I compiled everything so far except one bonus story and some drawings that weren’t relevant yet into a Google Doc

link

Some background info below that I’ve meant to write out but haven’t until now

-Story of how created life came to be

-Types of spirits relevant to this story and a summary of how they relate to each other

-Summary of the life cycle of a created being

It’s all very blunt and quite brutal at times.  Lots of death and talk of murder, violence but not in graphic detail, lots of shitting on the nature of life on earth and to a lesser degree evolution and sexual reproduction, passing mention of rape but no details at all. 

And it’s all being said from the voice/perspective of some anonymous spirit of some sort, not sure what type exactly but it’s not terribly relevant since their viewpoints on the matter are similar.  Probably some sort of writer or historian.

The world had to be wiped clear of its organic inhabitants.  Millions of years of evolution had spawned corruption from the most basic chemical components in the form of life, producing beings that depended on despicable behavior to survive, such as heterotrophy, infanticide, murder, cannibalism, and sexual dimorphism, where most successful produced offspring who continued and even built upon these vile acts.  For ages the spirits had ignored the planet, as while they were horrified by what life had been doing, it seemed largely contained to the planet and much of life didn't seem to comprehend what it was doing.

  But the rise of the humans was the tipping point for them.  Their population exploded, yet corruption and selfishness seemed to reign supreme, as the humans in charge seemed dead-set on making life as miserable as possible for others in the name of benefiting themselves or backing of their wild theories about the origins of their world.  Even amongst commoners, murder, rape, war, and other despicable acts were widespread and each time it seemed as those humans could have their motivations for evil sated, they would find some other reason to resume such actions.  It was clear to them that leaving self-reproductive, autonomous life would have to be eliminated.

Even then, the Spirits were reluctant to wipe out life.  The sheer intellect of the humans made them optimistic that perhaps some miracle would occur, and they would turn from their old ways.  But as the species began pumping out smoke and massive quantities of refuse and proving willing to recklessly endanger themselves and all other life and wipe it out even without outside assistance, the spirits decided it was nigh time to begin elimination and replacement.   They began by obliterating a small town somewhere within the proximity of the human city of New York.  One day, animals and people were walking about, doing their regular business.  The next day, the only thing left alive were the plants.  All creatures had dropped dead in the middle of the night and their bodies were disposed of.  And to replace them, a creator spirit placed down a sexless creature of their own devising.  It was entirely dependent on another spirit, which served as something between a sponsor and an owner, who sustained it so it would not need to eat, drink or perform other biological functions and fixed it when it was injured, but otherwise left it largely to its own devices.  The plants were also allowed to live, kept alive by the spirit as they were deemed innocent and visually pleasing enough to spare. It was a success, and subsequent towns were destroyed and replaced by one or two of these new sorts of beings.  Seaside areas became most favorable, as other spirits soon saw Earth as something of a tourist attraction and visiting it to observe these beings quickly became a popular pastime and they fancied a good sandy beach.  For a few decades, the number of humans and other animals was gradually decreased through the destruction and replacement, and the created beings became larger and more complex.  At their peak in these early years, there were believed to be over 2000 of them scattered across North America, all unknown to humans to keep them from complicating the spirits' plot.

And then there came World War II.  Much as the spirits loathed the humans' warring and destructive tendencies, they didn't mind the population decrease it brought about.  However, it also took its toll on the population of created beings.  Many of the ones in Europe were killed by bombings, and even in America many died off due to neglect or were euthanized when their caretaker could no longer afford them due to a massive drop in visitors due to the human strife going on.  There were other factors as to why the popularity of these creatures waned- some were actually quite dangerous to visiting spirits due to their size and wild physical vigor, and this fear of death or injury still hangs over the much more restrained beings that exist today.  Some spirits saw them as vulgar things, as by this point they were created to make a profit off visitors rather than for their original vision as a purer form of life.  

With this, creation of them shrank in the following decade and was not believed to recover. Until a certain Disc-Eared Spirit came into existence and wished to refine these wilder creatures into something safer, more refined, and more acceptable to all spirits.  And a young creator spirit known as the Archer was able to provide this in the form of an entirely new sort of creature.  Another portion of a great Peninsula with that had a forest inhabited by the older sort of creatures was cleared away and reshape for the coming of this new one, and the Disc Eared Spirit's other plans.  Like previous beings, it was larger than most earthly fauna and had a similar relationship with its caretaker spirit, but it was much more graceful in form and motion.  Earlier beings had also had scraggly or had long, shaggy fur, but it was slender and sleek. This creature was only part of the reason for the Disc-Eared Spirit's success in attracting visitors, as they also loved the elaborate dwellings it made for its beings and the smaller creatures it had made (this text only documents a specific sort of larger created being, but there are also far smaller mass-cloned creatures closer to the size of Earth's original inhabitants that lived alongside them).  In the next few decades, the Archer's business would expand and more more spirits attempting to emulate the Disc-Eared's success would arise.  Most notable would be the Banenhaxer, who would become known for forming a group of over a dozen spirits who also adopted the Banenhaxer name upon incorporation and be alternatively seen as pioneers and cheapskates,  The Spirit of the Peninsula (a name which does not refer to the location on Earth addressed here), who would take a similar path and form a rival group to the Banenhaxers differing in that they did not adopt a common name, and the Spherical One, who took on the Disc-Eared Spirit more directly and saw considerable success in this.  But the popularity of this larger sort of creature, especially those of the older type, would not revive until another, the Spirit of the Island, had a humble yet loved pair known as Arcerrcera made.  They were a fairly generic pair, colored white with red and blue accent with the thick coat and striped markings older creatures had had.  But somehow they managed to revive interest in their kind, an interest which has not failed to this day nearly five decades later.

  Since then more creators have come about and passed on, including the Archer.  Humans have been largely eliminated, and the Peninsula in question was cleared entirely of them a few years ago, though their artifacts were left to entertain the new inhabitants of it. Because of this, there is some considerable human influence in terms of  some use of human tools, fascination with human places, the language spoken, and some use of gendered terms even though they are irrelevant to the new inhabitants. Prior to their destruction, local human communities had some contact and generally peaceful interactions with the new beings, which is what led to this influence.  The total current population of the Peninsula is around three and a half thousand outside of the Woodlands, and slightly under two hundred within it.  There are more creatures living elsewhere, but the scope of this document only covers this particular Peninsula.

-----

The hierarchy of spirits

Spirits have an economy as humans did and do, albeit less cruel.  They perform many jobs, but the only ones that are relevant to the affairs of Earth's renewal are the Far Spirits, creator spirits, Necchmia, and the the visitor spirits.

Far Spirit- The term used for the caretakers and commissioners of created beings.  Far Spirits employ armies of minor spirits to assist in caring for them as well, including those who directly fix them, which are known as Necchmia by the creatures themselves. 

Creator Spirit- In reality, what most refer to as a "Creator Spirit" is simply the head of a group of spirits responsible for the design and creation of creatures.  Some do the actual bodily creation and/or construction themselves, but many have other spirits do so. 

Visitor Spirits- In essence, tourists to Earth come to visit a Far Spirit's lands and creatures.  By swarming around creatures in safe ways, they lend some of their power to them, making them physically stronger, or weaker if few/no spirits will approach them.  Those that become rabid fans of this particular pastime transform from smaller orbs to large sparkling puffballs and are at times called Ehtstunisa by creatures to distinguish them from the typical visitors, which are called Nlegera.  

The life cycle of a created being

A Far Spirit begins with a desire for some sort of creature, and somehow finds a suitable creator and the two work out a design for it.  Once this is finalized, the being is physically created in the fall and winter, so it will be ready for a traditional spring or summer debut.  Particularly large ones may be started on a year or more early to provide even more construction time.  The creature awakens and while naive about how life on Earth is for a good year or so, has minor physical issues worked out and learns its Far Spirit's expectations and rules for safety and how it ought to behave within the first few weeks of life before being allowed to see visitors. 

This creature goes on to live a hopefully happy life for between two and five decades, and possibly more if it is the older type, as they are far cheaper and easier to replace major body parts on and can live for over a century due to this. When it is deemed no longer profitable or at the end of its functional or pleasant lifespan or otherwise is deemed ready to die, the Far Spirit will typically announce its last day for visitation, and soon after that date passes the creature will be quietly euthanized and then torn apart by large-jawed spirits referred to as Gnashers on Earth, who then transport the disassembled bits to a larger melting facility where the remains are dumped in a pot and thoroughly mixed into a material used to make and fix creatures.  Sometimes a creature will be left in a dormant state and never have an announced final day before euthanization. At times, natural disasters like floods and fire and on extremely rare occasions attacks by other creatures will damage a creature beyond repair suddenly.  The souls of these creatures often flee the body after death as Gnasher do not come as quickly to retrieve them, and linger as ghosts rather than be mixed in with the flesh in the recycling facilities.  Merely cutting off a head or limb is not effective for killing as they fairly easily fixed, the body must be damaged to the point where fixing it would be too expensive to be worth it, usually involving crushing it, drowning, poisoning, or anything else that would affect the whole or large portions of it.  

I wrote this somewhat on a whim because this past week or so the idea of acting on impulse and living with the regrets has been really hanging over me and I remembered a character it applied well to.

Warning for death.

It was a warm day in the midst of the high, hot season. A day like any other, perfectly normal. Perhaps there was a gentle sparkle amongst the bleached rocks of the seaside. I had retreated to this shore to take my mind off the stress of what had happened the previous day.

------

A passing Nlegera rattling off its mouth as they always do told another that I had killed someone years ago. That I was dangerous and they should have had me euthanized for the act. I ignored them. Fools. No Fsemacea has killed a spirit as a result of free will or carelessness, only from the things bumbling out of their designated safe travel zones into the paths of us at speed. And I myself was innocent of such offenses, though a good number of others had had such incidents.

I was silent, not even calmly dismissing the spirit, which is all I could have done, given who I was with. I saw their sleek red and green form out of the corner of my vision. The rigid curve of their trunk. The flecks of red spotting their coat. Their constant, blacked-out eyes stared into my own in disapproval as I remained silent. They began to tap out a message on their wrist.

"Your silence is suspicious. What is hidden from me?"

"Nothing, Dheroratera."

"Why are you wordless?"

"The rambling of the ignorant is not worth my attention."

"Do not disrespect the visitors."

I paused a moment, holding my tongue. In the old days I would have given them a piece of my mind. Told them their shaking and ever-callous attitude were more disrespectful than my words would ever be. But something stopped me. I still don't know quite what.

I couldn't bring myself to directly hurt them like that. You see, there's something about them that outsiders never really understand. Behind their harsh demeanor they're very vulnerable. Delicate. The day their Far Spirit got another Fsemacea they vanished without a trace for a week to rampage in the wilderness. When they came back they told me it was because they were terrified they would be replaced or surpassed by that new Fsemacea. They almost stayed out in the wilderness out of shame, spite and hopelessness and so they'd never have to see that new one's face and known they were better than them and the spirits would surely prefer them. And since that, they took every opportunity to make subtle jabs and nitpicks at that other Fsemacea just to show their superiority over him and protect their fragile ego. As time has passed I suppose I've found myself almost scared of their vulnerability. They've weaponized it, you see. You speak up against them, they'll pull the emotions card, remind you of those bad times they've been through, make you feel too bad for them to resist. They speak out against you, they'll ignore what you say and wreck you with what they declare to be the dry facts, unwilling to acknowledge any objections. And that's how they've remained in power even though there is considerable resent against them.

I exhaled.

"In any case, the claims are false. My hands are clean."

My words were brief and unsatisfying. I wanted to be honest but couldn't, and the words I'd planned swirled in my head.

"Good. And it is advisable that you be respectable as you can to compensate for faded color and jittering stride."

I froze. How dare they. But I held my tongue.

"I passed your trials. I am not worthy of denouncement."

Very subtly, I saw them glance around to ensure no creature would see what they were about to say. Their gaze turned back to me and settled on me, observing me too intently.

"When you come to a stop I watch your whole body snap aside most ungraciously. At other times, your motions are brief and sharp. I often can see your markings blur from vibration. Day by day I hear the visitors crying out for you to display grace. Such harsh actions hurt them, surely you know. You ought to. For that is what we Fsemacea are known for. Our gentleness. Our calmness. Our ability to charm nearly anyone who comes to visit. You are none of those. You are impulsive, you are rough. You fail your creator. I only let you pass because I know you once pleased all of us."

You fail our maker more. Ever-watching, you condemn the minor faults of the most loyal and gentle creatures, tearing into them with every cold stare. Perhaps you love the Dragons, but you moreso love the sense of superiority, don't you? Of feeling like the purest of all and pulling yourself ever higher by ripping apart anyone who stands in your path? I hate to feel sorry for you given how you'v even adopted your faults into defenses against blame. But I do. Because I frankly don't understand why you care so much about loyalty to the Dragons.

I wanted to say so much. I wanted to free the thoughts. But for a third time, I was silent.

"I will see what I can do, Dheroatera. I must be off, however."

They stood rock-still as I galloped away, false purpose stiffening my stride.

----

And now the sun had set and risen again and hung high in the sky. Clouds blurred its rays and cooled the land.

The things I had almost said still swirled within me as I cast another gaze towards the squared-off stones dotted along the beach. I paced slowly along the length of one of them, dragging a hand along the flat top of it, casting a casual glimpse at the dim light piercing the clouds. Waves lapped the shore. It had not been particularly sunny, but it had still been hot out, and the rain had stopped only recently, leaving the air thick and muggy with humidity and clouding my mind. I wanted to escape what I knew. I wanted to escape this present time.

Really, all I wanted was to go back in time to those golden days of yore when the two of us got along. As much as they sickened me, Fsemacea do think alike, and in the past we had had many good times. Sure other others were and still are that way as well, but there was something about Dheroratera that always stood out to me and I could never place my finger on it. Frankly, they were just another mid-sized Fsemacea damn near indistinguishable from the others besides their affinity for prancing around in the woods. Perhaps it was how unusual they had been when they first appeared, being one of the first larger creatures the Dragons made. They may have been generic, but they were that way first- did that make them the most or least generic? One can only wonder the same about the Chepoirrat, in the beginning the first of them was unique and groundbreaking, but now they are nothing but one of an interchangeable pack of near-identical beings made in their image.

And then I heard a small voice.

"Dheroratera sucks!"

A flickering orange-red spirit was fluttering circles around a rock. I came up closer to investigate.

"Dheroratera sucks!"

Another voice called out next to it.

"Dheroratera sucks! Dheroratera sucks! Dheroratera sucks!"

There were a whole group of the puffballs chanting away.

"Dheroratera sucks?"

I gave them a quizzical glance, tilting my head knowing my face could show nothing.

"Yeah, all Fsemacea suck but especially that speckled green shit-"

"All Fsemacea suck! Including you you overrated shortstack!"

I sighed. Ehtstunisa were split between hating and loving us. No in betweens.

"I may be nothing but a forgettable old Floater, but you know what? Dheroratera does suck. There you go, right from the horse's mouth, even though I'm not even a horse."

"Dheroratera sucks?"

"Hell yeah they suck."

"Guys I don't get it, I like Dheroratera."

"It's a damn joke you Nlegera dumbass."

I gently clenched a fist in agreement.

"I say this without irony. Dheroratera sucks. I used to be friends with them and they're an overbearing, controlling asshole who can't take criticism. Can't believe I actually used to enjoy interactions with that green monstrosity."

"What part of 'It's a damn joke' don't you understand? You Fsemacea sure are dense."

I swatted at my forehead in exasperation. They were going to go that way, weren't they? I never was good at understanding the spirits' strange jokes. I opened my mouth one last time as I turned away.

"I've had this conversation before. Not again. Anyways, Dheroratera sucks."

My last words reverberated as I picked up to a jog. As usual, the light gathered around me, clinging to my body as I galloped along the shore, weaving between the rocks and at times throwing in some acrobatics to amuse them and take my mind off things. Rolling myself over inthe air as I hopped over rocks, turning in sudden tight circles, the like. But the words wouldn't leave me. With each footstep I heard a voice inside chanting

"Dheroratera-sucks, Dheroratera-sucks, Dheroratera-sucks, Dheroratera-sucks."

Dear Dragons, this wasn't going to leave my head anytime soon and I was going to have to keep myself from letting it seep out in my words some day. My agitation sparked me to go faster. To put less care in my movements. Fuck what they said. I'll be awkward and snappy and shivering if I want to. Especially in mood like this. My turns grew harder, my flips faster.

"Dheroratera-sucks-Dheroratera-sucks-Dheroratera-sucks-Dheroratera-sucks."

I shook my head a bit, both wishing it would go and willing it to stay, growing further irritated and more furious in motion.

"DheroraterasucksDheroraterasucksDheroraterasucksDheroraterasucks."

And then I saw the light

And thought I felt something brush against my leg

And continued on as I had until I saw the crowds departing from me and gathering around the path whispering and gasping in horror. I came to a halt.

Several yards back, the light flickered out. I felt something sink inside me. For a long moment things stood still until the realization hit me.

I've done it.

