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year 5, quarter 3
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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.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Jan 20, 2024 18:57:32 GMT -6
Out of the warrior’s mouth fell words and ideas most mysterious, and their mystery lay in their meanings as much as it did in their relation to their question and to their surrounding reality. At first they only fell in droplets, but it was always droplets that portended the deluge, and it was indeed a deluge that followed, one of races against time and labyrinths and coiffeurs and hourglasses and puppets, goblin puppets, goblin puppets that talked. Grudge stood still as they absorbed it in its full brunt. One droplet at a time, they would address each and every one of their doubts.
“I did not, for I could not have known that. I did not know that, therefore I asked you.”
And the warrior had answered: he was not to blame. It stood thus to reason that there was no motive for him to appear before them. More to that, the warrior appeared to be in the same predicament as them: a wanderer within the forest, a victim of the forest. If the forest shifted around them to prevent their exit, it must have also traced a path for them to follow unwittingly: their crossing roads could not have possibly been coincidental. Still, that was not the same as saying that it was meaningful either. The conclusion: the reason or lack thereof for their meeting was ultimately both unknowable and irrelevant.
Grudge made to open their mouth, but acquiesced to the warrior’s request and stood still as they waited. The warrior then turned his back to them, pulled at their trousers and shoved down a rummaging hand, as if – though it might have actually been the case – somebody had designed them with the pockets only on the inside. Such was the jangle that followed that Grudge went through two distinct emotions during their observation: marvel, at first, at the sheer capacity of those trousers; confusion when the noise became noises and their intensity and variety too great for anything that any pair of pants that size could have possibly contained. Surely there must have been magic.
All kinds of items began to be strewn all over the path. The “Devil’s Triangle”, which interestingly did not carry any distinguishing features pertaining to its diabolical nature; “Pandora’s Lunchbox”, which suggested at least that the warrior’s name was not “Pandora” and was made with a material that they had never seen or felt or heard of before and that felt like neither wood nor metal; a “Double Dice Monsters set”, a small, frail-looking box where two “Dice Monsters” must have been sealed a long time ago; an empty chargeable magic wand; a book; a “Science Fair Project”, which was a cube of rotten flesh beyond all possibility of identification and gelatine; a colourful bag; a small piece of string. Before Grudge could try to make sense of the rest, a sharp, machine-like sound brought their attention back to the warrior. And once you brought your attention back to the warrior, it was difficult to get it anywhere else, as Grudge was beginning to notice much to their own personal fascination.
“A gee-pee-es?” Grudge craned their neck towards a small, egg-shaped metallic object. Somewhere in its centre was a glass-covered square hole not unlike what they had seen some time ago in Sonora. “You know many things that I do not, warrior-flamingo. You mentioned ‘movies’, and I do not know what that word refers to. You did not know me yet you had a plan over what you would do to me if you could exert control over the forest, and I could never even fathom your motivation for doing that. Though maybe you knew about me.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Jan 9, 2024 14:15:44 GMT -6
A change.
A warrior, in red armour clad. Its face was of an unnatural white, with red strips that seemed to claw at it and endowed its expression with a beastly, almost leonine quality. It was also massively built, too big to be a human even if it had the general shape of one. Still, that did not exclude a fundamentally human nature either, for aberrations were as much of a part of the World as the norm from which they aberrated.
Human, then, perhaps, though that would have made it a giant at that, as well as a “he”, rather than an “it”, while the complexion indicated either albinism or undeath, or both, or perhaps it was nothing more than yet another layer of body paint. “Perhaps,” twice more, for now that the flame in the lamp burned no longer, all that was left was guesswork and a knife.
Nevertheless, that was a warrior. Some truths were as self-evident as one’s own essence, sometimes to such an extent that the self-evident truth overlapped with the essence itself. He existed, therefore he was a warrior.
And the warrior was talking to himself. At first he surrendered to somebody or something, and Grudge could only imagine it was them, for theirs alone was the power to bring death swift and painless, for there was nothing around the warrior except for themselves and the forest, and the forest must have been a killer most slow, if it even bothered to kill its prey at all: the resources it could provide to any wanderer were nearly as plentiful as the confusion it brought about.
But no, the warrior had not lost all hope: he was now exploring the art of invisibility, with an approach opposite that of those who strived to be as fast as lightning or even more – certainly too fast for most eyes to follow. No, theirs was the path of patience, of moving too slow for the brain to register him as anything but furniture, or possibly a lawn ornament. It was an approach that complemented mimicry and camouflage, themselves arts of deception, of making oneself perceived as something else and of blending with one’s own background. It was the art mastered by the butterfly and by the stick bug. It was remarkably unusual to see a creature that massive and colourful follow such tiny footsteps.
It was like watching a flamingo at a funeral. “Dinosaurs do exist on this planet. I am unsure if they can become invisible or not, though I believe it to be unnecessary for most of them. I do know that some of those from the place where I originated can indeed become invisible, if either they or something or somebody else wished them to be.”
