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year 5, quarter 3
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Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Oct 13, 2024 14:10:53 GMT -6
All of the boy's words, Grudge had heard often enough that immediately came to the forefront of their mind a response that they would not be using for the first time, short as their existence they understood to be. It was a speech so well-rehearsed to have broken through the barrier of mere second-nature and etched itself right into the very fabric of their being.
“Yes, I am a Tonberry,” they said calmly, putting away their cleaver out of a forefeeling that the boy would not seek a fight precisely because they were a Tonberry. “All creatures living and otherwise have a way to talk, one way or another, but that does not mean that they will, or that we will be privy to their words.”
All creatures, and therefore all monsters. Grudge considered the boy's tail, and pondered what it was that otherised sapient creatures to monsterhood while others remained, for a lack of a better expression, “non-monsters”. Where was the threshold? Who set the threshold? What made it so that certain “who” could set the threshold?
“I do not seek gems, nor do I know of anything that a traveller might hold that I may want for myself. Your own poverty is of no concern to me.” Grudge meant that last sentence to be reassuring, yet a small part of their mind suggested that it might have been misconstructed. For some reason, that suggestion took the form of a memory of Mikkel erupting into raucous, deriding laughter. They ignored it, for there had never been any way for them but forward. “All that I seek is the byproduct of the crystal that lies ahead. I am heading towards the Crystallus Divider. There, I will pray. I am not aware of any other ways to get there; therefore, I am journeying out here, in the open.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Oct 1, 2024 15:41:58 GMT -6
Journeys for Grudge tended to begin and end in solitude, and only once at any one destination – only intermediate destinations, for they had yet to find their final one, if one existed at all – or at some crossroads or checkpoint did circumstances place others before them with whom they could interact.
It was not a rule, not a law of nature or an explicit destiny bestowed upon them by the World. It was rather a string of coincidences that formed a pattern that only existed in interpretation, not unlike constellations. Yet, it was common for those who could interpret to notice and internalise such patterns as self-evident truths.
As a result, when somebody called out for them on the high road, Grudge flinched, insofar as they were able to flinch at all, which translated into them stopping in their tracks somewhat more abruptly than they would have normally done.
Grudge contemplated the newly disproven little truth, and concluded that it did not matter, since it was a personal truth that they had constructed themselves, instead of one of the many Truths bestowed upon them by the World when It created them, which further confirmed that they needed Its guidance after all, and therefore their pilgrimage was sensible. So they turned, slowly, tightening the grip on their cleaver, and saw a tailed boy.
“Yes, I am in good health,” they answered simply as they considered the idea of a human with a tail not unlike that of a monkey. An unusual sight, and not one of their World, yet not an unfamiliar one either. Perhaps, there was a connection between him and her, if only a shared species. “And I am armed. You, too, travel alone on the high road, yet must not be familiar with it yourself, since you said you do not know what creatures may lurk here. Therefore, this must not be where you belong. I am puzzled, and I will reciprocate your advice for caution.”
They studied the boy, their eyes focusing on his tail. It looked exactly like Mikoto's, down to the very colour of its fur. Grudge wondered if he, too, had been created just like them, but then a flash of unrelated realisation knocked unexpected at the front door of their consciousness. It came in the shape of the memory of a mirror reflection.
“Although I am what most would call a monster myself, I want to reassure you, before blood is shed without necessity, that I do not intend to kill those who would not oppose me, nor do I hunger for the flesh of the living.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Sept 27, 2024 17:00:57 GMT -6
As the sun began its slow dip into the horizon in the opposite direction, Grudge interrupted for the first time a march that had begun at dawn to open the little window in their lamp's chimney, light a flame with a calm gesture of what one could have only called a hand for lack of a better alternative, close it again, and then turn the small brass wick knob counterclockwise until the flame was small enough for their tastes...
...and resumed walking without a word, for there were neither people to talk to, nor anything that warranted a comment. Soon, it would be dark, and the sunset made that notion self-evident. Soon, it would also start raining, and the thick lead-grey clouds blocking the orange sunlight, or at any rate what little was left of it, as well as the humidity in the air and the chilly eastwards breeze biting at their neck made that notion self-evident.
It was not an unattractive prospect, rain. Grudge found pleasure in feeling it stream down its skin, from the top of their head down their back and to the tip of their tail, and in how their burlap cloak felt against their skin once it soaked in it. Grudge reflected on the idea that there were some, in this World as well as their own, that might have called this a portent.