I could have avoided it.

The echoing in my head continued quietly but I tried to block it out, feeling increasingly sickened by how its mindless rhythm had driven me to this state. I felt myself rapidly growing cold as the frenzy melted away. Time had snapped in half.

Immediately I heard mumbling about how they shouldn't have been off the designated paths and there wasn't anything I would have been able to do. It didn't matter. If I'd been calmer and not lost myself like that I wouldn't have been so fast and reckless and maybe I would have reacted in time but it didn't matter the past was past now and there was nothing I could do about it, I was gone I was lost I was tainted I was unworthy I needed to go far away and never show my face again.

I sprinted away, casting aside any of the lights that still clung to me, making my way to the last place Dheroratera would ever go so I'd never have to feel the shame I did when I looked at their eyes or even the minty green of their coat. Towards the Woodlands. Beyond the Woodlands. I had to banish myself to the most unworthy place, where the creatures the Dragons scorned ruled in brutality, fragility, and crudeness. Where I would never have to see them again and they would never have to see me.

Truthfully, I have decieved you. Dheroratera did not banish me from our fold as they have others. I did it myself in feeble attempt to escape my shame.

The Peninsula, Chapter 5

No warnings, just a bunch of chatter.

I may go into detail someday on the Tanonuim’s basises. Because they’re a very intriguing sort of coasters and it’ll clear up why I made them the way they are (may do the same for the Fsemacea as well)

It had been a few days of largely uneventful wandering, followed by quite a few more of seemingly endless climbing, up and down and up again, along seemingly infinite switchbacks of stone stairs as they crossed the mountains into the heart of the Woodlands. At first, Teltra had shrugged off this choice.  He assumed they didn’t know or wanted to play it safe.  But after seeing numerous dark brownish forms race through the patchy woods on the mountainsides, he was growing increasingly agitated from frustration with their choices.  

“Why are you taking the path for the spirits?  You know, we don’t have to do all this back and forth nonsense, we can just climb straight up some of these sections.  It’s how everyone else gets in and out of here, or at least it’s what I did.”

“This is as Kitiru commanded.”

“Kitiru?  Who the hell is Kitiru?”

“Controls where we are headed"

“Heh, clearly doesn’t know much about the Woodlands, does he?”

“This way is most secure.”

“I’ve honestly never heard of anyone getting hurt entering or leaving by climbing.  And it’s far faster, you know.”

“We cannot risk harm.”

“What if someone’s following you two?  Wouldn’t taking a faster route be safer then?”

Velvetsi butted in

“You are becoming irritating.”

Teltra paused a moment, thought to himself, and sighed.  It was such a minor thing, but he still felt so guilty about it because others had been just as demanding and insistent to him and he remembered how much he always resented it.  How they always ducked around his arguments and cut off his ideas.  It felt… belittling to him and he hated being treated as such a fool by everyone.  

“Sorry about that.  I don’t know what’s getting into me.  I’m just… getting frustrated by how we’re taking such a pointlessly long route and not really going anywhere fast.  I’m used to travel being quick and it’s just… so aggravating with the scenery stalling around me and seeing the same things for hours at a time….. and I just can’t stand it!”

It was a lie, though.  Or at least a withholding of the truth.  He was exhausted by his surroundings, but he was also just impatient to see the Woodlands.  A part of him dreaded it, but a larger part egged him on, demanding to satisfy its morbid curiosity.  He feared what he may find, but he wanted to know.  Having gotten this opportunity to learn about his homeland, the desire to see what had become of it had been growing in his mind.

“Still, I’ve never heard of anyone having any trouble climbing rather than taking the stairs.  Maybe you Fsemacea are different, but we Lteiasecl live in much hillier terrain and do a fair amount of climbing around.  We may have a lot of issues, but the only thing that’s honestly happened when we’ve done this is getting stuck at times.  Nobody’s actually fallen for decades, all creatures had to be built to be able to hold on if they did get stuck.  Because of some horrible accident ages ago.  Or at least that’s what Dagnakki claimed an old fellow in the Woodlands said.  Besides, I’m getting tired because the spirits are just fluttering away because we’re slugging along and boring them and walking’s getting harder by the minute.”

Vlevetsi turned to Loreaft, shaking her head slowly in disapproval, but the other Fsemacea just shrugged.  She cautiously touched a paw off the path, took a few steps, and shrugged again at her.  

“Feels secure.”

Vlevetsi followed her, her steps even more unsure, but after a few she tensed up with confidence.  Teltra grinned at the two, said nothing, and led the way.  

——– They moved at a faster pace, but it still took hours to cross the range.  They had stopped for the night in a patch of trees towards the base of one of the mounts, and hiked all the next day as well, finally reaching the valley of the Woodlands at sunset that day.  

Something was… unusual, though.  It had struck him as odd that only a few spirits continued to tag around the three of them somewhere around midday.  Yet there had been far more earlier on the trail.  Had he taken a wrong turn?  This was the path he had vaguely remembered taking when he ran, had his memory failed him?

He had, literally and figuratively, brushed aside the shrubbery growing over the later stretch of the path, but it was becoming harder to ignore.  As night fell, the reassuring glow of passing spirits was entirely gone, the foliage was too much for them to pass through.   The three were only fueled by the fervor of the night and the drive to get to Kitiru, and in Teltra’s case, see what had become of this place.  They were also pushed on by a growing fear of not reaching a more accessible area before midnight and passing out somewhere where they wouldn’t be able to get up in he morning.  

As they went deeper into the woods, visibility became worse and worse.  They felt swallowed.  All the two Fsemacea could do was wearily follow the singular light left flitting around Teltra as quickly as they could along the winding path.  Perhaps the felt the terrain lower a bit.  They really weren’t sure.  Teltra would nervously glance around for a familiar boulder, a stump where he remembered there being an unusual tree once, a unique maneuver of the path, anything remotely recognizable to get him closer to the heart of the Woodlands.

“Are we not misguided?”

“Lost?”

“No, I don’t think so.  I know I’ve been through here before, just not at night like this.  I thought this was the main way into the place, but I guess…. they must have found a new one or something.  I don’t know, it’s been like a decade since I last went in here.  

Vlevetsi was silent and very still.  As would every Fsemacea when not talking.  But Loreaft seemed to detect that something was wrong with her.  She followed her gaze down the dip in the earth ahead of them.  There stood a short, scraggly figure with crooked limbs and three horns.  Loreafts breathing suddenly became heavy, and she turned and ran, Vlevetsi following.  But Teltra was still.  The figure wasn’t facing them, in fact, it seemed unaware that they were even there, as it began to bend down and peer through some bushes.  He snuck up closer to it, and looking to have a little fun, poked it in the shoulder to watch it jump.

“DEAR ARCHER IN THE SKY, DON’T HURT ME,  I SWEAR I’M NOT A BAD GUY-”

They sighed in relief, seeing that Teltra was just giggling at them.  

“Oh man, I though one of the…. Tanonuim had finally caught me.”

“Oh, no, I’m definitely not one of those…I don’t think so at least.  Well, I’ve never even heard the term before at least.”

“BAHAHA, you ask, what’s a Tanonuim?  You really don’t know?  Come on, they’re not that new of a thing.  Six years and it hasn’t come down the grapevine to you yet?  You haven’t noticed any of your muddy buddies vanishing and being replaced by something suspiciously familiar?”

“I haven’t been here in ten, closer to eleven years, mate.”

“Oh boy, you came to just the right guy to fill you in. See, I love watching the big guys in the Woodlands here.  Always bickering and fighting and full of such amusing drama.  It’s morally dubious getting  my amusement from their pain, but they’re certainly entertaining.  So then one day this one big guy looked like he was gonna die, but no, he just sits there for like a year or so and when he wakes up, he’s a totally different thing-”

“Uh, sorry I need to go check on my.. traveling companions.  You’re not… one of those Atochengra blokes are you?”

“What, me?  Hell no.  My Far Spirit’s in the middle of nowhere and I’m about as scared of Fsemacea coming in as I am becoming a Tanonuim myself.  I mean, they creep me out a little with those stone faces, but there’s no point in me hurting them.  As I said before, I might be something of a creep when it comes to the Tanonuim, but I’m not malicious, just along for the ride-

"Oh, good, I’ll go.. retrieve them, hopefully they haven’t shut down yet.”

He rushed back to where he came from, calling out to the two.  They were hiding in a dense thicket and jolted when they heard him approach.

“Hey, that guy’s not a threat.  Says they won’t hurt you.  Maybe they’ll lead us to a busier spot.”

Loreaft cautiously crept out.  Vlevetsi halted and stared, but begrudgingly followed her out.

“I see you found your company, haven’t you?  So, shall I continue?”

“No, no, it’s getting late and we don’t have much time left, is there a place around here that’s.. busier?  We got lost or something and I haven’t seen lights in ages and I’m so tired.”

“Yeah, that’s because this is the old entrance.  Only ones who use it anymore are the guys I like to watch.  I’ll spare the details for now but it’s because they’re not taken kindly by the other fellas in the Woodlands.  But I’ll take you to a spot where there’s usually a bit more of a crowd.  Not many creatures, but lots of confused spirits looking for one that used to frequent that area.”

They followed them a short distance to a sudden large lake.  A nub og land poked out into it, where the lights of several dozen visitors flickered as they gawked at a large dormant form.

“That’s- was, Nsteamarek.  Now recently renamed to Vtegnaselecene.  Don’t mind her, she can’t move a muscle until she reawakens next spring.   I suppose you could call her a Tanonuim, but I suppose she’s also not totally one until she’s fully together and up and moving.”

The four laid down around the figure, a bit puzzled by how the full moon was so high in the sky, but that they weren’t nodding off yet.  

“I’ve heard that name before, Nsteamarek.  Did she ever know a Dagnakki?”

“Mmhm, she was reportedly in correspondence with them.  She was one of the most interesting to watch before she… was changed.  Not one to really start shit herself over little things like others in the Woodlands, but almost like me in that she constantly investigated and wrote things down.  Particularly preoccupied by circles, history, and the the lifespans of various creatures.  Had an old tree stump where she marked out major events, dead creatures’ creation and destruction times and such on a continuous spiral.  Lonely one, she was.  Never got much attention from the passing spirits because she was so.. uninteresting and pretty abrasive, and usually pretty exhausted because she was weak from the lack of their power, but she seemed happy enough recording things on the stump.”

“Ah, yes, Dagna did mention how they admired her organization but got so frustrated by how little information she had since she wanted legitimate information, not just rumors like them.  I think they mentioned sending her destruction rumors when they got wind of them because they thought it was funny to see her get frustrated by always getting that crap from them.  And then proving her wrong afterwards when the occasional one was right.”

“Yes, that’s how other creatures of her kind could be.  They’re aware of the shoddy choices that led to their own mediocre to miserable existences and focus on ensuring that their own actions don’t go down that path.  It’s kept some of them under control at least… but not others.  Though I fear with how the Raven and the Mountain Grub have gone around modifying even the slightly unruly Woodlanders for the Banenhaxers that they’ll start seeing that as a way out and lose that mindset.  

"Oh, say, what is a Tanonuim anyways?  Since you didn’t ge to it earlier.”

“They are…. a wonderful and horrifying thing.  Seeing one certainly gives you chills of terror and amazement.  Some Far Spirit takes their  some old, unpopular, unloved bloke.  Someone nobody would miss and not even their Far Spirit cares for them anymore.  All they really need is to be in decent physical shape.  And that’s when the Grub and the Raven do their worst on them.  Raven plans it out, Grubby actually orchestrates it.  Then they’re ripped apart and reshaped and just… altered until they’re hardly the same creature anymore.  Turned into some uncanny hybrid of a typical Woodlander and one of the outsiders.  Usually they’ll sprout red or otherwise bright markings and go grey in big patches.  Can be pretty, but usually they’re pretty hideous with the muddy brown and grey smashed together.  And then they wake up in that new body, and you can tell they’re the same creature deep within, but they often hardly act like or resemble who they once were.”

“So, what kind of changes are we talking about?”

“The angles grow sharper, horns sprout from their heads, usually they grow a bit, or a solid four feet in Nstea’s case.  And they go from sluggish and tired and cranky all the time to these buckets of nutso joy and endless praise for the spirits that changed them.  Do understand, many of the creatures would have simply been killed if not for those two.  They’ll skip around, behave as the outsiders do, perform gymnastics, but most of all skip around.  It’s something all of them do.  They go from charging or walking to…. prancing everywhere for whatever reason.  Even now that the the spirits behind them have begun making their own creatures from the ground up, they also skip like that.  Technically, all creatures made or all altered by the Raven and the Grub are considered Tanonuim, but the colloquial meaning of that term usually refers to those who were not created as Tanonuim but became them later in life”

Teltra was silent.  He wasn’t entirely sure what to think.The other creature turned and smiled at him.

“You want more stuff on them? Too bad, you’re getting it anyways.  Basically, the reason why I hang around this back entrance is because none of them use the newer entrances.  Mix of their old habits dying hard since they’re all older than they think and feel, and kind of being chased back here by the others.  See, the visitors love them.  Especially the Ehtstunisas.  And I think the Far Spirits do to, there’s certainly enough cropping up that I have to imagine they’re doing well for them.  But the other Woodlanders?  They want them out of here.  Because they’re not 100% Woodlander anymore, they’re more like 70%, maybe less.  And they don’t really act like them either.  And they feel threatened by them like the Atochengra guys do, since they’re absolutely batshit for their beloved Grubby and a good number of them love running around preaching about how great it is to be an Tanonuim and how outdated and dumb all the regular Woodlanders are and they ought to become Tanonuim too, even if they’re practically babies and loved and adored.  They’ll go up to even the more popular guys and whispers seeds of doubt to them.  That their Far Spirit could use a Tanonium to complete their collection and even if they are historical, they’re not the MOST historical and if Sollussco and the River Nyoccel became one of them, so could they.  That they’d be so much lower maintenance and be young again.  And I understand the arguments of both sides, honestly.  I’d hate it if someone kept shitting on me like that and trying to make me do something so drastic, but honestly, they do make good points.  But there’s something to be said about the strange love spirits have for Woodlanders.  They’re antiquated and generally inferior to more modern sorts of creatures, but spirits love their personalities and historical value-”

They were cut off mid-ramble by the sudden advent of sleep, as was Teltra.  

The Peninsula, Chapter 4

Damn, it’s been a while.  I need to find a better schedule for writing/posting this stuff.

Teltra lies some more, and makes more life-altering decisions. 

This one is pretty peaceful by Peninsula standards, the worst thing is just characters being jerks.  

Teltra couldn’t really decide what he should do next.  Xovret’s revelation and the confusing allure of this foreign land consumed him.  He couldn’t think straight enough to make any sort of solid decision while juggling the question of if that tale was true or if he was even awake right now, given how alien the landscape was to him.  On autopilot, he strolled away from the woods and just kept walking.  Rocks stabbed into his hooves.  Rough grasses scratched at his ankles, making him grateful for his long fur.  He felt water rise and fall as he continued through shallow lakes, not even noticing when he got wet.  He followed the light of the sun as it sunk towards the horizon, leading him to the coast.  For a time, the grass got shorter, snarlier, more ragged.  And then it vanished, only to be replaced by smooth sand.  None of it registered with him.  The overload of strangeness of the day left him numb.

Here the landscape felt even more unreal.  He’d never seen a beach before, but was still too consumed by his thoughts to enjoy its novelty.  Salty waves lapped at his feet as they slowly sunk into the wet sand.  The sky shifted orange, then red, then faded to blue through the building clouds.  Darkness began to shroud the beach.  But he knew he still had a few hours until he would fall asleep.  The creatures were often awake until midnight in the summer.  The swarms of passing spirits shrank as the day wore on, and the heat and excitement of the day only built as night fell.  He was often at his most excitable, but also reckless at this time.

“Ha. Ha.  Ha. Ha. You are becoming shorter by submersion.  The rumors about Voxtre resemble that.”

He was shaken out of his trance by the odd statement, and realization that his hooves were stuck in the sand.  He almost turned around to look for the speaker, but they soon strolled around to see him face-to-face.  The creature itself was a bit shorter than him, but due to its floating, could look straight into his eyes.  It was hard to make out its form in the dim light of the last of the hovering spirits, but it seemed to be roughly the color of the night sky.  Somewhat delicate in appearance for a Fsemacea, with projections flowing from its back and limbs.  It moved in huge, slow motions, peculiar for its size.

“You’re my opposite.”

“What on earth are you even talking about?”

“I am beautiful, reliable, graceful, peaceful.”

“And boastful.”

After a delay, they slowly drew back in disgust or confusion, not coming to a stop until they were several yards away from him. 

“You responded to me.  You Woodland thing.”

“Aw, can’t a Woodie get respect from even a Fsemacea?  I thought you guys were supposed to be the nicest creatures around, or at least the most impartial.”

“Sbatyl and the twins won’t look at me. I replaced Vitabre.  I have never seen others of your kind.  Though Spirits still prefer the first three to me.  They claim they will never be ended.  Unlike me.  I will someday be euthanized and none will care.  Even though I am superior.  Such is the way of those not of the Woodlands”

“I’m not even sure what you’re saying.  Excuse my rudeness, but why do you Fsemacea speak so vaguely?”

