AntimonyAntics: The Proposal

Late as always, but here's my entry to Lady Antimony's AntimonyAntics challenge. It's another story on virra birds, “the rats of the sky” as they are known in Verannia. Please visit the other blogs too.

The lid of a box flew open, followed by a yellow coin and another. The bird dug deeper into the box. There had to be something of value here. Picking the lock with a stick had been hard enough. There had to be something here worth grain.

“Interesting.” The virra-bird flicked open the little box. Inside was a ring cushioned by a soft fabric, and a crumpled note. The bird placed a foot atop the paper and pulled it open with its beak. “Veeery interesting.”

The virra bird beat its tiny wings as fast it could, zigzagging past people. “Knowledge for grain!”

“Shut up, blabbermouth! I’ll pay you to be quiet!” Errol ran after the bird, arms stretched out to catch the nuisance.

“Knowledge for grain! Errol the merchant is going to propose to Ellie! I know the words he’s going to say.”

“Here, bird.” A soft voice called. The bird landed on Ellie’s palm and began pecking at the seeds. She looked at Errol, mischief glinting in her eyes. ”Well , how is he going to propose to me?”

Half a seed fell from the grey beak. ”He wants your arms to cradle his children, your kisses heal any ailment and you’ve got a nice ar—”

“Shut up, bird! That wasn’t on the note!” Errol reached for the bird, but Ellie caught his hand in hers.

“I do.” she said, dropping the grains and the bird. “Though you can propose properly back home.”

TuesdayTales 16 on Glitterlady's Blog

Read the other stories and take part in the challenge here.

I watch the men untangle their nets and curse when they find a hole big enough for a dolphin to escape. A smile crosses my face as I stand up; the last time I cut their traps they caught me and kept me whelved under a boat while the guards were coming to fetch to me. This time they could only curse and accuse me.

One of the men stands up and waves his hand at me. I can make out the words “go away” and “abomination”. I happily oblige, exchanging the view of the vast ocean for a sea of dewy grass. The breath of the ocean still lingers; I catch a drop on the tip of my finger and lift it to my parched lips. The sea itself is forbidden to me, for I dared to love one of its beings. Dared to…

My sweetling cannot exist above the waves and I cannot abandon the ones who raised me, my friends, those who need me. The humans try to force me to choose, but why should a shapeshifter choose between earth and sea, when he can have both?

Creatures of Verannia: Shapeshifters, Part 1

Continuation to my “encyclopedia” of Verannian beings that started with wurmtail hounds and dragons.

Besides humans and vrildrias, shapeshifters are one of the three peoples inhabiting Verannia. They are beings that are, in principle, capable of taking the form of any living being. The change goes deeper than appearances: the shapeshifter gains access to all of the form’s senses and abilities. However, spending a long in time in a certain form slowly makes the shapeshifter more and more like the form. If you run with the wolves or fly with the dragons, you become like one. If you spend your days filtering food from the water flowing through you, you slowly lose interest in everything else. Taking the form of a non-sentient being can be dangerous, because the shapeshifter may become trapped in the form.

Most shapeshifters have a certain form they prefer, and that form may or may not be human. The “true form” resembles their nature, feels right and corresponds with their aesthetics. The true form is chosen during adolescence. When a young shapeshifter has chosen and become comfortable with a form, he or she is considered an adult. Some spend most of their lives in animal form, living like the animal whose form they have chosen. These shapeshifters are sometimes pejoratively called feral shapeshifters or simply ferals, as opposed to the ‘more civilized’ domestic shapeshifters (also a pejorative term used by humans), who live among their own kind or among humans. For shapeshifters, it is not uncommon or unnatural to breed with members of another species. For example, a shapeshifter living among dragons may breed with a dragon. As a result, shapeshifters may have very curious family trees.

However, over many generations of crossbreeding, the shapeshifting ability may diminish in the lineage. Mixed-species heritage also makes finding a suitable partner very hard, because shapeshifters of different heritage may be unable to have children together. When choosing a partner, shapeshifters rely first on appearances. Though the shapeshifter form hides much, it can also reveal things to other shapeshifters. Colours and details added to their appearance tell of the shapeshifter’s values, way of life and heritage. For example, a shapeshifter with a dragon heritage may have scales adorning their face.