After all, what more appropriate welcome for a creature born of the Crystal of Water to be welcomed by water on the way to a crystal? A crystal, or so they were made to understand. If not a crystal, then a lead. Yet, in the middle of the Fractured Plains lay the Crystallus Divider, and the Crystal Order that spawned as a result of its existence. And before the Crystallus Divider, Grudge would pray.
And that was an unusual prospect for them, for prayers were not born of fatalism. A creature for whom a path had been drawn from the start to – they thought – the finish needed neither guidance nor reassurance: whatever happened was meant to happen, and if it was meant to happen, then it was necessarily unavoidable.
A prayer was instead born of hope, for most of what existed in the World did not come into it with a predetermined purpose, and when it did, it did not necessarily know it, and such indetermination bred uncertainty. If what came into the world without a purpose or without knowing its purpose wished for reassurance and guidance, it sought. When it sought without finding, it prayed. A prayer was not born of despair, because despair implied a surrender, and a surrender begot stagnancy in turn. What prayed, prayed because it still sought, and what reason was there to seek for those who would not wish to move further?
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Aug 24, 2024 18:36:07 GMT -6
It had been two weeks and four days. Yet, not once prior to that moment did Grudge hear music rising from the foliage. As they tightened their grip on the dagger they had claimed, they found themselves contemplating the simple reality that was the fact that, in truth, neither did anybody toss blades at them.
Around them, the underwood stirred as creatures never truly unseen so much as inconsequential fled the scene in alarm – snakes and rodents and birds and wild cats and foxes and any other creature too large not to be caught in the crossfire and at the same time too small to take an active role. As a cold draft rose to carry the music, even the flora itself reacted to the prospect of an upcoming clash: grass bent in directions irrespective of that of the wind, flowers turned away from the rays of sunlight that filtered from above, and twigs snapped with no outside stimulation. Even some of the branches began to creak.
Finally, more inexplicable still were the petals, as if from a cherry tree in full blossom, that fluttered in their direction and dotted the ground across their fleet with pink notes. What came next, Grudge could see but was too slow to stop.
A massive figure, red-clad not unlike the warrior-flamingo himself, leaped out of the shadows and half-dashed, half-flew towards the warrior-flamingo. Grudge saw it swing a similarly massive sword which the warrior-flamingo could only stop with his own armour. There was a metallic clang and a grunt, and the warrior-flamingo tumbled into and uprooted tree after tree, until Grudge could not see him anymore.
Calmly, the figure raised – or more accurately lowered – its blade against them too. Grudge felt it press against its neck, not quite with enough strength to draw blood, but still in such a way that any incautious movements would have changed that. Grudge glanced once more at the dagger they stole and appreciated the abyss in craftsmanship between it and that sword.
“You would attack us without making your motives known,” they said coldly to the figure. “And you choose to do it now, after two weeks and four days in this forest for me, and possibly more for the warrior-flamingo. Two weeks and four days lost and despairing, and you choose to attack us as we are trying to rebuild our hope.”
Grudge paused to process their own summary of the situation while staring, unflinching and unblinking, at the figure. After a few more moments of quiet contemplation, they concluded: “You are vile.”
As they spoke, a spark lit up inside their lantern and grew into a current that ran along the length of their arm with a crackle, rose further in voltage as it enveloped their whole body, and then dangerously snaked up the metal of the blade from the tip up. It was an arrogant and careless move to point a blade at the flesh of an opponent whose powers one did not know.
“What purpose do threats serve if our death is your ultimate goal? How empty a promise of a painless death when my blood is dripping from my head – look at it, for you drew it! Now cease and take your leave if you can, or perish.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Jul 16, 2024 14:54:38 GMT -6
A vague answer, yet eloquent. If Grudge existed in service of the World – whether it was their World, this World, or the sum of all Worlds in creation they could no longer say with certainty – then the warrior-flamingo existed in service of a Story, or the Story, whatever the implication of a determinative article there. Jarringly, though some would say ironically instead, they now both faced a situation of extreme stasis, of stagnancy, in which they who served in Space could not move across Space, and he who served in Time could not proceed onto his next scene, as if a book with pages unflappable.
He then went on to mention a spear he had once lost in those very woods, though he spoke of it like an afterthought – an item of secondary importance to his mission, regardless of personal attachment. Still, Grudge stopped to consider the idea of a force of nature feeling a personal attachment to something, and act on it.
“So you returned to this forest,” Grudge observed flatly, yet ponderously. He returned; therefore, he must have been there before. And for that very sentence to have meaning, he must have left that place, for you could not come back somewhere you had never left.