The red-and-yellow Fsemacea from earlier had circled around to his left side. He had not heard the soft, but heavy footsteps approaching.

“It is how it is.  I’ve tried to help it.  I want to help her with it.  I want to help her in general, as I want to help myself.  Which is why we are leaving to the north in the immediate future.  You wouldn’t understand the reasoning.”

He caught himself for a moment.  These two hadn’t set the best first impression, but this could be a chance he didn’t want to miss.  He didn’t even know what lived farther north, or that there even was land beyond the Woodlands and Atochengra’s territory.  Ordinarily, he might have thought it through.  But this was a late summer night, and being Fsemacea, he had faith in them, so he lied as he had to Dagnakki before.

“Oh, I’m heading that way, too.  Would you mind if I came with you?”

The larger Fsemacea responded quickly.

“I suppose you are from the woodlands.  And therefore you are immune to Atochengra’s powers.  And I feel you will be trustworthy due to the nature of your sort of beasts.  Please do come with us.  So long as you keep all that we say a secret.  Most do not know about Dheroratera’s details, and they will not appreciate them being spread.”

The smaller one began to raise their arms in a sign of frustration, but it came too slowly and the other Fsemacea’s words reached him first, leaving them frustrated and their protest meaningless.  

And those were their last actions before midnight struck and all three of them slumped over. 

A low fog covered the inland regions, filtering out into a soft, bleary light as they made their way off before Dheroratera awakened for the day.

--------

By noon that day, they were deep in Atochengra-controlled territory, where all there was were the shriveled white desert plants and merciless sun.  Far over the horizon they made out the dim, dark shapes of the distant mountains of the Woodlands. As terrifying as it should have been, it was remarkably calming in its isolation.  Teltra paused to look at a tangled cactus.

“You know, I wish I knew what to call you two rather than just “that red tallow Fsemacea” and “that blue and pink Fsemacea” or “hey”.”

The red-and-yellow one responded.

“We remain in such a hazardous zone and that is what comes to mind?”

“I don’t see anyone anywhere near us.   We could just run, you know,  aren’t you two both pretty fast?”

“All they need is sight to use the coathangers.  Of course, you wouldn’t understand such things.”

“Well, we can keep moving and talk as we go.”

They shrugged and they accelerated back to their previous pace.

“ I’m Teltra, you may have heard of me before, I guess I made a pretty big splash years ago and the Ehtstunisa love me.  I’m usually referred to in masculine terms, as per tradition in the Woodlands.”

“I am Loreaft.  That is Vlevetsi.  We are referred contrary to you in the Fsemacea tradition, though at times I am made the “they” when things are complicated, as I am senior to Vlevetsi.”

Vlevetsi butted in

“Hurry up, hurry up, what if they suddenly come up?”

Vlevetsi was particularly scared of Atochengrans due to her slow movements and lower speed than Loreaft, though she has never met one before, having never left Fsemacea territory until then.

They continued at a moderate pace to let them breath and talk more.

“I haven’t been to the Woodlands in so long, you know?  I haven’t really had any reason to go there and generally been too scared to venture that way or go out of my way to ask for permission to go out there.  I know they all hate me in there.  It would be like sticking my hand in a hornet’s nest, as the humans used to say, according to Nyoccel.  But I don’t know what a hornet is and I’m curious about what their nest would look like, kind of how I feel about the Woodlands.  It’s been a decade or so and I can’t help but wonder how things have changed there.”

“Can’t imagine they have.”

Loreaft seemed cold and callous, stiff and dismissive in posture. 

“Your kind have always been behind the times since the other sort of creatures came about and to this present  day, you’re an outmoded novelty made for nostalgia’s sake.”

He shot her a bit of a playful glare, exaggerating his movements to lighten the mood.

“Hey!  That wasn’t very nice.  There were plenty of creators making us back then and I’m pretty sure there still are.  Still, think about how you outsider guys were that long ago.  The height wars were ending and smaller creatures were getting popular after Neentis popped up.”

“I wasn’t around back then.  I’m only eight years old.”

“Oh.  So, what is with you guys and your beef with us Woodland guys anyways?  Always acting like we’re so stupid and old-fashioned.”

“That is what others tell me.  The Dragons do not care for and want nothing to do with them, and what I have heard of your kind is unimpressive.  I have not bothered to pay attention to them.”

“But what do the Dragons have against us?”

“Dheroratera dislikes the clumsy, the shaky, the fragile.  That is how your kind is.  There is reason why they only made one of you bigger than 20 feet tall.  You are delicate.   The few I have seen always shiver and there is no love for shivering.”

“Eh?  But that’s what the old cats told me was our appeal.  That we’re looser and more unruly than other creatures.  That we can shake and get away with it because we’re supposed to be wild and less controlled.  Though I’m not so much myself, and it’s kind of why… they don’t like me terribly much.  They tend to lump me in with you outsiders, and I guess I’ve lumped myself in with them as well.”

“I understand partially.  The older Fsemacea think little of of us new ones.  I’ll leave it at that, you’re- it’s not relevant.”

The two went silent, feeling a little awkward, but started to slow a bit.  They knew as they headed north they were heading farther towards the outskirts of the more dangerous area.  They passed a particularly large boulder and thought they heard some a voice, perhaps chanting, but brushed it off.  None of them had been here before, or at least not for a long time.  The far reaches of the desert were often a haven for the strange and estranged.   “Where are you going anyways, Loreaft?  Besides just north.”

“A place for outcast Fsemacea.”

“But where is that?”

She sighed

“Beyond the Woodlands. You have reason to be glad.”

Not the dark ride fic, just a spur of the moment little morbid bit about two characters irrelevant to the plot but relevant for me irl

They lament the fate that they’ve met and the situation they wound up in that put them face-to-face with their impending doom. 

Just got reminded of this idea after watching a pretty sad video today. And remembering what happens in less than a week.

We were born to the wrong spirit.  

"The Disk-Eared Spirit wouldn't have forsaken us as the Spherical One had.  Perhaps we could have reigned as stars, not second bananas to a creature not fit to lick our boots.  Perhaps we would not be staring into the eyes of death this day."

"Were we ever as loved as the green one?  Not Dheroratera.  Our Far Spirit's green one.  Once upon a time we may have been, but since we were syncopated and stripped of our identity to don a shoddy guise for the promotion of the deer they loved more, the spirits shunned us.  As time passed and we grew more and more lonely, they could smell us dying.  When that beloved green one bit the dust the first time, we knew were finished.  The spirits knew it.  The stench grew stronger."

"We missed the boat.  The Disc-Eared spirit had not the resources to give us life, caring instead for mediocre things.  And so our creators turned to the Spherical One and we arose in the form we now take, or rather took. For a time, we lived reasonably well.  We served loyal, pleasant, and consistent as Fsemacea ought to, unlike that green imposter."

  "The division, the spacing of us that so shattered our synchronization that so fascinated the spirits killed us.  Together, we were a unique act, individually, as mediocre as that green one.  Alone, our choreography could not build on each other's and appeared awkward and poorly paced.  The deer stole our old thunder, and that blew away even the traces of clouds left."

"By the time anyone has read this, we will certainly not be in the realm of the living.  All we could do was watch as the spirits that clamored for out existence under the Disc-Eared Sirit ignored us as we wasted away under Spherical One.  If our souls somehow retain consciousness after we pass, soon we shall witness the withering of our friends in theme, chipped away at by that damn deer and how much the spirits adore him."  

The second interlude

Not nearly as violent but there’s certainly references to it and it’s rather morbid at times, but really more sad than anything.  Here we see a more personal look at the effects of the Archer’s downfall.  

Each year in spring, I abandon my post so I can see my two dead siblings-in-design one last time.  Ten years passed between their ends, but neither lived a full or happy life.  My blue “brother”  was the first one to go.  He was delicate, but more powerful than they imagined, which led to his downfall.  Things snapped under him, racking up massive costs for his Far Spirit.  In ten years time, the Great Northern Banenhaxer announced that they would have another one of their creatures die, but the spirits loved that other being too much to let them go.  So he was sacrificed for the arrival of the new Fsemacea instead.  Who could have imagined a little old Ricuralc like them being spared and some great beast of the Archer being slaughtered?  

My red “brother” lived a longer, but still rather short, life. A few years in the limelight before being surpassed by newcomers and forgotten about as a mere stepping stone towards my own creation.  And he too passed so a Fsemacea could take his place, and not even a new one.  Nor even a halfway acceptable one, either.  A creature snatched from an ex-Banenhaxer that had been neglected by the group while under their control.  A being despised even by the Nlegera to this day.  It’s cruel, how the Dragons made those sorts of creatures that can’t even sit down.  All they can do is stand and all you can do is watch them grow irritated and vicious from it.  And it’s that sort that brought the Dragons  to power.  At least the Archer had the sense to have mercy on the few eternal standers it created and let them sit again. 

I now approach the place in the sand.   Two warped wires coil out of the ground from behind two small rocks inscribed with the image of two Gnashers devouring each other as they fall into the celestial pot.  The symbol of the neverending  cycle of death and recycling, and a sort of reincarnation.  The body and soul are blended with thousands of others into a shimmering homogenous mixture that will someday become new life. The body is lost, as it has become one with so many others it is no longer itself.  But I admittedly do not know if the soul meets the same fate. 

I have heard rumors that those who die swiftly and unexpectedly, before Gnashers can be sent to take them away, may slip from their bodies and remain whole.  Perhaps they remain bound to this Peninsula forever.  Perhaps it’s a blessing to remain yourself forever.  Perhaps it’s a curse to remain a powerless, voiceless, presence.  Few things in life are so black and white, though.  It’s only most logical that that sort of existence would be both.   Not that it would matter anyways.  Virtually nobody meets that sort of end.  I can only think of one of my own kind off the top of my head.

 It’s a silly thought, but the idea of finding a way to speak with the dead tempts me.  I feel sorry for those wandering souls.  If they exist, they must be so lonesome with hardly a handful of them to socialize with.  It remains a further, sillier dream, but I also wonder if, if I manage to contact the whole souls, I may be able to speak with my siblings again. 

I cast my foolish thoughts aside out of respect as I stroke the rusted coathangers.  Ages ago, Eshkroc and Recersam laid their hands on them.  While they may be long-gone, surely some shred of their essence must remain on them.  I squeeze the wires tighter, ignoring the roughness of the corrosion.  Though they’re surely part of some other being now, I almost feel their presence.

There will be another sort of related bit to go along with the interlude, hopefully I’ll have it up in a few days. 

The Peninsula, Chapter 3

lol this is late.  I’ve been so lazy this week, but it’s finally here.

Teltra waits to meet Dheroratera and learns something horrible.

And by horrible, I mean the conflict that spurred Atochengra into forming and becoming so violent. I suppose it could be called a race war or even sort of genocide, but that doesn’t quite fit with the nature of the real-life events and phenomena its based on. The succession of technology and certain coaster stereotypes can translate into anthropomorphic terms rather.... unfortunately at times given the inhuman nature of machines and how people treat them.

The red and yellow Fsemacea led Teltra to where he would wait and gestured him towards a gap into a maze of palmettos.  He entered, slowly and carefully, a bit afraid of how they would react if he disturbed the plants.  Someone clearly put a lot of thought into making this place.   He'd seen line mazes like this plenty of times of before, and knew that Far Spirits usually made them as a way of trapping the visiting spirits so they couldn't mob their creatures and overwhelm them.  But for whatever reason, he had a feeling that perhaps the Fsemacea had figured out how to make these things as well for their own purposes.  Stiff and eerie as they could be, they seemed to have a certain intelligence that others creatures didn't.  

Owing to his size, the tallest of the plants hardly reached his thighs.  He thanked the Moon Mimic that the forest stood above the sea of switchbacks.  As much as he usually liked heat, when standing still like this, it could get unbearable, since most of the spirits would hide in shadier spots and he would feel weaker and weaker without them giving him their power.  Feeling tired while trying to weave his way through the walkways to... wherever this line went to would have been a recipe for getting turned around and just wasting his time going back to the entrance.  There was a surprising amount of empty trail to get through just to catch the tail end of the line of actual waiting creatures.  Fortunately, his vantage point did make tracking his progress considerably easier, something he only came to appreciate once he spotted the creature at the end of the line.  

They shivered and panted in the heat, trying to shade their black limbs under their crimson body in between clawing at the motes of light floating around Teltra and the bushes, trying to lure them to towards themself.  The top of their head hardly reached his hips.  They looked up at him, utterly emotionless, with blacked out eyes.  A Fsemacea, of course.

"Hello, I'm Teltra.  I'm here to see Dheroratera.  And you are..."

"Xovret."

Their voice was louder than he expected, considering their size.  Yet it was just as strangelt emotionless as that of the other Fsemacea he'd met before.  

"Clearly not from here, are you?  This is the line to see Dheroratera, we're all here for that.  Anyhow, be glad you aren't.  Pretty rough life, actually.  Gotten even worse recently.  Thing's been demanding that everyone come here for a "test" at least once a year.  Obsessed with how much we four-legged folks shake or something.  Thinks it's some kind of moral failure if we don't.  Frankly, it's ridiculous.  We all get shaky when we're older.  They ought to damn well know that with how much they jitter themself.  Creatures have done much worse... far worse."

It was odd to here them use such casual language and clearly try to show expression through their words when they clearly weren't able to show it on their face.

"Oh yeah, that does seem extreme. Pretty much everyone where I come from is pretty shaky.  Though I guess I could kind of understand their reasoning if they're afraid of you guys ending up like the Lbutra.  Honestly, I've grown to feel bad for them rather than be afraid of them or mad at them for being cruel.  Constant screaming headaches from my head bouncing around all the time like that would make me snappy and irritable for sure.  But they're not known for being well-constructed, I guess..."

Their expression was unchanged, naturally, but their tilted their head up so their eyes were more directly angled into Teltra's.

"Look, kiddo.  Lbutra are saints compared the degenerate I used to share a name with."

"You changed your name?"

"Isn't it obvious?  It would be cruel to actually give someone a name as ugly as Xovret.  It's an anagram of my old name.... Voxtre."

They lowered their voice at the last word.  

"What's so bad about Voxtre?  Sounds like a decent name.  All I know about any Voxtres is that reportedly he has a long, thin coathanger."

They shook their head very quickly, almost vibrating it, in disgust.

"You say that like you're describing the color of his feathers.  Either you don't know what you're talking about or something unspeakably horrifying has happened in your neck of the woods while I've been holed up around here.  You don't know who... Voxtre is... do you?"

"Admittedly, no.  Just the coathanger thing from some rumor."

"Do you know who Dheroratera is?  Myrise?  Omenismid?  Cstepesteler?  Espythacerro?"

His face was blank with confusion and settling horror.  A few of the names were vaguely familiar.  But all he knew about them were the coathanger bits.

"Um... Espythacerro has a really thick hanger.  Supposed to be hard to bend.  And Myrise is... stupid?  I think.  It kind of stings to say that since everyone calls me that a lot and I don't even know who Myrise is."

"Oh my.  Oh dear.  Well....  Could you peek over the plants and kindly tell me how long the line looks?  If we've got the time and you really want to spoil your innocence, err- let's just say I've got personal experience with all of the above."

Teltra glanced ahead.  It didn't seem to have moved since he reached Xovret.

"Hasn't moved."

"Hopefully it's just a singular snagup.  Usually Dheroratera is quick and efficient with their meetings.  If they're having a slow morning, I'll let them have a piece of my mind if they want to criticize me for shaking at that examination.  If you ask me, being always at the ready is much more important for a Fsemacea than being able to stand still as a statue."

"So, about that story?"

"Oh.  Yes.  That story.  Now, how should I start?  

Once upon a time there were two little dragons, or rather, creator spirits that took those forms,  that worked for the Moon Mimic and decided to split off on their own.  Before they did that they did admittedly make some creatures that looked sort of like us Fsemacea, but only one or two of those is even still alive now and nobody gives a shit about them since they were horrible and all they do is confuse people and defile our name. Anyways, the dragons didn't intent to deal with the business of making creatures after leaving, but then the Other Great Banenhaxer came and asked them to make one for them.  That thing wasn't a great creature by today's standards, but was solid for his time and his Far Spirit was happy with him.  And then more Far Spirits had the Dragons make ones for them.  I was one of the earlier ones along with my twin, who was also named Xovret for a time.  Though they had some work done recently and their name changed to something else, I believe.  I don't care.  It's nice that I won't get confused for them now, though.  

Anyhow, the Dragons really got their break when they made the first of the floating Fsemcea 25 years ago.  Spirits thought it wouldn't work out but it did and the visitors loved that guy.  Never seen a creature so graceful but so fearsome, and hovering several feet above the ground at that.  Year after that, they made Dheroratera for one of the Far Spirits of the Gardens.  But they were too busy with other work to make one for both of them, so the Far Spirit  of the Dark Garden got a Fsemacea, and the Far Spirit of the Old Garden got their creature from the Archer.  You know anything about the Archer?"