According to Verannian law, should a shapeshifter choose a human form, he or she must still be easily distinguishable as non-human. For that reason, they can be quite bizarre-looking. For centuries, humans have accused shapeshifters of ‘shape stealing’, the act of taking the form of a person without his or her will. Although these accusations are probably not without ground, many shapeshifters have been killed for crimes they did not commit.

GhoulsGalore: The Mouth

Fourth and last entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge. Yes, it's late but here it is anyway. This week you got to choose your monster and I chose one of my own... The Mouth! Hope you like it.

I am The Mouth, that is all I need, all I am, the monster thought as it rose from its slumber. Tentacles flexed, snaking their way through the soft, moist earth of the swamp. Its huge maw opened wide, wider than the mouth of any creature on earth or sea. It had been centuries since the last time it had been awake.

From below a borborygmic sound made its way above the green waters. A bird shrieked and flew over the circle of curving teeth, where a black tongue twisted. The monster’s stomach rumbled again.

I hunger.

The Mouth strained its senses, but nothing worthy was near, only small insignificant creatures. The monster spread it tentacles further where the earth became harder and the roots of trees blocked the way.

At last it felt steps. Closer and closer they came, slow, tentative. The prey came closer, drawn by curiosity perhaps. Salivating, the Mouth waited for its prey, green drool dripping down its heaving sides. Just a little nearer...

The tentacle curled around an ankle and lifted the hapless being into the air. Screaming and squirming, the meal fought, but in vain. The Mouth lifted another tentacle, feeling the prey. It was shaped like a man.

Oohh, a human.

Without a second thought The Mouth dropped the man into its maw, where he was slowly dissolved by the stomach acid. When nothing else was left, The Mouth spat out the bones. Satisfied, the monster spread its tentacles and waited for the next prey to come.

GhoulsGalore: Damnation

This week's entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge.

Clawed fingers caressed the black rock; it was alive, heat emanating from the red veins. Fire ran through the walls, floor and the arching roof. The blue sky was unknown here in the chthonic realm.

He could hear the damned begging for mercy while his servants shepherded them onwards. Their pleas would quickly change into the beautiful music of screaming. He hurried on, eager to witness his loyal minions at work.

Slowly he walked past the pits were the sinners burned, and the sight he most enjoyed watching: his favourite demon hunting down and eating the damned. The demon would later regurgitate the poor souls and eat them again.

Yes, life was good in Hell.

Before he fell there had been Hell, but none to rule it. Demons fought each other while sinners ran amok. He cast the sinners down. He defeated the droves of demons. He became the overlord of the underworld. He might have fallen, but he rose as a master.

“What does God have but wisps of air, placid happiness and feeble servants?” Lucifer folded his leathery wings around himself. Loud snoring filled the air.

GhoulsGalore: Presence

This is my first entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge. For every week in October, there's a word and a being, and you write a story of 250 words. This week the word was 'boustrophedonic' and the being a poltergeist.

The slender fingers ran across the words written in boustrophedonic fashion. From right to left, then left to right, the archaeologist read them in her mind. The site had an otherworldly feel; it belonged to another era, its inhabitants long gone. She could almost imagine whispers on the faint wind.

Speak. Speak the words, it seemed to say. A rock rolled to her feet. She whispered one of the words, a tremor of excitement running through her. They had deciphered some of the meanings. It seemed to be a guide or a map, but a symbolic one; it spoke of stars, darkness and signs left by the gods.

Speak the words. I need to find a way out.

Another rock rolled down into the ruins. Were her comrades playing a joke on her?

Please don’t leave me here!

She walked back out into the humid air and tangle of strange plants, but the chill of the shadow cast by the wall clung to her. One of her colleagues ran up to her, his face distorted by disbelief and anger.

“The bloody idiots cut off our funding! We’ll leave in a couple of weeks.”

“Maybe it’s best,” she whispered. Upon entering the site she had felt dread. With every day, the feeling had grown deeper. There was something amiss in this place, something stamped its presence here.