Grudge watched them relax their stance. Where fists were once raised, and their knife tightened in their hand in response, now the warrior’s stance suggested nothing but contemplation. “However, I am no dinosaur, therefore I can see you. You fear my knife, therefore you are tangible. You are tangible, therefore I can stab you. Invisibility alone would never change that.”
Their grip tightened as, slowly, they drew closer. Slowly enough, in fact, that no dinosaur would have ever detected them. “Answer me then, warrior-flamingo: are you the cause of this? Are you the reason for which I can never seem to leave this forest?” Grudge felt the tears still running down their cheeks, yet their voice remained unbroken. “Why did you appear before me?”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Jan 5, 2024 16:56:24 GMT -6
It had been two weeks and four days.
The Tonberry raised their head to a tree branch they had already seen way more than once. Unchanged and unchanging, the forest envelopped them the same way a serpent would envelop a rabbit. It stayed immobile, yet they felt that it had been coiling and snaking around them, changing at every twist on the path and bending at every fork as they looked for a way out. A way out that had yet to appear.
And that should not have happened. It was within the natural order of the World for some woods to undergo transmogrification. The Tonberry knew that, for the World had imparted that knowledge on them upon their creation. It was also part of the Tonberry’s nature to find the way forward, always, because there was the Quest, and the Quest’s nature – a nature most imperative – was to be fulfilled. What importance could thus the teleology of a forest’s transmogrification hold before the teleology of the Quest, and therefore of their own teleology as well?
On the tree’s trunk, two small, yet deep nicks drew short parallel lines. The Tonberry recognised them too: it was them who made them, by stabbing the trunk twice. Just not that trunk. Or, depending on one’s point of view, not those nicks.
Even that had long ceased being an unfamiliar view. It did stay a rather puzzling one, but if the teleology of the transmogrification was of no consequence, then its etiology should not have been any different, if the only way that nature admitted for the Tonberry was indeed forward, and forward meant out.
Marking the trees was the first thing the Tonberry had attempted after understanding that simply choosing different paths did not work. But every time, the marks would become scrambled, switching places with others or disappearing altogether. Accepting that, the Tonberry abandoned the path altogether, and walked a straight line on dirt and mud and undergrowth, cutting down every tree that stood in their way, only to find themselves back once again where they started, or in some other location along the way that they could recognise – in that forest, it did not matter. In that forest, they were sometimes the same thing.
So they tried to burn a path open.
After all, one could not be misled by the forest if there was no longer any forest to mislead them. And with this fixed thought in mind, the Tonberry opened their lantern, and let the flames devour the bushes and the oaks and the poplars and the beeches, until nothing but ashes and scorched earth remained around them once the last ember fizzled out before their eyes. Then they would repeat the process, over and over again, for their flames were not so intense to make it to the end of the forest, and so they had to do one piece at a time, until they could no longer create so much as a spark…
…and in front of them were the two parallel lines on the tree at which they had now been staring for the better part of a quarter of an hour. The very first one they burned.
Perhaps, they thought, this was a puzzle, and the World meant them for the puzzle to only have one solution, and for the forest to offer no shortcuts. Perhaps, at that moment, their purpose was to solve that puzzle.
Perhaps.
It was not a word that the Tonberry used often, not with the Quest: their purpose, after all, had always been well-known to them. On these lands, suddenly they could no longer find it.
Perhaps (that word once again!) they had exhausted it. The Void held at bay once again, there was no longer anything for them left to do, not until the next crisis, and even then there had always been chosen ones for the World to puppeteer through the crystals. The Tonberry only came to exist because, in their time, there were none. All who fought beside them were chosen by their people or by themselves, and they were all part of the World, but they were not the crystals.
The Tonberry – though the others had been calling them “Grudge” instead – resumed their march forward, for there was nothing else they could do, and there was nothing else they would do. Until the World told them otherwise, there was no way for them but forward, and forward meant out.
Their Quest was complete, and their purpose fulfilled. So why, then, had the World not yet erased them from existence? Why, instead, would it abandon them in a forest, condemned to walk it for eternity?
What was the purpose, and was there a purpose?
As they walked, they became aware of their eyes swelling up with tears, and Grudge knew that they were tears and that Tonberries could cry like humans could and goblins could and dwarves could and even dogs could, and if Grudge was a Tonberry, then they could cry like one. What they did not quite expect was to find one day a reason to.
Still, they did not stop, for there was no way for them but forward, and forward meant out.