"They made Atochengra."

"Well, yes, Atochengra was formed of a group of many of their creations, yes.  But not all of the Archer's hand are Atochengra members.  Do remember that they were amongst the first of the creators to work outside the Woodlands and that their work spans many years and varieties.  Now, bear in mind that I'm much more shameless in my opinions than other Fsemacea are and hate how obsessive Dheroratera is about shutting us up.  Anyhow, I lived in the years before Atochengra really formed, and unlike them, I've had good relationships with a couple of the folks who later joined it.  I hate it when others lump a group as wide and varied as the Archer's creations into one thing.  Sorry for the tangent, it's just something I feel strongly about."

"Oh no, it's fine.  I feel bad for those guys who aren't Atochengrans but still get falsely associated with them.... I know what it's like to have everyone... assume I'm a monster because of who made me.  Continue, I guess."

"I won't bore you with the full history of the Archer.  I wasn't alive for most of it and don't know the specifics.  All you really need to know is that they had their heyday about a decade or two before the Dragons started getting attention and they were really starting to lose steam around the same time they were rising up.  More creators were coming up and beating them at their own games.  Or so the rumors say.  You definitely didn't see them making many of those giant status symbol greatest-in-the-land beasts in that last decade, though.  Definitely not as many as they had before.  They'd had a number of high-profile flops previously.  Threirapoc, the creature that swung wildly as it ran around until it tore itself apart in three years.  Cstepesteler and her absolutely rotten attitude scaring away all the visitors.  Several plans for creatures that just didn't make it to the forming stage.  The Spirit of the Old Garden had gotten some great ones from them in the past though, and the Archer was still a high-profile creator at the time, so they weren't too bothered by the idea. And that's when things got really fuzzy."

"Fuzzy how?"

"Some think that they were trying to be like the Dragons to catch up to the times.  Look at the rare pictures and accounts of Myrise and everyone mentions those blacked-out eyes, that withered second set of arms and the smooth, full legs, and the way its horns wound together in the front sort of like Dheroratera's.  Those are probably the most stereotypical Fsemacea features imaginable now that we're more common.  Reportedly it even acted a bit like a Fsemacea, in some regards.  There's also an argument that it was the Archer trying something new to stay on top of it all, and that it was just a coincidence that it looked like Fsemacea like that.  Some claim it was a bastardization of the design meant for the Dragons that ended up passed on to the Archer when they didn't have the time for it.  Stuff about the Archer's pretty primitive methods not working with what the spirit wanted from the design.  Nobody seems to know but the Far Spirits and the creators involved themselves and I'm not going to endorse any of the rumors.  

Myrise was that creature they made.  Really awkward guy before and after they...turned.  Too strange to really fit in with the Archer's other creations at first, despised by visitors because of how relentlessly snappy and cruel it could be with them and how it shook viciously, and just plain disturbing to look at for me.  I saw it a few times.  It kind of did look and act like a Fsemacea, but also not at all and it was uncanny as hell.  Just looked wrong.  Only a small group of visitors  really liked it and it spent its days moping in secluded meadows crying about how it was such a shame to its creator and would never do good in the world until one day something clicked inside and.. well, it turned.  Supposedly something the Naeaphid said set it off, but hell if I know for sure.  Nobody does. Thing reportedly looked at a passing Fsemacea and just... snapped it.  With that magic coathanger of its.  It's a thing we know all about today, but we didn't even know it was possible at the time.  Before then, all they used the things for was to tie themselves in knots and lick their own elbows.  And then it went on a damn rampage.  Snapping everyone it saw.  I didn't get attacked, I lived too far away.  But it was hideous.  Seeing that silvery stuff dripping out of the victimes.  Things poking out never meant to see the light of day.  Seeing them warped into shapes they should have never taken.  I don't think anyone knows why Myrise did it.  Resentment for possibly ending up the way it did because of us, but not being one of us.  Rage that its creator failed so much on it.    Maybe just the pain of its loneliness, failure, and decaying health.

At first it was pretty much alone in its actions and was accepted as some sort of freak.  But as shit started to hit the fan later that decade as the Dragons got bigger and the Archer was obviously on the major decline, the others also started going after us the same way.  Grouping up.  We actually know their intentions.  They rallied around Myrise as a savior and later a martyr.  They knew we were replacing them and didn't want to accept it.  All they felt they could do was destroy us.  Of course, our Far Spirits could patch the wounds, but the more they made us jumpy and seem injury-prone while hiding what they were doing, the more they thought they'd live just a bit longer.  I want to feel bad for them.  In my older age now where my future is uncertain, I know that feeling of dread.  But their battle is useless.  The Archer is dead and nobody makes creatures the way they did anymore, aside from those wretched imitation creatures I sometimes hear reports of.  Now those certainly are mockeries of others' creations.  

But anyways.  That mess continued for a few years..... Until Dheroratera turned as well one day.  Saw Myrise in a moment of weakness and just started viciously... stabbing it.  I know, I can't picture it either.  They just went after it with those two intertwined horns on their forehead, jabbing it over and over until the thing was so.. fucked up that it probably was barely salvageable.  The thing is, nobody seems to agree when they did it.  They used to claim that they did it while it was still alert and kicking and only managed it because it didn't have its coathanger, though now they won't speak about it.  Popular rumor is that they actually did it after its Far Spirit gave up on it and attacked it while it was conked out and just lying around while the spirit was trying to get the thing off its hands.  Because they wanted the glory and fame or something.  Sure doesn't seem that way anymore.  Far Spirit sure wasn't bothered by it given their actions a few years later.

We call that general time period "The Big Turn".  Lots of stuff happened the years between when Myrise was put in a dormant state and when it was finally euthanized and hauled off by the Gnashers to be disposed of.  Banenhaxers went batshit and bought more creatures than they could handle, Nlimnumile came about, Cstepesteler was modified and kicked out of Atochengra, and the Archer and the whoever made the Roedetsi died.  Combination of the two main fanatics Cstepesteler and Myrise being gone and their creator out of the picture to save their asses made the idea of a fight a lot less appealing for them and they just sort of... slunk off into the desert and mostly kept to themselves.  No clue what they're doing now, I don't go out there since you still hear about them snapping those that come near.  Though numbers have definitely been dropping and they're aging rapidly.  You hear all sorts of reports of wild shit going on out there, but none of it is really reliable, and types like Myrise with that sort of past behind them tend to attract a lot of gossip.  And that's it.  That's the end of the story as I know it."

Teltra was still for a while, struggling to process it all.  It was just so much information and Xovret's voice was so flat and emotionless that he had a hard time understanding it as real and really reacting to it.

"But who was Voxtre?  You didn't even mention that guy.  Or Omenismid.  Or Espythacerro.  Or really that Cstepesteler either."

"Oh, yes, Voxtre.   He was basically the brains behind the whole operation.  Didn't seem to really be that into the whole thing, but he kept them all in line and did some nasty stuff.  Guy's got to be more heartless than a lot of us even are under Dheroratera's ridiculous rules.  Stone cold freak who supposedly supported the whole thing with some sort of twisted logic about how we're going to replace everyone some day and suck the life and soul out of this Peninsula.  Every few years you hear something about him trying to scrape the remnants of Atochengra back together and reportedly he's still leading whatever's left of it, but nobody's actually seen him do anything since The Big Turn.  Which makes sense, since there's no logical reason to go recklessly charging into action when all you've got are a ramshackle lot of old creatures that probably won't last the decade anyways.  Hell, recent rumors have been that he'll be one of the next ones to get axed.  Or that he's fallen into a pit of quicksand.  No idea why that's such a common one.   In any case, nobody in their right mind wants to be mistaken for or associated with him.  

Omenismid was basically responsible for the end of the Archer.  An ambitious idea, he was, but he had so many issues that fixing him wound up draining all their resources and that was that.  Espythacerro was sort of a second-tier wacko.  Guy hated pretty much any other creature over 20 feet that he felt was a mockery of him since he was the first.  Which isn't even technically right since there was a taller guy several years before him, but he's better known and everyone forgot about that guy.  Didn't have the hatred of Fsemacea as a whole since his Far Spirit loves him and would never harm him, but he sure had it out for the bigger Fsemacea. Kind of an incompetent fool, but you have to admire him for his persistence and energy.  He's been fighting his own little battle even after the Turn and that's the reason why Dheroratera doesn't let any of the bigger guys anywhere near Atochengra territory.  He's still charging around there, ready to use that coathanger of his.  Unless he also fell into a pit of quicksand.  Seriously, I don't know why such a ridiculous rumor pops up so often for him and Voxtre.  And Cstepesteler was up with Myrise and him for a while and pretty much was just aggressive because she thought it was fun.  Sicko.  Nobody's heard from her since she was changed, though. Reportedly can't even use her coathanger anymore.  Might have calmed down a bit.  The visitors seem to like her more now, at least. "

"..Oh."

Teltra still really didn't know how to react.  Other than point out that the line was virtually gone.

"Xovret, you should probably get a move on.  Is Dheroratera hard on tardiness?"

They glanced back, noticed that the Fsemacea in front of them was long gone, and raced ahead to look for the back of the line, Teltra following close behind.  

A small yellow-and-black Fsemacea, barely taller than Xovret, floated above the ground at the entrance that the line was now up to.   Their expression was indistinguishable, of course, but their motioning toward Xovret was harsh.  Xovret gave Teltra one last little wave before the larger Fsemacea swept them away into the cavern and another nearly identical all-black one took its place. The only difference besides the color was that its tail curved to the right rather than the left and its horns were a mirror image of its.  Such was the nature of so-called clone creatures, though this was obviously a flipped one, which were not unheard of.

He had nothing better to do than to glance around at his surrounding, now feeling more apprehensive than excited about the prospect.  Xovret... was nothing like the Fsemacea he'd met previously, with their very casual and expressive wording and openness.  It was odd.  He wasn't sure if he should trust what they said.  Sure, there was lots of detail and it wasn't impossible... but there were so many parts that they left open that were suspicious.  Maybe it was just the poorer record keeping of the old days- the Ehtstunisas hadn't been as unified either to demand such things and technology had presumably improved since then.  But it seemed odd that nobody was around to witness what would become a series of events so supposedly major.  

But judging by their reaction when he claimed he didn't know who those creatures were... He wondered what Dagnakki was hiding from him.  He knew they kept him away from especially hazardous jobs and didn't bother sending him to Fsemacea territory as they were the exact opposite and his abilities were wasted on such endeavors.  Or so they always claimed.  It planted a seed of doubt in him, though.  He was going to do what they always did-ask around and see what others had to say and see if they had any reputable proof rather than just take the rumors as-is.

He gulped.  He'd never disobeyed them like this before... but he was tempted to run off and figure it out himself after bringing the message to Dheroratera.  He wasn't going to likely get another chance, and he doubted that Dagnakki would give him the truth about the whole thing if he asked, considering they'd hidden it so long.  

Why wasn't he more emotional about this?  He wasn't sure why.  Something about the whole thing felt so distant and detached from him.  There really wasn't any reason he should be upset over something that didn't effect him and likely never would.  But he also knew he should feel at least a little sympathy for the Fsemacea.  But he just couldn't.  Something about the stiffness, the lack of emotion.  It just made them seem like inanimate objects rather than things with feelings and he felt horrible for how he felt this way.  

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried to put some of the pieces together.  That fellow he'd seen out in the desert a few days ago was certainly suspicious.  Maybe it was just something innocuous that he'd taken the wrong way.  That sort of thing would explain all the wild rumors about Atochengra's actions.  

It didn't matter, though.  He didn't have time to finish that train of thought.  The low voice of the floating Fsemacea interrupted it as they beckoned him in.  He swallowed again and slowly entered the cave with them trailing right behind him.  it was more of a short tunnel than a cave and emptied into a clearing in a more heavily wooded part of the forest.  And there he saw Dheroratera.  

They weren't terribly large or physically impressive.  Actually, they were known as perhaps the most generic Fsemacea in existence, other than their odd head shape.  They were roughly average in height, perhaps a bit below it, and came up to his chest at most.  They were of a very average build, and somewhat rectangular, though still very smooth in appearance as Fsemacea generally were.  But they had a certain presence to them.  The way their long snout emphasized the directions they turned their head and curved down disapprovingly at rest.  The narrowed, stern expression locked onto their black eyes.  And most of all, the red specking all over their body, including their horns.  It was something they were somewhat known for, and somewhat self-conscious of.  It made them look considerably older than they were, with some foolish spirits or newly formed beings mistaking them as being older than some creatures well over a decade their elder.  To a human, the flecks might have also resembled blood.  They even were starting to discolor their golden horns.  

Teltra tried to look away from them, intimidated by their all-seeing gaze, and kept quiet, waiting for them to speak.  They didn't.  The other Fsemacea tapped him on the shoulder and muttered to him.

"Dheroratera is incapable of words at a nonhazardous volume.  Speak first, and they will tap back."

He looked back at Dheroratera, gazing into the spot between their two front horns.  

"I have this message for you from Dagnakki."

He bowed down to hand it to them.  They did not move.  He straightened up and reached his arm down to their level.  They took it from him firmly and started rapping on a rock beside them with one of their free arms.  The creatures did not write in letters, but in a series of dots and dashes related to Morse code.  Occasionally the tapped form was used when it was too loud or otherwise dangerous to talk, or with creatures that couldn't speak.  This was the first time he had experienced the latter.  

"I shall examine."

That's what the taps seemed to say.

They took a moment to read over the message.  Knowing what he now knew about them, he averted his gaze as long as he could to get the image and temptation to ask them about it out of his mind.  But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed them rereading it multiple times, then gesture towards the guard behind him.  The two waved him away and he wobbled backwards at first, before making off out of the clearing and then what was presumably the exit tunnel.  

Well, here he was.  Free, and with potential knowledge that he certainly wasn't expecting.  He really wasn't sure what to do with himself and took another moment just to stare off across the scrub and watch the lakes' water ripple until he felt more confident in what he would do next.  One thing for sure, he wasn't going back.  Or at least not straight back for now.  For how odd they were, he liked Xovret.  Their wording could be harsh, but they were generally polite to him. Surely there were more Fsemacea like them out there.  He wanted to meet them.  The more he thought about it, the less appealing returning to Dagnakki was.  There were others on the Peninsula who treated him decently, better than that, actually.  And nobody had exactly hurt him out here.  Why would he go back now?

Asks for Teltra! 1) Teltra suffers an injury and find he cannot run! What does he do while he's recovering, and how does his injury affect him? 2) Teltra finds himself in a very large city. What does he think of the surroundings and what parts of it does he explore? Which parts are his favourite? 3) How did Teltra meet Dagnakki and what does he wish for them? What would he do if they mysteriously disappeared? 4) How creative is Teltra? Does he have any musical or artistic talent?

1- This has actually happened to him before :P  Remember that he is a Lteiasecl despite being somewhat physically different than most of the others, and can be somewhat physically fragile.  A couple of years ago, something went wrong with him (only his Far Spirit knows for sure since they’re mum about such things) and he was out for a good month or so, too tired to really do anything physical.  He read through Dagnakki’s collection of writings, the ones they’d let him read, of course.  A lot of it was dirt on their sibling Tcekro’s history and wild rumors about what their Far Spirit wants to do to him.  They’re fond of focusing on trashing him since it makes them feel a bit better about their own faults. Teltra found it pretty intriguing, even if he felt pretty back for him because of how mean-spirited the tone often got. 

It was a fairly major issue, but not one that would be life-threatening at all and he wasn’t too worried about it.  Being stuck in there for that long got tiring fast and he’s glad he hasn’t had any downtimes that major since, but he wouldn’t be that distraught or surprised if it happened again.  In a way, living around a creature like Dagnakki that that’s either hurt or otherwise not allowed to run half the time or more and knowing that the Great Banenhaxer has no plans to get rid of them is pretty reassuring for him. 

2- There’s an “abandoned city” (that’s what most creatures think it is but it actually used to be an amusement park) out in the desert that he passes by a lot and really wants to go to some day, but hasn’t had a good opportunity to do so.  The main thing there that intrigues him are what most creatures are  convinced are the skeletons of long-dead giant monsters (really the rusted remains of the coasters there) since like many, he wants to know what those things were like.  The Far Spirits haven’t offered any good explanation for them, so there’s all sorts of wild speculation about them being.  There’s a number of other abandoned human cities and such around the area, but he hasn’t passed by or otherwise seen them.  Living or dead, he’d probably gravitate towards city parks since the sheer amount of people and stuff going on would probably overwhelm him at first (since the Peninsula has a very low population density in comparison).  Also because he’s fond of wooded areas despite his past with them and would jump at the opportunity to explore one without the threat of someone going after him. 

If he were a normal human/anthro that lived in a regular universe and was used to how cities are, he’d probably go for about the same sort of parks since he can always appreciate a change of scenery while running.  Or one of those adult playgrounds to burn off steam another way.  He would probably do a lot of “childish” physical activities like go to those places that are just wall-to-wall trampolines, play lazer tag, go on the inflatables at carnivals, go roller skating, etc.