As Grudge spoke, the warrior flamingo produced the increasingly notorious gee-pee-es once more. It shattered the moment he raised it to eye level. When it did, Grudge was certain they saw a metallic glint in the air just a moment before. So they turned.
“So that is not–” Another object darted in their direction and struck their snout, piercing through it before they could finish their sentence. In silence, they hold onto the warrior-flamingo as he makes his descent. Grudge saw three bladed weapons protrude from his left side. Stuck as they were, they did not wound him; the armour dampened the blows instead.
When the warrior-flamingo landed, Grudge hopped from his shoulders and landed on the foliage with a two-footed thud, blood trickling past their mouth and down their neck. Calmly, they grabbed the blade’s handle and extracted with their body with one, measured gesture.
“It is light,” Grudge shook the blade off the weapon with a swing. For all intents and purposes, that was a knife, and one could stab with it. Still, it felt wrong. It did not belong. It lacked the weight of their knife – no, not theirs anymore, but the knife they ceded to the warrior-flamingo – even if it shared its function… Although not completely. “It is small.”
On top of that, Grudge noticed that a kozuka could not chop, which was a quality most curious for them to pay attention to: never in their entire life, after all, had they given any importance to the idea of chopping, where stabbing had always been right there.
And even then, it felt wrong, for it was a weapon of no weight, of no consequence, and of no potential. It was nothing but a chunk of sharp metal to sink into a target. It was not their knife. It was not them.
“It will do.”
Therefore, they concluded, it could not be but one aspect of them. One of more than one, but one nonetheless.
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Jun 30, 2024 11:26:43 GMT -6
Grudge could swear they had seen that pose before, much as even “could swear” implied a degree of uncertainty, of room for doubt, however minimal that might be, and Grudge was not one who could recall memories in any terms except absolute ones. Factuality therefore informed the unnecessity of idiom and an amendment: Grudge had seen that pose before. Mikkel once told them that it was most characteristic of a mythological champion of his people: Superdwarf, born inside the core of the planet and sent up closer to the surface as a mere infant to look for gold and inspire other dwarfs to seek out new depths.
A remarkable similarity, if in all probability a coincidental one, for the evidence for Superdwarf and the warrior-flamingo being truly one and the same was just as remarkably scarce. Stature alone, for instance, indicated rather the exact opposite.
Grudge collaboratively raised their arms as the warrior-flamingo bent over to grasp them and place them on top of his shoulders, the nearly empty lantern rattling with the movement. As he spoke, they instinctively grabbed onto their headscarf with their free hand.
“Squirrelly? Do you perhaps mean that you intend to go up trees and search for acorns and walnuts?”
And then another pose. It was a crouch not unlike that of a wild beast preparing to pounce on its prey, as was the leonine growl that gave voice to the warrior-flamingo’s challenge to the forest. He did not reply. His actions did. The answer was “no.”
A breeze rose and swirled around his feet, and with it dust and dead leaves. And then, the warrior-flamingo Jumped, with a capital letter, because it was the Jump of a Dragoon, for only Dragoons could hope to match such heights (which itself corroborated the hypothesis that the warrior-flamingo was not in fact Superdwarf), even if he was not himself one.
In reality, Grudge did not stray too far from the truth insofar as the warrior-flamingo did go up trees. All of the trees at once, in fact, and then further into the air. Before them, the forest stretched in all directions well into the horizon and beyond. Grudge stared at the panorama in contemplation until gravity pulled them back down.
“It was not like that when I entered,” Grudge commented. “The forest did not look nearly as large before I entered it. If it was, then there should be no need for it to make one walk in circles. It cannot be exited normally, nor will it allow shortcuts. However, if there is an entrance, then there must be an exit.”
As they spoke, they realised that the fact that there was an exit did not imply that there was any way to access that exit, at least for them, and without the forest’s permission. Similarly, there was no way to guarantee that the forest would eventually grant them that permission. It stood to reason then that if it was possible to escape that place, then one had to treat the search as a puzzle of sorts. If it was not, then the forest itself acted as a seal for the two of them. But even then, no seal was inviolable.
“Warrior-flamingo, what did the forest look like when you entered it?” And then, with sudden uncharacteristic spontaneity: “Why did you enter this place?”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on May 3, 2024 13:49:28 GMT -6
Monsters. Grudge had not considered them. Inside that forest, that which would try to kill them was not to be feared as much as that which would – and did, successfully – make one lose their way, repeatedly, for days and weeks at end. A monster would die when stabbed, and many monsters also died when they were stabbed; numbers did not make a difference. A forest, on the other hand, could not be stabbed, even if one could stab every single tree trunk in it, and then every bush. A forest was more than the sum of its parts, and that forest in particular even more so. Monsters were not.
