natural defenses. His appearance was now less like a runt and more like the grim wolves Below, though he still maintained the advantageous features that allowed him to survive on the Surface.
We reached the farms skirting the town under the cover of a moonless night. There, the wolf inhaled a flock of sheep quicker than the bleats could escape them. Their brains made me a hearty, rustic meal and the human boy camped out with the flock didn’t so much as stir when I slid into him, slick with the blood of beasts.
The wolf’s brain was still intact but badly marred by my occupation. He was unlikely capable of much independence, which suited my purposes just fine. I put him under my spell and sent him to rest out of sight. The boy’s brain I consumed. It was of no great loss to him, for he was only seven and hadn’t seemed to have used it much anyway.
I trotted a little unsteadily in my new host’s body up to the farmhouse where a single candle still burned. Already I hated this unflattering body that reeked of his own piss. The sight of a woman through the window lifted my spirits, even though she was old and possessing her would yield even less advantage than the boy. As I drew closer I saw that silent tears ran down her face as her leathery hands worked at a creaky spinning wheel.
I hoisted myself onto the windowsill and asked. “Why do you cry?”
The woman looked up sullenly, though her eyes widened as she beheld my appearance. The rhythmic moving of the wheel haltered.
“Come here, child, what has happened?”
I obliged, though I did not know the reason for her concern until she wet her sleeve and wiped the lick of blood that trailed from my jaw to my ear. A closer examination would reveal a bloody ear canal, which I could not afford her questioning.
“The sheep were eaten by the wolf,” I said. “I am fine. It is only their blood.”
The woman seemed unnerved that I had spoken of this all quite calmly. She held me close and stroked my hair before telling me that I should stay here while she confirmed my news. I punished myself for my mistake, constricting my tentacles around myself for a moment so that the pain would serve as a reminder that a Surface child must have been at least wary of wolves.
Luckily, the woman was too occupied to pay me much mind. Soon enough, there were torch lights weaving through the fields and cries of anger and dismay. I was left to my own devices for a while during which I explored the dwelling where the boy must have lived. It was sparsely furnished with nothing of value. Damage to the walls and scrapes on the floor hinted at hardships endured.
Just as I began to dose, the woman returned with a tall, gaunt man dressed in grey. I felt a small fizzle of irritation, though I did not know the cause. She stroked my head, which fueled my growing annoyance, and asked me to recount my story to Brother Endell.
“I don’t remember,” I said, making the effort to quiver my voice.
Before the woman could coax out the story, Endell grabbed me, tearing the seams of my collar as he shook me.
“No, Caryn, your son needs to have a lesson!” He pushed the woman away when she tried to intervene. “He grows soft while the brave are at war. You will tell us everything, boy!”
“Do as you’re told, Thomas,” Caryn pleaded meekly.
“It was dark. I didn’t see much,” I said. The shaking had knocked me painfully against the boy’s skull, and so his tears this time were real. “I heard the wolf crunching on the bones.”
“Hmp!” Endell dropped me. “Clearly still in shock. For all we know, it could have been bandits or even a Silkin! Dunsk was barely spared last time, owed to one man’s bravery and the power of Petramos, but the danger still lurks. ”
I watched Caryn’s reaction to Endell’s exclamation. What was a Silkin, that its mere mention could inspire such terror? My naivety of the Surface had made me overlook the possibility that the humans did not perhaps sit at the pinnacle of power. Having mistaken this of the creature that even a wolf called ‘Monster’, I had neglected to glean much more intelligence from the village boy. Then again, now that I stated to think, the wolf of the Surface had been surprisingly easy to capture. Perhaps he was little more than a runt himself and not the best judge of character.
Caryn settled me down to sleep on my patch of floor but did not retire herself. Instead, she stayed up for the rest of the night, spinning yarn that was quite uneven compared to her previous work.
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