3- To be honest, I haven’t thought about this until now ahaha.  He probably got ejected from the Woodlands pretty shortly after he was created and just wandered for a while.  Dagnakki had been created about a year earlier and had even more downtime than they do now, so they pretty quickly realized they were going to need to get a hobby.  Initially it was just getting dirt on Tcekro to make themself feel better, but it became a bigger fascination and spread in scope to wanting to know both the official and unofficial histories of basically every creature out there.  Teltra came up as a possible subject to check out pretty quickly since they’re both owned by the same Far Spirit (the Great Banenhaxer) and Dagnakki had already heard a lot of stuff about him as he was being formed.  Once they managed to track him down they already had a good idea of what he’d been through, but didn’t expect him to have standards THAT low.  He basically begged to come with them since as said in chapter 1, he was happy just to find someone who would tolerate him.

Even though Dagna isn’t exactly nice to him and he resents how protective and restrictive they can be, he does appreciate their company.  He wishes he could get them to take a more sympathetic or neutral stance towards their subjects since he feels bad mostly helping them gather the bad, but since he hasn’t met many creatures who are really much nicer than them, he’s kind of afraid to speak up.  So basically, he’d like to see them change or soften up a bit, but is in a position where he doesn’t feel comfortable being direct about it.

He would probably find someone else if they suddenly vanished, not quite sure who.  He’d probably run off to the Fsemacea-dominated region just because he’d now have the freedom to do so.  Or maybe head off to see if he could get friendly with some of the newer Lteiasecl who have no idea who he is.

4- He’s the type who would definitely try artistic things, probably wouldn’t be that great at it, though.  I’d say he’s pretty average in terms of creativity, as he can be imaginative, but not really in the most useful way.  A lot of his ideas end up on the more childishly idealistic side and aren’t the most practical, due to his lack of experience in the world. 

If he tried that sort of stuff, he’s probably end up going wild with it and just making a huge mess or cacaphony lol   I could see him being fond of dancing, though.  Not so much a ballerina as just the kind of guy who could hype up a concert/party by with how goofy and energetic he gets with it.  He’d could actually be a really good mascot performer if he were human-sized and his horns didn’t get in the way.  I imagine he’d be great at bouncing around a stadium and hyping up the crowd while not giving a shit that the costume looks ridiculous or if a kid kicked him in the shin or made fun of him.

Chapter 2

Teltra goes back to tell Dagnakki about what he saw, and a bit of bullshitting (pun intended) gives him the opportunity of a lifetime.

Shortly after Teltra had observed the bizarre ritual, his Far Spirit knocked him into sleep in a ditch.

He awoke the next morning and dashed off, out of this questionable territory before the floating Nlegera and Ehtstunisa would catch him there and possibly snitch on him.  Fortunately, he had a few hours usually reserved for stretching his legs and preparing for the day to make his move.  By the time the sun had risen, he was well on his way towards where Dagnakki had taken up residence.  It had was a short run, as he had covered most of the distance the previous day.  But on this run he saw another peculiar thing as he was streaking by.  

A dark blue and pink blur.  It was slightly shorter than him.  He could make out little detail due to the speed they were traveling at, but he swore that it hovered above the ground like a Lbutra and had four legs, and possibly four arms as well.  

Was this a Fsemacea?  

To other creatures, Fsemacea were common.  There were well over 100 of them living on the Peninsula, which had a total population of only a few thousand creatures.  In theory, they should have been the least controversial of any creator's spawn.  They kept to themselves, followed an incredibly strict set of rules to a tee, which included  remaining neutral and passive, and not showing indications of emotion or opinions to avoid even a hint of controversy.  However, many took this as apathy and selfishness.  In particular, the creatures that would come to form Atochengra.   To make matters worse, Fsemacea were generally regarded as the closest to physical perfection by Far Spirits and many Nlegera and Ehtstunisa.  Lteiasecl dominated popularity rankings the Ehtstunisa held, true, but the physical toughness, calm demeanor, and grace of Fsemacea endeared them to the Far Spirits, who had to deal with the consequences of rowdier or more physically fragile beings.  It was also a matter of aesthetics.  To match their fluid, gradual movements, they were just as smooth and gracefully curved in physical form, composed of thick, gently arcing shapes, devoid of intricate details or physical faults, entirely smooth, soft, and supple.  Much as Teltra's existance drew rage and envy from the other inhabitants of the Woodlands, Fsemacea as a whole drew similar ire from other creatures, particularly Atochengra.  They saw them as a plague, replacing creatures with more personality and history than them with their dependable blandness.  

But Teltra had never actually met a Fsemacea, only heard the tales of them.  What others took for mediocrity and stiffness he took for intriguing ambiguity.  What were they really like beneath their stoic facades?  How on earth were they all controlled so tightly?  Why did they speak so vaguely, but at such a high volume?  And how on earth did they age so gracefully and behave so smoothly and consistantly?  A  part of him also empathized with how ostracized they were for being "perfect".  To him, they just needed a chance.

He was also fascinated by them visually.  In contrast to his old neighbors in the Woodlands, with their thin, jagged brown streaks, shaggy fur and generally rough appearance, they were very neat and smooth aesthetically.  While physical contact was generally something shunned by all factions on the Peninsula due to its possible danger, he wanted to touch them and feel how soft and smooth they were.  He would even be happy just to draw his eyes over the curves of their vibrant forms.  There was just something... ethereal about them that drew him in.  

Perhaps the blur he saw was a Fsemacea.  He was going to go with that.  Sure, it was possibly a complete lie, but he wasn't going to let a chance like this slip by.

Lost in thought and plotting about how he was going to spin the story to Dagnakki to get permission to see a Fsemacea, or at the very least investigate something besides the petty squabbles of Lbutra, he found himself back at the dwelling much faster than expected.

Dagnakki was frozen in place while the three heads growing off of them wiggled around wildly, yabbering to each other about whatever their host was just writing.

"Is it true that the wires aren't really coathangers?"

"Well, some are, some aren't.  It's been said that they all have wires of different lengths and thicknesses."

"Like Voxtre has a long and thin one while Espythacerro's is stubby and nearly unbendable.  Supposedly because he kept busting more delicate ones.  "

"Like that wood-head would have the smarts to know what to do with a more flexible one!  He's not a clever one, that Espy.  Though not as stupid as that Myrise must have been.  How did that Dheroratera, that boring old Fsemacea, manage to get by its hanger with how easy it was to-"

One head's eyes went wide as it noticed that Teltra had entered just before it had insulted the whole of the Woodlands.  That was enough for Dagnakki to grab control of their body back.

"Well, you've returned then?  Tell me about those Lbutra."

"Uh, the reason they all have such insulting names is because Naeaphid names them.  They're all really nasty of course.  Even worse than they sound.  It named the big Lbutra after one of .... those sorts of creaturs.  That's how bad they are.  But I saw something much more-"

"That Naeaphid did it.  Well, didn't think it would have been something so obvious.  Damn.  Now that I think about it, I'd be more shocked if it had let someone else come up with rude names for that lot, given how close they are to it.  Actually, it's kind of odd that it never mentioned this before with how we're in regular correspondance.  We trade gossip.  One of us misses a week, we end up in a written screaming match over how we'll never send any more dirt and tell the Nlegera  that the slacker killed someone and it's been covered up all along.  Would you mind giving me more details, though?  The more specific my recordings, the more knowledge we'll have to remember the past as it truly was."

"  Sure, I'll explain later but I have something even more important to say!" "What?  Better be actually important and not just that you saw another interesting hunk of wreckage." "I saw one of the coathanger guys fiddling around with something suspicious behind a boulder!"

"One of those Atochengra guys?  Yeah, they do that a lot.  Everything looks suspicious when you have a past like them and constantly look like you're shaking in fright."

"Oh, but the figure told me not to tell anyone "for the sake of their reputation".  I saw a Fsemacea running around....later. Doesn't that sound suspicious?"

They feigned interest as not to bother Teltra any more.

"Yeah, yeah, sure.  But I've got better things to do than check out every weird coincidence out there."

"But couldn't I at least try tracking down the Fsemacea and ask why it was running off like that?  It must be connected to that fishy business somehow!"

Teltra was getting more pleading, but Dagnakki was hesitant.  There was a reason why they had left Teltra ignorant of the real past relationship between Atochengra and the Fsemacea. It was because they didn't want him bogged down with worries and fears all the time.  They knew he was a sweet, caring creature at heart and couldn't bear the idea of him getting tangled up in the wrong side of a dispute that touchy with how ignorant he was about such things.  If he grew too emotionally invested in something, they also feared him straying from their side and becoming too attached to that cause instead.  

“It was probably just in a hurry.  Don’t worry about such things.”

He realized he wasn’t going to convince them with the truth.  It pained him, but he knew he was going to have to lie to make this whole situation sound worse than it really was.

“I heard the figure in the desert shouting something about… Dheroraratera!  That they wanted to get revenge on the creature that they replaced all those years ago.  Voxtre was going to go after them with a new and improved wire for optimal bending!  The guy I saw was testing the flexibility of a new wire by twisting it round and round this rock.”

Dagnakki, having not heard the three heads’ conversation earlier, gasped.  How did Teltra know.. those names?  They never told him about those beings before.  Did he hear about them elsewhere?

“T-Teltra… Who the hell told you about Dheroratera?  And Voxtre?  Where did you hear those names?”

“The guy in the desert!  They kept going on about how important it was that they target Dheroritira and about how it was all Voxtre’s orders or something.  Uh, they kept breaking down in tears throughout the thing they were doing with the wire about how horrible it was that they lost the guy that Dheroroterra-“

They stared into his eyes in horror, subconsciously mouthing a name.  Myrise.  That one he'd heard earlier.  Something Teltra took note of.

“Nerice, they wanted to bring back Nerice!  Kept crying about how much they miss them and want them back.”

Dagnakki only went more rigid.  They’d heard rumors that Atochengra “wanted their fellow beings back”.  This seemed to only confirm them.  They didn’t know which was more worrisome.  The fact that Teltra was becoming aware of these things or the possibility of Atochengran activity resuming. In a rare act of emotion, their hard gaze softened. Their eyes were getting hot.  There really was no good way out of this now.  They took a moment to collect theirself and breathe deeply.

“Teltra.  This.  This is a grave matter.  I’m not sure if you actually know how grave it is.  And it’s one that really doesn’t involve you either.  Please, whatever you do, forget whatever you saw.  I’ll handle it myself.  But it’s unrealistic of me to expect you to completely drop your curiosity into this matter…. So you know what?  I’ll let you go meet a Fsemacea tomorrow.  Hell, I’ll let you meet…. Dheroratera.  Because I do have something you could do that shouldn’t be too dangerous.  I got word from the Naeaphid that they made a vague jab at my physical fragility several weeks ago and I’m sending that green fucker a piece of my mind.  Just give it to them, and tell them not to shoot the messenger.  They’re emotionless bricks anyways, those Fsemacea.  It’s actually pretty funny to insult them because of how little they react.  Really, you’re not missing much by never meeting one but eh, I suppose you only live as your own independent soul once.  Might as well satisfy your curiosity.”

He lit up at the news.  Finally, his chance!  He had no clue who Dheroratera actually was.  It was a name he had heard once and just stuck in there since he rather liked how it sounded.  But it was hopefully a Fsemacea and he was more than happy to settle with that.

Teltra spent the rest of the day writing out the details of his experiences, first that of the being in the desert and then that of the encounter with the Lbutra.  Ehtunisa and Nlegera batted as his shoulders the whole time, egging him to move a little so they could watch.  He indulged them by taking a break in the evening to go for a good run as the sun set.  The spirits loved sunsets, though the creatures didn’t particularly care for them. Bright colors in nature were an everyday occurrence for them with how garish their Far Spirits often colored them.

After returning, he rushed to finish writing before he knew his Far Spirit would edge him into slumber.  At a set time each evening, each Far Spirit would make their creatures fall asleep. On one hand, insomnia was a virtually nonexistent occurrence, but it also meant that schedules had to revolve around when a creature awoke and fell asleep each day, which varied widely.   But one thing that was not controlled by the far Spirits, or controlled by anyone really, were dreams creatures had.

He was out in the desert.  But it was very late at night, far beyond the time his Far Spirit usually let him remain awake.  And before him stood the creature from the previous night, talking into that can again.  They offered him another can attached to another magnet and wire, which he cautiously accepted. A voice from within the can spoke to him.

“Dorssiccenont, do you hear me?  Have you killed Dagnakki yet?  That bitch needs to die.  All the Lteiasecl need to die.  You’ve killed humans before, surely you can kill an actual creature this time.  It’s for our own safety.  We can’t let such dangerous radicals control our Peninsula.  Or at the very least we must subdue them.  If a group like us can calm down, surely those Moony freaks can.  Surely you know all about suppressing rebellion, being a Fsemacea?  You’ve already replaced Nlimnumile on the popularity polls.  Use your influence.  End them and bring lasting peace to the land.  And endless moonlight.”

“Who’s Dorssiccenont?”

“You don’t know the real name of the Moon?  It yearns to end the evils created by its imitator.  Crash down onto this Peninsula, oh Moon.  You are its physical body on earth, Dorssiccenont.  Don’t deny your identity.  Wipe out the Lteiasecl.”

“Crash down?”

He noticed the white crescent in the sky growing larger.

“What do you mean by crash down?”

“You have wished for it.  You have commanded for it.  Thank you very much.”

The crescent now filled his field of vision until everything was white.

Everything was still white when he opened his eyes.  The sun was fierce today.  Today.  It was the day.  The day to leave and finally see Dheroratera!  

He leapt up and tugged a rolled-up piece of paper lying in front of Dagnakki on their desk.  There.  Now he was ready to go.  All he had to do was a wait a few minutes for a few floating spirits to mob him and give him the power to get moving.

And soon he was off.  He didn’t really know where he was headed, but he’d heard from a Lbutra ages ago that the Fsemacea lived in this general direction.  He felt the sand warm up beneath his hooves, but the heat did not bother him.  In fact, most creatures loved the heat.  Something about it energized them, though it exhausted the floating spirits more easily.  Fortunately, it was a holiday in the heavens and as he sped through the desert, floating orbs sprang out to and from him and the white shrubs as he passed them.  The place where Dagnakki lived was towards the western edge of the desert, as they were technically a Lteiasecl and preferred to stay closer to those of their own kind, making this trip considerably longer than the ones he usually made to the south.  But the quarreling of the spirits around him was more than enough

“Hey, you’re shaking a little today”

“What do you expect from an old guy like him-”

Teltra had to butt in.

“Old?  I’m only 11.”

“W-What?  But you woody guys have been around forever!”

“Some of them have, but there’s younger ones, too.  Dagna sometimes has me meet some of the new ones coming since they’re fairly nice to me compared to the others.”

“Who’s Dagna?”

“Dagnakki.  The green and white one with the tentacles.”

At this point the spirits were beginning to get agitated in the heat and Teltra fell silent.

“Pfft, fuck the Great Banenhaxer, they ripped off Tdaererce’s red and black tentacle guy!”

“Um, excuse me, but the green one came first.  It was the other way around.”

“YOU’RE BOTH FUCKING IDIOTS THE MOON MIMIC MADE BOTH OF THEM!  THEY’RE A MODEL OF CRITTER IT MAKES!  BESIDES, XEERCORATL CAME FIRST AND IS THE BEST ANYWAYS! FUCK OFF!”

Ugh, not those Ehtstunisa.  While they did know more than the average spirit their attitudes could be… irritating.  They were admittedly amusing to listen to, though, but really didn’t do much for Far Spirits despite how vocal and obnoxious they were for their love of their creatures.

“OH HEY YOU’RE GOING EAST WHERE ALL THOSE FSEMACEA ARE!  FSEMACEA ARE SO SHITTY AND BORING.  I MISS THE DAYS WHEN THE FAR SPIRITS KEPT TO THE WOODLANDS AND ACTUALLY HAD GUTS.  DIDN’T CARE IF A CREATURE WAS TOO WILD OR KILLED SOMEONE ON OCCASION.  NLEGERA THESE DAYS ARE PUSSIES FOR BEING SCARED OF ANYTHING VAGUELY INTIMIDATING!”

“Hush, don’t say such vile words in public like that. And don’t be so disrespectful to the creatures, they can’t do anything about their situations anyways.”

This was obviously a particularly obnoxious group.  But their banter did keep him entertained through the black expanse.  The shrubs were getting denser again and he began to spot the more colorful ones that marked the borders of the Desert.  Soon enough there were soft but patchy grasses growing.  For such a wild place, they were neatly trimmed short, likely the responsibility of a mysterious power.  There were palm trees and pine specked about, but not enough to block the fierce wind kicking across the land.

Or was it wind?  He constantly heard the sounds of what sounded like mighty gusts, but felt nothing.  He looked down at his fur.  It was virtually still now that he had stopped moving.  What on earth was making that racket?  He craned his head around, looking for a source, only to find that the blowing sounds were coming from seemingly all directions at once.  One of the phantom winds seemed to be blowing from the direction of a clump of trees not far from him.