“You are correct. It is not the monsters of these lands that one ought not to anger,” they said, taking note of the expression ‘end-game content’ and making a point of figuring out what the content and the game were. “Yet, should it come to that, I will ask to have the knife back, so that I may stab the monsters and prevent our efforts from being in vain.”
As the warrior-flamingo evaluated the quality of the knife, Grudge could do nothing but stare intently, and wait, and conclude that the warrior-flamingo did not know what a knife was for, for the knife spun and danced in the air and tinkled under his fingers flicks but it never stabbed. An irony utmost, for their a function to lose itself its function. But if the knife was no longer their own, bestowed to a somebody with the gift of creativity, perhaps its function had already changed.
So, if they were no longer their World’s, what was their function?
Grudge did not flinch when the warrior-flamingo erupted into a powerful shout and announced anew their resolution, only to find themselves, to their own surprise, at a momentary loss for words when they advanced an idea how. Truly, one needed a mind most special to make the impossible, possible.
“You would turn swifter when more weight is placed upon your shoulders?” They asked in marvelled perplexity. “If that is true, then that would truly be proof that you can make the impossible, possible. Fine, then. I shall trust your back.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Apr 1, 2024 8:34:42 GMT -6
Oh, no, they really sounded rather different, chickadee-for-dermal decorative art and titty frittata, an expression to which Grudge had to give some serious consideration before ultimately translating it as ‘scrambled breasts’, which in turn made them think not of exchanges taking place, but rather of the engines within Mikkel’s airship for reasons beyond even their own understanding.
“Your open-mindedness comes as a relief. You may now state your price.”
It took them several moments of serious reflection to realise that they did not in fact have much at all to offer in return. Certainly not on their person, and not at that moment, at any rate. Still, they had learnt enough about the nature of trades to know that a payment needed not take place before, during, or right after the service it compensated, even if it entailed a risk for they who offered the service.
At the same time, all that Grudge risked facing was for the warrior-flamingo to say no, which would have resulted in nothing more than a thoroughly unchanged situation. Patiently, they waited for an answer.
Grudge’s eyes, at first locked with the warrior-flamingo’s, broke contact after many more seconds of pregnant silence, and travelled instead to that at which the man was actually looking. What they were now seeing was their own right arm, and the knife at the very end of it. “I see,” they said, if only to fill the silence. They realised that their arm was now trembling. “You would set me free, yet rob me of my function.” Virtually infinite possibilities would await them outside, but with no direction for them to take. Even if they somehow discovered their purpose in this world, how would they fulfil it? A sword without a blade was no more useful than a sword without a wielder.
Yet, something had to change. A forest had to burn down to ashes before a new one could grow in its place, as somebody had reminded them once. One should never disprefer uncertain future over certain stagnancy.
They inhaled sharply. “So be it.” They raised their arm towards the warrior-flamingo, with the knife’s end pointing at him much in the same way a compass’s needle pointed north. “You may take it. I shall entrust you with what is to come. If you fail, I will claim it back. Still, you said you are the warrior-flamingo who makes the impossible possible. My hope is thus that it will not come to that.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Feb 18, 2024 8:18:33 GMT -6
It was not often that Grudge dealt with matters of emotion and of interconnectedness. It was even less frequent for such occurrences to involve them directly as agent and subject, as opposed to their – usual, not quite more natural, but certainly more befitting – role of impassive bystander.
Disorientation. Anger. Shame. Grudge could at least place a name on the three feelings that coloured their words and actions so, as well as on others that provided more brushstrokes to the greater painting of their mistakes. Curiosity. Hope. Expectation. Disappointment. When their eyes opened for the first time, when they first took the first very certain steps out of the cave and into the fresh air of the wider World, when they sank their knife into the first living being that stood in their way, they could have never done that. Only after their solitary journey ceased being solitary did they begin to learn more about that. But their journey had not been long, not in the grand scheme of things, and as they walked Zephon almost entirely on their own, there were still many territories that they had left unchartered.
And that was why they could not understand the warrior-flamingo’s reaction. At first, he offered his support, and one moment later he withdrew his offer even though Grudge had apologised for their verbal outburst. On top of it all was their non-insignificant language barrier, which existed in spite of the fact that, on the surface, their language sounded pretty much the same. For one, Grudge had never heard of something called a ‘life counsellor’.