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Aug 26, 2023 4:14:01 GMT -6
They gave the woman a small nod. It was indeed an intuitive name, descriptive rather than evocative, and it was clear even for one from another World entirely. Clear enough, in fact, that they decided not to make any further inquiries on that subject. Nothing the young woman herself could have said at that point would have been of any value. Focusing now on her own question instead, they tilted their head and stared in the distance at nothing in particular, as if in a trance, pondering in complete silence for several moments. “I do not know what you are talking about,” they said simply in the end. “To my knowledge, no Tonberry in my world has a star floating over its head. It is not in its nature.” Spells, they mused, sounded like the most plausible explanation, even if Grudge themselves did not know of any spell that could be the cause of that, though it was just as true that Grudge did not know of many spells to begin with. At the same time, it was also true that the nature of a Tonberry could change significantly between Worlds. Somewhere, somebody told to them, a Tonberry was something some people had turned into, rather than creatures that came into the world as nothing but Tonberries themselves much like the goblins and the dwarves and the humes did. Tonberries not as creatures like any others, but as the perversion of other creatures, brought about by a plague. Sometimes, Grudge wondered if that would have made Tonberries themselves an abomination in the collective eyes of the World, or if such an unusual plague was itself part of it, and its consequences with it. But that was not a question for them to answer, for that was not a problem of their World, or this one. “It is a simple choice,” they explained apropos of Tonberries’ proclivity towards silence. “Most Tonberries live among other Tonberries, and thus there is no need for them to learn languages other than their own, much less those of those they set out to stab.” In most other circumstances, Grudge would have said “kill,” but the woman standing before them came with no less than twenty-seven arguments against such a word choice. “Yes, that would be the Shiva I met too.” Although they never questioned her choice of garments. They had neither the time nor the reason to. “I do not know what this Materia you speak of is. Still, I do not expect to need to summon Shiva more than once.” And with that, they set off towards the Temple of Ice… …for all of a few yards, before the young woman stopped again to check in on them. “It is not necessary. I will reach you.” They looked down at her feet. “You are also not using your oblong board anymore. Your appearance and demeanour both resemble that of one of my travelling companions. With my former companion as a yardstick, I estimate that I should be able to keep up with your walking pace.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Jul 6, 2023 16:03:03 GMT -6
Grudge considered the young woman’s words, rolling them about their mind like one would with a morsel of exotic food in their mouth, and concluded that they were the party to blame for the misunderstanding. Moreover, they realised, the woman never said it was twenty-seven times in a row, though that would have simply turned a testament of incredible – nay, unworldly resilience into one of mistifying thoughtlessness.
“I do not know of any place called as such. Nevertheless, there is always a reason if a creature can thrive in the most inhospitable places, no matter their place in the food chain.”
Be them self-evident or impenetrable, extremely simple or extremely complex, there were always principles according to which the World operated. A Tonberry was not so small as to be comparable to a mouse or a fly: at least in their World, very few monsters were so large that they would lead their lives simply ignoring its existence even if their paths did cross. A Tonberry thus had to be at the very least strong enough to defend itself. That might not have been the only possible way, of course. But it was the way that eventually came to be.
“Yes, I can. No, they do not, though that is not the same as saying they cannot,” they explained. Tonberries, Grudge had known since their creation, were indeed not very talkative creatures, but they did have a language – several of them, actually – though not all endeavoured to learn that of other creatures.
But before they could decide whether or not they were to explain more, the topic had already shifted. Grudge paused to collect their thoughts, listened to the young woman, and then paused some more in an attempt to decipher her words and her intentions, an effort that resulted in a painful sensation not unlike a cramp, but localised entirely within his skull. It took the best part of a minute for realisation to dawn on them that this was what the humes and the goblins called a headache.
“You talk of treasure hunting,” they said. “I did not say that this was my reason for venturing to the Temple of Ice. It is, in fact, not. What I seek is my purpose to be here, and my companions. For this, I intend to invoke the assistance of Shiva. If she is not to give me an answer, then I will have gained a vantage point.”
Post by The Nameless Tonberry on Jun 5, 2023 9:44:22 GMT -6
Quiet was the mountain now, and all that was audible was the soft and wet crunch of tiny feet sinking ever so slightly into the snow, Grudge’s own faint breath, and the wind’s distant whistle. But then not a minute turned before a voice, then a silhouette, then the noise of something sliding on the snow very quickly, and then an entire person came dashing in their general direction, lost their balance, half-zoomed and half-rolled past them, and finally – though the more correct descriptor might have been “inevitably” – cannoned into a snowbank by the treeline.
Against what they had always assumed to be their own nature, Grudge turned to see the aftermath. What they saw were a pair of human limbs attached to a flat, oblong board. They still twitched. Soon enough their owner emerged from the snow, only for a falling tree branch to hit them to hit her on the head, though even that did not seem to truly faze her. Overall, Grudge found that, despite the difference in species, her countenance greatly reminded them of Yunyuq. Down to the fact that, upon their first meeting, she had also prepared to engage them in battle.
And just like that time, Grudge did not immediately feel the urge to reach for their own knife. Although White Pest told them that cornered creatures are the most dangerous, this was only true for those that hunted them down. Unless, they remembered him adding, you were a truly daft son of a bitch.
“You are mistaken,” they said calmly. “We have never met before. Thus, it is impossible for me to have stabbed you twenty-seven times in the past. I believe you can find further confirmation of that in the fact that you are still alive.”
They turned the rest of their body to face her.
“I am heading to the Temple of Ice. If you are not here to stop me from doing so, then I do not have a reason to fight you, unless you attack me first. Nevertheless, I do have a query for you: what is it that you would like me to bring on?”