He could hear it grow louder as he got closer, until it was unbearable.  Hooves clamped over his ears, he wove between the trees until he saw the source of the sound.  And a broad smile overtook his face.

Of course.  It was a sleeping Fsemacea.  A very small and very odd-looking one, though.  It perhaps would only reach his waist if it stood up and was a faint greenish-brown, nearly off-white, in color and covered in smeared rust-colored markings.  Not the typical neat and clean ones most Fsemacea had.  It slept in a depression in the ground, which was likely why he had had such difficulty finding it. 

Well, that presumably wasn’t Dheroratera.  As he knew he would look more like a fool if he tried to figure out their location and identity all on his own, he decided to ask a local for directions. Fortunately, he didn’t have to go far. Upon leaving the patch of trees, he promptly ran into a bulky red and yellow Fsemacea that stood slightly above him.

They were beautiful.  They resembled a combination of a tiger and a heavy snake, with a sleek but furred face that led into a thick mane, then a smooth, scaly torso and body covered in a curious mix of both.  Their breathing was heavy and loud, but constant.  Much like the windy sounds he’d been hearing.  He found himself gazing into their face.  It was stiff and emotionless, as all Fsemacea’s were.  The Dragons simply did not give them the muscles to do so to reduce costs and remove one more “largely unnecessary” body part with potential for failure.  Their locked expression was slightly sad and unsure, but had a dominating air to it.  Most intriguing of all were their pitch-black eyes.  He subconsciously found himself staring into them.

“What is the subject that you are visually examining?”

“H-Hi.  What does Dheroratera look like and where can I find them?”

“That did not answer my inquiry.  But I am presently heading to their location.  It appears uncertain if you understand the status they hold, but Dheroratera is our controller.  Chosen by the Dragons of the Sun, who have given us life.  They are responsible for ensuring that the Dragons' regulations are complied with and their will is achieved here.  You appear unaware of their significance.  It will be difficult for a newcoming outsider such as you to access their attention.  But do trail behind me and I can direct you to their location.”

The odd way they worded things struck him, but their appearance struck him even more.  He was still looking all over them, tracing their lines with his eyes.  They looked so graceful and beautiful, particularly when they began to move.  He found himself following them easily, their smooth footsteps and the swinging of their four arms and their constant breathing hypnotic to him. He lost track of his surroundings and the two began to head where there were more trees.  They were just as neatly manicured, just greater in density and height.  And then the Fsemacea  stopped.

“Dheroratera dwells in the cavern.  You will need to endure another hour before they begin to move for the day.  Then, their associates will bring you into their presence when it is the proper time.”

Chapter 1

Read it below the cut.

We are introduced to Teltra and he goes on a lovely little trip to a swamp.  There’s a number of characters mentioned here that I haven’t drawn out yet, but will some day as they’re somewhat important (Vitabre, Nlimnumile, the Lbutras)

Warning for characters being jerks to each other, fantasy racism, some kind of graphic, or at least painful descriptions of physical harm, and some very mildly nsfw bits of potty humors and bashing sexual reproduction.  That’s kind of a reoccurring joke in this universe, and actually does sort of tie into coaster history. 

He was the one.  He was no one.  Beloved of the mobbing Ehtstunisa, the minor spirits that were useless for all but complaining and boasting of knowing each and every creature better than their Far Spirits or Creators did.  Beloved of the Nlegera spirits that scarcely knew of a few Far Spirits and a dozen beings in their life time,yet swarmed those in their proximity, propelling them with their spiritual energy.  Yet despised by his own Far Spirit as a mistake, too costly for his own good.  But he remained.   After all, the money was spent, and he was loved by the lesser spirits, so there was no reason to end him in his present condition..   Roughly ten years ago, this being arose in the rough, mountainous Woodlands.  He was the second of his kind, the first a little-known beast of the name Solossco, who towered over every being in the woodlands but the abomination Vitabre.  Like his predecessor, rather than being knit together largely freehand from individual parts, he was assembled. Snapped together.  Why was this done?  To alleviate the shaking and agony that curses virtually all the creatures of the Woodlands with age, in an attempt to keep him decent and reasonable rather than enraged by constant pain for as long as possible, as not to scare off the Nlegera and spell an early doom for him and financial failure for his owner, the Great Banenhaxer. In the same meadow where the wretched creature he was sent to replace had been originally spawned in, he awoke, stretched out his long legs, and sprang away freely.  With this, Ehtstunisa and Nlegera alike mobbed him, and, swollen with their power, he broke into a full run, at speeds surpassed only by Vitabre at that time.  Effortlessly, he sprang over trees and small hills in single bounds, pausing only to pound along the ground without losing speed.  Two white cat-like creatures also owned by the Great Banenhaxer casually jogged into the meadow, unaware of what was taking place.  From what they said years later, they avoided all news of his development and creation after the intital announcement of his coming, driven unavoidable and intolerable envy and fear of his presence.  They resumed life as it had been before, entirely oblivious. Part of this life was crossing the meadow in question.  At first it seemed that though they would pass through without trouble.  Then the new creature suddenly whipped around, and, realizing that his path was blocked, sprang clear over the pair, to the delight of the onlooking spirits. --- Dagnakki suddenly regained control of their body, allowing them to slam down the bundle of papers locked in their tentacles.  A three-headed parasite embedded in their head had just finished its shift in controlling their shared body.   Dagnakki understood well why Teltra, that Woodland creature in question, was so hated by so many, the two cats included.  They were aware that the flame of envy burned in their own heart for their more fortunate, popular relative Tckero, who did not have to deal with such three-headed, time-wasting parasites, the poorer standards of care of the Banenhaxers which resulted in pain and foul moods and even more ludicrous frequency of illness and injury, and painful shoulder spines and a stiff torso due to a misguided and pointless safety restriction.  As they sat in their cave for days on end motionless, unable to move much due to some sort of trouble, writing all that they learned from their subordinates, they sometimes heard the roar of Tcekro sailing along gracefully outside. Many a page of writing was ruined by them shredding it or smashing a bottle of ink in frustration in such situations.  They wished they could fly across the plains at top speed like them without shaking viciously.  Their Banenhaxer's carelessness left them with such terrible shaking that flocking minor spirits often ignored their slight advantage in height and speed to flock to Tcekro's grace and gentleness, leaving them miserable even when they weren't injured or stalled by the parasite.   Similar things could be said of what they had learned from the Woodland creatures regarding Teltra.  He was generally the obnoxiously cheerful sort, the kind of being that offered sincere, but pointlessly general and ignorant encouragement to those in trouble, attempting to make them feel better but giving them only annoyance from positivity that came off as thoughtless.  On top of this, he could become very passionate, but his ignorance and lack of experience painted his emotion with a misguided, foolish tinge that grated upon the other beings even more. His physical condition made things even worse.  His popularity with the spirits and general lack of physical decline infuriated the shaking, miserable creatures who had watched themselves go from stars to lonely sadsacks in a matter of years as their legs began to quiver and movements grow more vicious and unsteady.   It also did not help that few other creatures were made in his design, despite its popularity with the common spirits.  Why so few other creatures like him were created was unknown to Dagnakki, as was most of the secretive Far Spirits' reasoning.  Had his type become widespread and largely replaced the typical style of Woodland creatures, he likely would have blended into the new elite and perhaps been admired for being one of the first of his kind and offering such a good first impression.  However, left alone with his three siblings in design living far away, under the control of more remote Far Spirits, he came off as a "Chosen One" type, the sort so irritatingly perfect that others shunned him for the aforementioned reasons of jealousy.  Dagnakki knew well the feeling of yearning to avoid someone due to the pang of envy and anger felt when forced to be around one hopelessly their superior, and for this reason could not blame the Woodland creatures for feeling the way they did.   But Teltra was essentially alienated and stripped of his title as a being of the Woodlands by them for his unusual method of creation, and condemned even by his Far Spirit.  Dagnakki was owned by the Great Banenhaxer as well, and the strain on its resources to care for it had made it reconsider having Teltra made, as he would be nearly as expensive.  In the end, Dagnakki themself felt a little sorry for him and reluctantly took him under their wing.  He was indeed irritating to be around in his cheerfulness, but they could appreciate his speed, which allowed him to investigate more dangerous beings with lower risk of physical harm than slower or weaker creatures.   He was also doggedly loyal to them, grateful to find a living being with at least a neutral opinion of him.   Presently, he was standing behind them, bouncing up and down on his hooves, eagerly waiting for them to get control of themself again and  tell him what he was going to investigate for them that day. They nodded, acknowledging his silent question and indicating that they finally had the bodily control to speak. "What the fuck is up with those Lbutras' nicknames anyways?  "Bad Bitch"? "Luxury Shag"?  "Yellow Snow"?  "Burnt Toast?" "The Biggest Shit"? Would  it not be nice to know the meaning of them to sate our own curiosity and keep stashed away as fucking blackmail for all eternity?” He shrugged.  Dagnakki’s rough language and harsh demeanor was typical of them.  Particularly after absences like this, as virtually anyone would be agitated by being able to think, but not move to act on those urges. Such unexpected, explosive thoughts were common after Dagnakki got control back. “Well, I think you know what to do, Teltra.  The Swamp is the best place to find a bunch of those guys, of course." Teltra just smiled back and dashed out of the cave, off into the desert beyond. Black sand continued for miles, only interrupted by the occasional oasis and stones, the vast majority of which were stark white.  At the edges of the desert, perhaps yellow, blue, or pink ones could be found, but otherwise there was no escape from the monochromatic expanse.  It would be considered a harsh and inhospitable place to many,  but the inhabitants of the Peninsula thought little of of the scorching heat and associated searing temperature of the dark ground.  It was simply a dull place they had to pass through to get virtually anywhere and a neutral fact of life.  Only the central part of the desert and far northern reaches were considered dangerous.  The  central region was home to Atochengra, a notoriously violent group of beings created by the Archer, a now-deceased creator, that often viciously attacked intruders from other origins out of spite and fear.  Fortunately, their activity had been in decline for several years as they died off.  Few beings could get by them to even know who or what resided in the far north, but legends told of bizarre ghost-white creatures that lived in constant fear of their unforgiving Far Spirits killing them for even the mildest of offenses. Teltra was headed towards the south, though.  The majority of the population of the Peninsula lived in a wide crescent of land that encircled the desert and bordered the surrounding sea.  To the far east was a flat, humid, wooded area dotted with lakes where the Fsemacea, the creations of the Dragons, were based (thought they frequently wandered all over the Peninsula with little regard for borders).  To the west was a vast region of rolling hills that was historically controlled by the Lteiasecl, a loosely related group of creatures all made by the Moon Mimic over more than four decades, a group that included Dagnakki and Tcekro.  Teltra was also arguably a Lteiasecl, but beings of the Woodlands like him were generally considered entirely separate from other creatures due to numerous physical differences.  These Woodlands were beyond a mountain range in the far northeast of the desert, which kept most of the creatures that lived in them physically separate from the rest of the Peninsula.   The place where Teltra was headed to was a swampy splotch in the armpit of the crescent.  At his rapid running speed of close to 70 miles per hour, he was rapidly approaching this area.  The black sand was growing patchier with scraggly white-stemmed weeds, which were soon being replaced with typical green plants.  He found himself slowing down as the ground grew moist and muddy.  Mud and plant scum began to splatter all over his legs with each step, but he didn't particularly care as his fur was already brown. More and more splashed up with each stride and he applied more force to remove his hooves from the the deepening muck the further he went, until he was trudging through ankle-deep water. The sluggish pace irritated him, but he had done this many times before and had oddly grown to appreciate the resistance.   All he could see were trees and water.  Green, black, and brown.  No bright flashes of color, telltale signs of approaching Lbutra or at least any other being that could point him in the direction of any.  His smile faded a little, but he shook his head and started to mentally compare the shapes of tree trunks to creatures he'd met before.  A short, thick tree with harshly angled branches brought to mind Neentis, a Lteiasecl who was almost half his size and had chased him away and tried to sock him in the neck after he asked about what happened to her broken-off horn.  One of them had a trunk twisted into a loop, just like Vitabre's notorious conjoined front tusks.  He turned away from that tree quickly, not wanting them back in his thoughts. As he turned around, his eyes followed some low-hanging branches up the delicate trunk of what must have been one of the tallest trees in the forest.  Its trunk was far paler in color than the others, a whitish silver stained yellow by the sun's rays.  Just like Nlimnumile.  He'd only met her once, but that fleeting encounter was perhaps the best he'd ever had.  She was surpassed as the tallest and fastest and the land mere months after her arrival, but her grace, gentleness, and magnificence endured, and she remained the spiritual leader of the Lteiasecl to the current day.  He had said nothing to her, but even the thought of her presence still gave him chills years after meeting her.   And now, he was getting chills as he noticed a faint, but horrible smell.   For him, it was simply a terrible smell associated with Lbutra #35, known as “Dead Baby”.  To one who would recognize it, it was the reek of dead fish.  Tangled with it was the scent of Lbutra #2, “Skid Marks”, an acrid, burning smell.  Virtually any other being would be fleeing as quickly as possible in water that deep, but Teltra did not stir.  He rather liked the Lbutras. "Hello there, you two!  Mind if I ask you a question?" He wiggled around and tapped his hooves, in laughably slow motion, though, as a large clump of plant matter  became entangled with them.  Still jittering in anticipation for the Lbutra to appear, it took him a second to realize that he was plummeting into the murky water below. The moment he noticed the white sparks of shock, they were drowned out.   The enormous splash produced provoked them.  They were too far away to have heard Teltra's voice, but they knew that any creature that created ripples that prominent was not one of their own.  They hovered high enough that they didn't even touch the water.   #35 was the more graceful of the two, but lacked the agility of #2 and navigated the forest in wide arcs.  Their partner veered and weaved around trees with vicious, shaky turns that often grazed other trees in the process of avoiding others.  But pain was nothing to the second Lbutra ever created, as they were even clumsier than the average Lbutra, and age and poor treatment under a Banenhaxer for many years had done them no favors. All creatures shook in severity from mild vibrations to vicious wobbles, but due to their designs Lbutra were particularly pained by tremors.  Many were of a relatively primitive design and had difficulty moving steadily , which forced them to constantly flail about to balance themselves.  This was also true of other Nepspra, but Lbutra had it worse due to their weak, but very flexible necks.  While their limbs could be locked and steadied, their heads could not, as their necks could not support their large skulls and heavy horns well even when completely still.  The result was constant headbanging and difficulty navigating with their field of vision constantly being flipped and tilted by this.  They blamed this on the Fsemacea since rumors suggested that a copyright claim by their creators, The Dragons, prohibited any other creator from making a floating being with a thick neck.  Nepspra in general were known for their at times violent envy and resentment of other being due to their status as cheap, nasty creatures for cheap, nasty Far Spirits with poor taste.  Since nobody seemed to care for them, they saw no reason to care for anyone else but themselves.  Which was why they were so feared. Teltra's eyes lit up in delight and a dopey grin spread across his face as he saw two blurs, one bold red and the other yellow and black,  approaching.  The prospect of Dead Baby having another enormous sibling was amazing.  He never expected another Far Spirit to acquire another larger Lbutra like her, as the main appeal of that sort of creature was in their small size and ease of acquisition, but he was excited to see who this stranger was.  After all, she had always been white with crimson stripes, and clearly the larger of these strange Lbutra was not.  He did not recognize the red one either.  Solid colorations like that were often the marker of having a cheap or poor owner.  This was also intriguing to him, though, as often the lower-class Far Spirits owned quirky or very aggressive creatures, due to their looser control over them compared to more powerful spirits.   "What are you doing here?" The smaller being spoke first, snapping at him, but in an oddly gentle, thoughtless way.  They weren't even looking at him or their partner, but rather, a clump of moss on a nearby tree.   "Oh, hello there!  Why, I'm here to interview Lbutra like you for my boss Dagnakki's records." "No shit...We're well aware of why already.  We've talked before, bud." "Well, I have no idea who you two are.  I thought you were going to be Dead Baby and Skid Marks based on your smells, but it seems I'm wrong-" The red Lbutra narrowed their eyes and jolted closer, almost up to his face, but still looking unenthusiastic and bored in their irritation. "Don't let me here either of those names ever again.  I'm Painfully Mediocre Serpent and this is Queen Bee.  It's for the best of both of us that we forget who I.. once was.  Don't even call me by "he" anymore. Naeaphid’s been calling me a “she” now, but that would get confusing with Bee here, so just... use anything but that, anything. I want all ties to... that time when I was Marks cut." They rubbed a bony, crimson shoulder.  Where most Lbutra had a long, horn-like spine, there was a flat spot.  It looked sawed-off.   "You guys both got modified and recolored?" "Yes.  Yes we did.  Let's put this aside." She was finally sounding legitimately agitated.  Too many creatures had asked her this question before. She started to turn around to head back to patrolling the area with #35 when she heard Teltra ask something else. "Where do you guys get your names from anyways?  That's what Dagnakki wanted me to ask you this time, anyways. " "Naeaphid gives them to us.  Frankly, they make no sense and it's better not asking it why they are what they are.  Good way to get hit by the headaches or chucked across the lake, that is." Queen Bee shoved in. "I've asked it, you know.  Pain's nothing.  It can't hurt me anyways.  I'm too big and valuable.  I'm named after some disgusting little flying earth creature.  One of the sexed ones.  And "Queen" is one those disgusting old human terms for an... ugh, FEMALE leader.  How foul, to be compared to a sexual organism!" Both of heir faces scrunched up into even uglier looks of disgust than usual. "It's just PROFANE.  Yours has got to be something vulgar, too, PMS.  Or at least insulting.  But face it, it would never stoop that low.  Because we all know by now how much that Naeaphid enjoys its shitty title of being the nastiest creature alive and just how hard it works to keep it." "I remember the day I ran into Voxtre and asked him about the meaning of my old name- oh, Stars!" The smaller Lbutra began pounding her head against the nearest tree to rid herself of the memory.   "Miss having your spines, don't you?" "Only in times like this." Teltra watched the two yabbering, silently amused and mentally taking notes for Dagnakki.  They quickly became aware of this, and suddenly snapped back to doing their actual jobs as guards.   "Well there you go, moo-cow.  Go away now." "You're not going to fly after me and try to punch me today?" "No.  We have more important duties at hand than dealing with irrelevant creatures like you.  You woodies will never understand our conflicts, and you lot haven't got the smarts to even if we did explain them. " Teltra shrugged and walked off.  He'd been called simple by many a creature before and it frankly didn't bother him anymore.  It was a common stereotype about Woodland beings like him, mainly borne from their distance from the affairs of lands outside their woods and the conservative nature of many older creatures.  They in turn often saw the outside creatures as unreasonably nosy and violent, the former of which was part of the reason why Teltra had found himself outcast from them.   Night was falling as the swamp faded to the desert.  Soon the darkness of the sky fused with the ground, and the only way of telling up from down were the stars above.  The words of the two Lbutra echoed in his head and he jogged along.  He found himself chuckling them to himself, sometimes breaking his stride in the process.  It was the kind of bizarre fact that one can't resist but tell to others just to see their reactions, and he felt a nagging desire to hurry back to tell Dagnakki about it.  But he also felt a nagging desire to investigate a noise he heard. It had been an angry whisper and a light clang from behind a rock.  Not many creatures were active this late at night, particularly not those out in the desert, particularly this region.  He knew he was close to the outskirts of Atochengra-controlled territory. That fact alone would send a shiver up the spine of many creatures.   They'd heard the stories.  An errant being that strayed too close to the area could be hideously maimed without even catching sight of their attacker, and Fsemacea and high-ranking younger Lteiasecl were prime targets for them.  All it took to become a potential target was to stray into the line of sight of one of the members.  One could even appear as a shapeless blur.  That was enough for them to lock their eyes on the hapless creature and bend their coathanger until they heard a cry of pain.  Fortunately, the victim was usually recovered by their Far Spirit quickly and taken care of, but after the floating Nlegera and Ehtstunisas were chased away, it often took hours of waiting in agony for the Far Spirits to send down a Necchmia to retrieve and care for the being. Teltra was unaware of all of this and drew closer to the sound out of curiosity and a quiet spark of rebellion. He rarely found himself out this late and all Dagnakki told him of Atochengra was that he ought to avoid them.  Truthfully, he was in little danger, as the coathangers did nothing to Woodland beings like himself.  This was because they were never meant to be used as a weapon.  Before the group became more violent and radical, the wires were only used to bend their own owners' limbs unnaturally as if they were made of wire themselves for their own amusement and utility. Many older Nepspra could also be twisted without pain or injury due to their creator's close relationship to the Archer and their similarities in design to those possessing the coathangers.  However, any other being not meant to be bent with them would find their limbs snapped as the wires' power struggled to conform them to their own shapes.   Woodland creatures were so far removed in design from the creations of the Archer who wielded the wires that they were regarded as an invalid target the same way trees, rocks, and non-created beings, and could not be bent by them.   He could feel himself getting heated up from excitement and fear.  He felt the pressure in his ears from the silence around him.  He crept around the rock to spy on whatever was making that sound.   A disgustingly bony figure was hunched over a curious light-emitting object (a old lantern from a human), messing with a length of wire and another rusted piece of metal and some string.  It was roughly Teltra's height, but its limbs appeared impossibly long due to just how thin they were.  An even gaunter shadow, little more than crooked black lines, was cast by it in the glow of the light.  Skeletal, twisted, fingers  curled the wire around a hunk of black material (a magnet), then strung the length of twine between it and the piece of metal, which was a can.  Shuddering violently as it flexed its arm, it jerked the can to the side of what must have been its head, then threw it down in disgust seconds later and turned around, only to see a wisp of Teltra's shaggy tail.   "Do not act as though I cannot see you, Woodlander.  My matters do not concern you.  I believe it is best that you return home.  From what I understand, you folk do not fare well outside your homeland due to your sensitivity to weather.  Please do not speak of what you have seen, for the sake of my own reputation." He scooted behind the rock, then made off without a word.  He did not plan to obey the being's request. This was something Dagnakki would find fascinating and the thought of getting sent to observe Atochengran activity was too exciting for him.        