“I am mortified. It was my understanding that threats to one’s physical wellbeing were a powerful instrument of persuasion,” they stated matter-of-factly, yet a bit unconvinced, because what had just happened was but a lone exception to their general experience. Only the really strong and those convinced to be really strong would react with defiant hostility instead, but they tended to come to them, rather than turn away from them in indignation. “If I am not to begrudge a force of nature over fallibility, then it stands to reason that, I, a force of nature, must also be fallible. It is not my place, natural or moral, to dictate your conduct in relation to my fallibility. Yet I still need to get out of here.”
Grudge glanced at their knife, and then at the warrior-flamingo, mulling over his invitation to kill him, and concluding that it would have made very little sense: the warrior-flamingo was no longer slowing them down or leading them astray. In fact, they were doing nothing at all, refusing to engage with them, and that meant their journey could have continued unobstructed. It might not have been a fruitful journey because of his very inaction, but then, killing him would have only aggravated his choice for inaction with irreversible inability.
“No,” they said. “I do not wish to kill you, even if you are not offering your assistance anymore. Still–” Yet another thing he could not do before meeting Yunyuq, Mikkel, and White Pest. “If an offer is no longer possible, then I would like to propose an exchange. Something I can offer you to repay you for your services. A chickadee for dermal decorative art, as one of my former companions once called it.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Feb 4, 2024 17:35:19 GMT -6
Ah, a force of nature! Enlightened, Grudge nodded in assent, mentally correcting their understanding of their interlocutor and, with it, both concurrently and consequently, that of the humanity of which they had thought him an aberration. Still, in hindsight, what form could befit an embodiment of Novelty and Progress more than that of a creature that was not quite human, not quite goblin, not quite dwarf, not quite werewolf, yet possessed the general shape of a human, the resourcefulness of a goblin, the stoutness of a dwarf, and the more ferine qualities of a werewolf?
And it was for this reason that Grudge, although only for a moment, wondered if the warrior-flamingo had been designed by the very same World as them at some different point in time, for the same question could be asked of Grudge themselves: after all, what form would befit their nature more than that of a Tonberry? If that was the case, then theirs was a commonality that did not stop at nature, but also extended to the logic behind their creation, even if their eventual purpose was different.
More to that, that very commonality – or those very commonalities – reinforced their suspicion of an ultimate finality to their encounter, and if Grudge’s goal, and thus current fundamental purpose, was to exit the forest, then the nameless warrior-flamingo must have been instrumental to it. Therefore, their focus needed to on the present and on their tangible reality, rather than on hypotheses and abstractions. “Electromagnetic,” corrected Grudge automatically. “I see. If the dragon orbs await outside of this forest, then to track their location would lead us also outside the forest.” It was most certainly an unconventional solution, yet it was logically sound, as one would expect from somebody who was Novelty and Progress made flesh and bone. “Unless they, too, lie within this forest. Nevertheless, I want to try.”
So, they stepped back and waited as the warrior-flamingo investigated the device with the ungainly, hesitant gesturality of somebody who was using it for the first time (or at least the first time after the longest of intervals) and activated it after several minutes of laborious digitation. It went ping-ping-ping, and then ping again in intervals of three seconds. A small orb of light spread into a ring from the centre of the glass-covered hole to its edges, and disappeared as another one took its place, and so on in a cycle.
And that was it. Whatever the reason a device would pick up such an unusual signal, the fact was that it was simply not. Graver still was the hedging – the ‘probably’, the ‘I think’. Grudge could not stand it. Not there. It could not have possibly been yet another false hope, could it?
“‘Something’? Does this mean your device will locate things other than the excised genitals of male dragons? If yes, then what is it?” At that moment, smoke erupted from the handle of the knife in two tar-black columns, which coiled around its blade as they swelled up until they enveloped it completely. It now rose in one thin wisp from its tip. Grudge pointed it at the warrior-flamingo’s face as they growled, “Just like you, I am also a force of nature. I am the World’s Grudge, made to exact retribution upon those who would discard it. I was made to follow no way but forward, and right now forward means out of here. I will not allow to be slowed down any further or led astray any longer. So speak, warrior-flamingo, are you truly able to break the limits of the imagination and make the impossible possible?”
And then they lowered it, the darkness dissipating as quickly as it appeared.
“My apologies,” they said, this time meekly. “Unlike you, I am not a creature of Novelty and Progress. I am unable to understand what you are doing, therefore I have no reason to believe you are acting against me, and even then I am required to give those who would willfully stand in my way a chance to reconsider. So guide me. I will not begrudge you over fallibility.”