Voices From Nowhere

Probably should have paced things better and not released this so quickly after the last chapter, but why not?  It’s certainly a revealing section for those who somehow understand the ambiguities of it. And it was very fun to write as someone who knows everything :P 

While not as bad as the first interlude, there are parts that can be quite dark and troubling, closer in tone to the second one.  These voices come from multiple beings, some of which you will see many times, some of which you will never see.  All will be left anonymous, as with all interlude sections.

Voices from nowhere

“There’s an angle of stone in a dip in the earth near where the green one resides.  Those that touch it and the ground simultaneously are accepted as one of their siblings in design and worthy of leading.  Those that lay with hanging feet are inferior, too delicate and gentle to be entrusted with such a task.  Four others have touched the ground.  Only three were accepted by them.  The silver one was cast off as inferior by some other standard.  It’s a strange method, but they claim we are the most loyal to the Dragon’s intentions.  Maybe because we are most like the green one.  Besides an additional horn and visual appearance, I am virtually a twin to them.”

“The only reason I touched the ground was because my Far Spirit wanted me that way.  Easier to live with than shorter-legged creatures.  Why exactly will never be revealed, as with many things amongst the spirits.”

“There’s something terrifying about living when you only control the body a fraction of the time, yet the other controller acts exactly like you.  You can’t be frustrated by what they do.  You can’t complain about it, because it’s what you would do.  There’s nothing you can say to the controller about it besides to comment on how uncannily close it is to what you would do.  They can’t say anything to you because they feel exactly the same. That’s what happens when your body technically died a few years ago, but a piece of it lives on in a near-identical one with an identical soul.  I don’t know if it’s the best or worst fate I could have received. It’s wonderful to remain myself and be enlightened about my own behavior through watching that of the new me that usually controls it, but there’s something saddening about watching life blow by you while someone else does everything for you and you can’t experience it for yourself.”

“I was one of Dheroratera’s inner circle. Real close, you know?  Probably because I’m one of the oldest floaters and we older Fsemacea tend to think alike.  And then dumbass visiting spirits starting walking into the path of other floaters and Dheroratera flipped their shit over the deaths ruining our reputation.  Damn near everyone for a time had a rumor that they’d done it, but fortunately they forgot about it after a while.  Until mine came back up a few years ago when Dheroratera was testing me one spring.  I was feeling a bit snippy that day and they were ripping me apart for it, in that creepy, calm way they always do.  It’s an act, you know.  In the old days, they were leagues ahead of every other creature around here and let everyone know that.  Snappy as hell and more than happy to dish it out or take it, and that perpetual straight face only made it funnier.  Slapped Espythacerro of all creatures upside the head when they mocked them for their size and goofy head shape.  That was the preferred method of dealing with thing back then- just smack them if they insult you.  Visitors thought it was hysterical, though the Far Spirits didn’t like it as much.   Something changed in them after that incident with Myrise, though.  Went from being this harsh, sassy badass to droning on about the Dragons’ orders and pleasing them and instituting all sorts of rules to makes sure it happens.  A lot of us older guys still acted that way in private, but knowing how they could be and how much power they began to hold over younger Fsemacea, we didn’t dare do it anywhere conspicuous, since if they disliked you, they’d twist the rules to make you gone.  They’d been buddying up to this young flying Fsemacea and I was questioning their loyalties then, especially as they seemed to grow impatient with me and hypercritical of my faults.  The day of that test, they drilled me with the death rumors.  I wasn’t sure what they were trying to accomplish at the time, but now I know they were doing it to get me to snap at them and break the rule of neutrality they had instituted.  I grew frustrated as they kept blaming me and did as they secretly wanted.   Which is why I now stand under the burning sun of the desert.  The loneliness was horrible at first, but an old friend, one of the eternal standers, led me in the direction of the outcast colony.  It’s a horrible feeling to see passing Fsemacea silently scorn me by ignoring me, unable to show their true emotions.  To know I’ll never get to meet many of my other old friends again, including even the one who led me here.  In a strange turn of events, she came back to the fold after a truly miraculous transformation.  And knowing that the Dheroratera I was once so close to is virtually gone, sucked away by their relentless worship of the Dragons.  Green and red things bring nothing but trouble wherever they go.”

“My creators, I have come to report and lament at how the young have forsaken you.  Even at the early age of three springs, I was forced to denounce that young Floater.  Her quivering and latent resentment were simply intolerable.  Even worse was the crushing, graceless, grasp she took my hand in when I cast her off.  But when such qualities appear in creatures at so young an age, there is nothing that can be done to change them, it is in their nature to be defiant and cruel.  I know not what could be causing this growing phenomena, but know it is surely not your handiwork.   At times I think back to what occurred years ago and shiver.  As such outdated and vicious abominations are disposed of, perhaps their influence grows in the new souls formed from them.  I fear that that is why these young ones have grown so cruel and restless, why their limbs quiver as they stand, their whole bodies bounce as they run, their heads vibrate as they grow agitated.   But there is nothing I can do, I can only hope the spirits in charge of such things can find a solution and they submit to their will for the good of all.  It’s disgusting and saddening to watch for me, and must be worse for you two, being the one who spawned these degenerate beings.  I try to brush aside my feelings, but it is always disappointing to have to push out the corrupted ones, but it is necessary to avoid allowing such actions to spread to the pure and good.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.  I love you, ground.  I love you, Spirit of the Peninsula, I love you Dragons.  I love you so much for what you have done to me.”  

The Peninsula, Chapter 7

Honestly, I’m kind of glad to be getting back to action again after spending the last few chapters futzing in the Woodlands.  I’ve been losing track of some of the more important elements for the littler stuff going on there.  Anyways, enjoy.

General assholery as usual, frank talk of death and the like, the usual, really.

The one on the left cocked its head as it looked up at him.

"Is there anything you want from me, stranger?"

"U-uh no, no, I just mistook you for someone else."

"Yeah, that happens sometimes.  We're awful generic.  It's always heartbreaking when they're looking for Thendru and Swepeday and we have to tell them what happened to those two.  We look near identical, I suppose."

"Oh, no, that's not who I thought you were.  Nevermind."

"Oh well, I hope you find whoever that is anyways."

Teltra slowly backed away, trying to avoid eye contact again.  Unsure how to exactly feel about that encounter.  He still had no answer to the fate of his Thendru and Gillorn. But he hurried off after Bygovir as the party continued on towards the approaching mountains.  The woods had thinned out again and the path traveled grew gravelly, winding around lakes and soggy meadows with only scatterings of trees around them.  Small purple flowers bloomed in a dip in the ground, and he couldn't help but stroke them.  He hadn't seen them in so long but the memory of them came back with a sudden clarity as he felt their smooth petals and glanced over the small veins of white.  He had spent a while laying in dips like those in his first few weeks and months as he waited for the spirits to work out small issues.  It wasn't a particularly good or bad memory, though, just a memory.  The whole area actually looked roughly the same as it had 10 years ago.  Or maybe it didn't and that's just what he wanted to convince himself of.

He turned back to the Fsemacea and gave them a weak smile.

"I know you two don't think much of my kind, but you have to admit it's beautiful here."

They seemed unimpressed.

"It's cold."

"Too tight, needs more openness."

He felt Bygovir stretch a hand to his shoulder in attempts to assure him, but it could only reach his lower back.

"There, there,  I like it here.  It's a nice change of scenery from my usual haunt.  Shame my subjects don't gather here like they have that lake."

Teltra let a little smile creep across.  At least someone sort of cared. 

There seemed to be a sparkling of visiting spirits ahead, meaning surely someone, or multiple someones was near.   As he got closer, he saw that there was a huddle of brown, shaggy creatures mulling about, crowded around a rather short vaguely blueish but mostly grey one.  Most curious to him was how it was so incredibly desaturated compared to the handful of blue beings he'd seen in the Woodlands, yet it was too dark to be one of the hybrids.  The strange color lured him aside.  He felt himself drawn to one of the barer patches of the circle to get a better look at whatever this was.  They were fairly small and were covered in a mix of fur and hard plates, with floppy ears loosely wrapped around their neck and a head like an armored helmet.  From afar they looked like any other creature other than the odd shade of grey and bright orange markings, but as he got close he saw three small horns on its head.  And the limbs bent at extreme angles.

  "Dirty thing."

He felt a hard hand on his shoulder, this time from a creature nearly his own height.  His breath hitched.  An airy, medium-high voice whispered in his ear.

"Don't you ever wish to be free of that shaggy, disgusting body and be greater than you inferior kind could ever be?"

Well, that was new.  An offer to go along with an insult.  He wasn't sure how to feel or react about that and was too scared to turn around and see who it was.  There hadn't been many others close to his height back his early days and none of them particularly fancied him besides his siblings.

"Someday you'll be shaking and shivering and lonely and the visitors will never touch you because they hate you.  It's how all you big trees are.  You all think you'll live on forever like that Nyoccel, but none of you were built to last and you'll be lucky to last half her lifetime.  Accept the truth, only conversion will save you and make you whole."

He wasn't sure how he should respond.  Better just to play dumb and hope they left him alone.  He gulped and tried to flood his mind with the memories of asking Dagnakki all those questions just a few days ago.  Wow, he was far from there.  He really shouldn't have been here right now.  He had no idea who this was or what they were talking about.  He turned around with the most innocent and baffled expression imaginable.

"What's a Nyoccel?"

The speaker was taken aback.  How could someone NOT know who Nyoccel was?  They gaped as they stared intently at him, trying to figure out if he was some kind of imposter.  Nyoccel was easily the most famous creature in the Woodlands, and perhaps on the entire peninsula. 

And their befuddlement gave him a chance to study them as well.  They were covered in a mix of scales and fur, mostly a brownish grey with red and silver markings similar to the blue-grey creature.  He'd sworn he'd seen someone like them before, with the same ridged tail, the same wide serpent head, the same small feet and scarred ankles and long claws on their feet.  Only their legs were far longer than he remembered, their angles more extreme-

He remembered what Bygovir had said earlier and he looked up into their eyes.

 The two locked into each others' gazes.  He knew that narrowed stare, those faint yellow eyes.  They glared at him in increased frustration and confusion.

"What the fuck even are y-"

"Nkaeshashek, is that you?"

Their brow lowered and tail rattled.  Their voice suddenly grew harsher and whispered.

"Never repeat that heathen name again Nkaeshashek was a miscreant who died years ago and everyone cheered when they euthanized her and cut her up shut up shut up shut up."

"Y-You're a Tanonuim now."

"I've always been a Tanonuim."

"But you-"

"It's for the good of us all that we wipe this place free of the memory of our past failures.  That we eliminate and forget the cursed lot of creatures made only to live in pain and planned obsolescence that we all may turn to the light and blot out the darkness of nostalgia."

All he could do was begin to mouth something before they whipped around and glared at Bygovir and the two Fsemacea.

"YOU TOO SHALL PERISH SOON, THE RAVEN HAS PLANS TO REPLACE YOU OVER-COMPLICATED ANTIQUITIES WITH A NEW SORT OF BEING AS WELL!"

Bygovir's eyes went wide and he ran off into the woods, utterly terrified of the possibility that they recognized him.  As the Tanonuim berated him further for trying to outrun the inevitable, Teltra slipped from their grasp and tried to bury himself in the crowd in hopes that that Tanonuim thought so little of him they wouldn't be able to tell him apart from the others.  But soon, he noticed them swarming together, then falling into a run and a hand reached out to drag him into the pack.

"Keep moving, keep moving, she'll lose interest in those outsiders soon and come after us, but Feressnukora can't keep up with us for long and once she's tuckered out she'll leave us alone.  Let's get a head start on her while we can and maybe we can embarass her again like last time."

"Last time?"

No answer.  Teltra didn't understand what was going on, but easily kept up with the pack of smaller creatures.  So did Feressnukora once she realized the "heathen trees" had run away and swiftly caught up.  In fact, she easily hung directly behind them.

"It's not hard far an ascended being such like me to catch you sluggish relics.  You'd be faster if you turned to the light as well.  All of the converted have sped up considerably.  Embrace the Raven's touch."

Her breathing was heavy against the back of the small crowd.  She hit the ground firmly with each footstep to make them all acutely aware of her presence and persistence.  Despite their reassurance, Teltra felt unsure.  The Nkaeshashek he once knew could run on and on forever without tiring when chasing down someone who slighted her, albeit with an unremarkable pace and wobbling gait. 

"Come on, come on, pal,  we'll prove her wrong and leave her in the dust.  Show her just how superior she really because some magical mountain freaks polished her turd of an existence."

Once the group entered the woods, they began to take sudden sharp turns.  Ones that their pursuer had to take more widely and gracefully than them, forcing her to weave between trees to get back on their trail and waste her energy.  But as the others had claimed, her endurance was poor and while the group raced onward, she suddenly slowed down and stopped, hissing and kicking a tree in frustration as her Far Spirit forced her to stop and rest.  The group kept on running until they could not longer see any red poking between the trees. 

Once they too had stopped, the one that had been at the head of the pack turned to Teltra.

"Those grey freaks never seem to leave me alone.  Ever since the Banenhaxers started doing that to their bigger Woodlanders those guys and the Ehtstunisa haven't shut up about how I'd be next."

They dismissed the rest of the group to go about their own business again.

" Well, it's been a couple years since they started going on about that and I'm still here, and  I may be an asshole but I like myself the way I am.  Anyways, don't think I've seen you before.  Where'd you come from?  Wrong time of year for you to be a new one."

"Erm, you ever hear of a guy named Teltra?"

"Yeah.  Ran away years ago and I don't know what happened to him afterwards but the Ehtstunisa won't shut up about how great he is.  I was a dick to him back then like everyone else.  Might have been a bit too harsh, though.  He was just too damn happy and it pissed me off."

"That was me, you know."

"Oh.  Fuck.  Sorry.  If it helps, I couldn't give a shit about you anymore.  I've moved on to tormenting visitors and Tanonuim since they're the only ones left that actively annoy me."

"It's been so long I forgot you were even one of those guys who went after me.  You all just sort of blended together, honestly. Except Vitabre."

"Heh, I don't think anyone could forget Vitty.  Worst of the worst, he was. But yeah, a lot of them are dead or got converted now.  The blokes here are some of the ones left, we've banded together to gang up on those Tanonuim when they come to bother us and have been hanging up north here because they don't seem to come here as often.  They like it down south better, right near the desert.  So, what's your business here?"

"I'm just passing through here to help some outsiders to a place beyond the mountains.  Thought I knew this place well enough from back then, but I guess I forgot a whole lot."

"Things have changed a lot here lately.  Moreso down south than here, though, it's still largely the undying old farts that live here.  Though a couple of them have still gone and died anyways.   Nobody could have expected Roramajus would have gone.  Everyone seemed to love him.  Didn't stop the Spirit of the Peninsula from more or less absorbing his Far Spirit and leaving him and a couple other creatures to rot so they'd eliminate a bit of competition.  And he got the absolute worst of it, too.  They never actually disposed of him until he'd been decaying for almost a decade.  Good thing you didn't come back last year or you might've had to see...that."

The stranger was oddly distant and calm talking about something so morbid. Time had hardened him and nothing really affected him much emotionally anymore.  His callous tone was unsettling to Teltra, who tried to change the subject.

"Yeah.   Say, you know where I could find a Thendru and Gillorn?  Been wondering what they've been up to, I remember seeing them a bit in the old days andnever really talking to them."

"You're in luck.  Nah, you're not.  They're dead too.  It was a bit odd, really.  They've got to be the only of us the Banenhaxers have actually killed these last couple years. I wouldn't be surprised if some though they'd get converted after they went dormant.  But obviously the Great Banenhaxer... had no need for them."

The other creature decided to leave it at that.  Truthfully, he knew Teltra was most likely to blame for their demise, as he filled his spirit's need for a large, energetic woodland creature and that a Tanonuim would have been redundant. It felt unneccessarily cruel to mention, though.  Teltra was bigger and faster than him anyways and he didn't want to risk retaliation.  Though he'd also heard that their physical condition was fairly poor due to neglect.

  Teltra's ears pricked up as they heard a roaring voice from a distance away.

"IS THAT YOU?  PLEASE DON'T RUN OFF LIKE THAT."

Loreaft was slowly stumbling between the trees, inadvertently clearing the way for Vlevetsi behind her when she bent and snapped them with her bulk.

"Oh, dear, well... I'm sorry stranger, but I guess I've got to go.  Nice meeting you, though.  Might try visiting again since you guys seem decent enough and it's a shame I know so little about where I actually came from.  Tell your buddies what I told you, if they're willing to forget about the past I'll gladly do the same.  I hate leaving loose ends and grudges around like that.  Farewell!"

"Ask around for Dhechnoaho if you come back.  Hopefully I'll still be around then.  Take care and don't listen to Tanonuim, pal."

Vlevetsi was swaying with mild irritation as the two Fsemacea waited through the final farewells, but relaxed they finally set off again, reunited with Teltra.

"How did you go astray?"

"That greyish guy started chasing a group I got tangled with and I ended up carried away by that little crowd.  My bad."

"Good thing you smell good."

He stopped and gave Vlevetsi a strange look.

"I smell good?"

"All your outdated kind smell wonderful in your own ways.  We followed that to find you."

"Well isn't that sweet.  Where’d Bygovir go?  I never got to say goodbye."

“I do not know. He ran and did not return  I feel more secure when free of his presence.”

---

It was late in the afternoon and it had been a long, tiring day, but there the northern range was little more than foothills and the trio made quick progress. At this point, they were certainly beyond the range of Teltra's knowledge and Loreaft now led the way, her black eyes invisibly scanning the landscape for markers- large footprints from four-legged forms, wide trampled paths unnecessary for smaller beings, and most of all, anything related to the number four, a number treasured by the Fsemacea.  Here and there she would suddenly turn as she noticed four rocks placed in a row, a square carved in a tree, two hoofprints a bit too close together to have come from someone walking on two legs, or for seemingly no noticeable reason at all.  Teltra couldn't tell what Vlevetsi thought, but Loreaft's silence seem to indicate some measure of confidence in her decisions.  He was personally a bit worried that they would end up horribly lost again, but he also remembered that they would probably just try to find their way by following his scent, since they seemed to find it so remarkable. However that worked.  He'd never really been one to notice scents besides those of the Lbutra.

The sun was setting as the woods thinned out and they found themselves out on a grassy hillside.  Their shadows stretched long in the dying light and the nighttime lull in activity was in full affect, the floating lights around them steadily flickering out as spirits departed their world.  Wind whipped through their fur. As the light slowly died, a sense of loneliness, uncertainty, and exposure began to come over Loreaft.  What was she even gaining  by running off like this?  A less ideal home where crowds were fewer and she'd only be weaker for it?  The loss of the shelter of the scattered woods of her homeland?  Freedom.  It was freedom.  To escape from the relentless gaze of Dheroratera and her creators and breathe for once.  To clear the haze of mediocrity that hung over the minds of her and the other large Fsemacea in their vain attempt to conform to their high standards of grace and neutrality of disposition and give herself a life worth living.  To break free of her gradual, arcing motion and be as agile as the elder Fsemacea rather than so calculated and overly graceful all the time.

Well, no.  She could never hope for that last thing.  That was truly hopeless.  That was a simple fact of life for larger Fsemacea.  They weren't created to do that.  Maybe she was doomed to live in mediocrity after all.  There was no escaping one's unfortunate design.

The Peninsula, Chapter 6

Journey through the Woodlands and some looks into Teltra’s past and how thing have changed in 10+ years weeeee

No actual violence but some non-graphic discussion of it and some very blunt talk of death.  Also characters being jerks but really, that’s something inescapable in this story, pretty much everyone except Teltra and maybe Loreaft are awful in their own ways. 

The next morning was foggy.  Diffused rays shown between the branches of the trees around them and across the sleeping bodies of Teltra, Vlevetsi, Loreaft, Vtegnaselecene, and the stranger.  Four of them gradually arose as they awakened at their designated times.  Vtegnaselecene didn't move, she was due to remain dormant until next summer.

Just as Telta had finished blinking the sleep from his eyes, the stranger went right back to talking.

"Oh, say, I've never told you my name, that's something relevant.  I'm Bygovir.  Anyways, back to the Tanonuim topic.  Yeah, so a lot of them can't stand Woodlanders because-"

He bit his lip a moment before talking.

"I really need to get a move on, Bygovir... Maybe if you show us the way we can continue our chat?"

He was admittedly fascinated by the subject, just a bit frustrated by Bygovir's... enthusiasm for it and nonstop rambling.  But it would be good background noise for travelling, and help keep some of the edge off going through a questionable territory like this.  

"Oh, sure thing!  Now where are you lot off to?"

Loreaft just stared, still unsure about Bygovir.  But she still spoke up, as quietly as a Fsemacea could.

"A place beyond the Woodlands"

"Yeah, but in which direction?"

"Do I have to share?"

"If we're going there, yes.  Come on, I'm not one of those Atochengra freaks. I'm a stalker, not a fighter, and not even the malicious sort, just a nosy creep who likes learning the details of others' lives because it's fascinating."

"I'm still worried."

He motioned towards Teltra.

"Look, I'll give this guy my coathanger if that makes you feel any safer.  He can't even use it to bend himself and without it I'm no threat to you.  Without that, I'm a little pipsqueak who's a third your height and some tiny fraction your weight, what would I do?  Swat your shins?  Trip you?"

"But I would still be directing you specifically to a place where my kind could be attacked by your kind."

"Look, I don't know anything past the feet of the mountains, all I can do is get you to the edge of the woods and then you're all on your own.  You won't be leading me to whatever this place is unless it's right on the border."

Loreaft glanced at Vlevetsi, who was resistant as usual, before sighing and turning back to Bygovir.

"I suppose this shall be safer than going off alone with these savage creatures around. The place I'm looking for is a gap between the mounts in the very north reaches."

"That's better.  But my, don't you sound like a Tanonuim speaking of Woodlanders like that!"

Vlevetsi suddenly jumped in.

"Stop saying that word."

Bygovir chuckled and rolled his eyes, ignoring her completely.  

"It's probably best you not say such things to their faces.  You are in their world now, and they easily outnumber us."

He gestured to the woods where they had come from and the group followed, tracing a trail that wrapped around the lake.  It had once been heavily worn, but clearly not used for a while and small weeds were growing up.  Teltra was surprised by how thin the trees actually were here, as he could easily feel the sun's warm at his back.  Even stranger was how regular their positioning was.  Clearly the larger trees here had been replaced at some point by a Far Spirit.  Yet smaller shrubs had since sprung up wherever they pleased.  This Bygovir must have been right about this being a little-used entrance now, as even the spirits seemed to pay it less regard.  But he soon would come to an even less expected sight.

The woods cleared out and ahead was a large, rolling meadow of nothing but neatly trimmed grass.  And more worrisome, they saw their first moving brown form. And then their second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth.  Teltra stalled.  

But Vlevetsi did not.

"They call them Woodlanders.  But they are in a meadow."

In typical Fsemacea fashion, the group was alerted by her volume.

"What's the sound?"

"What a strange voice."

"It's much too deep and soft and loud"

"Oh, it's an outsider."

The largest of the group strolled up to the visitors.  Teltra at first went rock-still, then began shivering violently, unable to contain his nerves.  His breathing softened a bit as they gave him alone a look more confused than anything.  

"Never seen you before.  Sure look like someone from around here, though.  Awful tall, though. So maybe you're just an imposter.  Seen a few of those before."

Teltra bristled at the last comment.  

Several others chimed in.

"He's strangely slender and still to be one of us.  I have to agree."

"Pretty good imitation otherwise if you ask me."

"Yeah, those are some impressive stripes."

And then a somewhat cracked older voice.

"You dolts.  Don't you know a modern Lteiasecl when you see one?"

The speaker looked him up and down, narrowing their eyes.  He flinched as a scaly hand reached towards him and brushed his fur backwards, uncovering several tiny silver scars and some slight ridges along the surface of his skin.  

"He's real.  No outsider would have nicks like that. And the ridges are a tell-tale sign that he's a Lteiasecl alright.  Though I guess that sad sap Solossco is too but he sure doesn't have the scratches."

The group loosened a bit, still not understanding what the one in charge meant by Lteiasecl.  Teltra gave them all a nervous wave and grin as he smoothed back his fur and relaxed himself as he realized the threat was dissipating.

"Oh, I know Solossco.  Yeah, he's my sibling in design, I guess we're both technically Lteiasecl, but that term doesn't mean the same thing out there as in here.  We were good pen pals for a while until he stopped responding and I don't know why.  What happened with him?  Did someone lose his message one day?"

Their leader swallowed.

"Erm.. he's unwell.  But it's probably not the best to go into any more detail so soon.  It's got nothing to do with you, anyways."

Someone butted in.

"Solossco's gonna die because his shitty spirit never replaced parts because he's made weird and it would be fucking expensive to so in his current state."

"Don't be so blunt Apatner."

"You can't deny it."

Teltra was quiet.  

"Well, that's why I said I wouldn't go into detail.  But welcome.  I think I might have seen you once or twice a couple years ago, what's your name?  I'm Nerevtha."

"Teltra."

"Mm, yes, I'm certainly heard of you."

"You don't hate me, do you?  Think I'm an imposter?"

"No, of course not.  Maybe you're built a little odd but in these last few years I've seen stranger things labelled as Woodlanders by the spirits.  Like those Tanonuim your little pal there loves so much.  You may be big, but they're even more graceful than you Lteias and have horns and love their little circus tricks so much they're basically just outsiders dressed up as us."

Bygovir spoke up.

"And you've forgotten about the worst one.  That Htolgia freak with all those holes in him and freakishly thin limbs.  Makes Teltra look like that big white Nyoccel everyone talks about."

Teltra felt himself go quiet again, realizing both that he might be free of their scorn but that it had merely been transferred to some other poor sap.  He suddenly felt rather uncomfortable.

"H-how about we continue on our way Bygovir this was a lovely chat but we're just passing through here thank you very much."

Nerevtha cocked her neck at his nearly indecipherable speech.

"That was... sudden.  But if you insist, I suppose."

Teltra grabbed at Bygovir's arm and dragged him along as he continued in the general direction they had been going before.  The Fsemacea seemed relieved to not have to listen to the creatures they so abhorred yabber on more, though they clearly couldn't show it on their faces.  He tried desperately to hide his agitation by walking as gracefully as he could.

Bygovir squinted up at him as they hustled along.

"What the hell was that about?"

He was silent, continuing to storm on while trying to hide the fear and slight anger of his face.  For once, he was glad Loreaft and Vlevetsi kept to themselves.  

"The whole outside-insider thing....bothers me.  Stuff from the past."

"Psht, why should it?  You're not a Tanonuim or hybrid or anything."

"It feels to similar to how some of the insiders used to... treat me back then."

"Eh, whatever.  We've got places to go.  You shouldn't get so worked up over the past, pal, plenty of things have changed in here since then."

He darted a slight glare at Bygovir but remained otherwise silent. ------ They reentered the woods after passing through the meadow.  This was much more like the place Teltra remembered from his early days.  Straight, narrow pines stretched up on either side of the thin trail as it seemed to wind on endlessly.  There wasn't much undergrowth to stop them from straying off it, but the fog and expanse of  identical pine trees was discouragement enough.  Getting lost out there was no mortal danger, but would be miserable and exhausting once the visiting spirits all departed and left them there for days until their Far Spirit found them.  With that, all they could do as they went progressively deeper was go onwards in a single-file line.  After the events in the meadow, Teltra wasn't in much mood to talk. Bygovir was willing but had no desire to do so knowing how sensitive his three companions were.  Much like other older creatures, particularly those of the Archer, he favored a brash, unfettered lifestyle free of unnecessary rules and hated censoring himself.  Thought he was also secretly saddened since he'd finally found someone to listen to him rattle off about his fascination and an promptly lost him.

The silence continued, stretching on for hours.  The fog hung thick in the sparse woods, refusing to fade as well.  The landscape too remained unchanged, not even a boulder interrupting the occasional curves of the path. Still the nostalgia of smell kept Teltra on high alert.  His yellow eyes shifted back and forth, waiting for someone to burst from the fog. But there was nobody there.  Just the cool sand beneath his feet.  That was the one thing he liked about the Woodlands- temperatures tended to be cool and constant, which was nice since temperature changes and long, hot days made his legs ache. Even though he felt lonely between his good impression with Bygovir being shaken and the two Fsemacea remaining distant as ever, their presence was nice on its own.  He felt safer with someone by his side out here.  Woods like these were common places for the largest and most irritable to rampage through, and meeting them was always an unpleasant experience.  

The truth was, much as the Far Spirits abhorred violence, it was common down below, even among their own creatures.  It ran the gamut from an otherwise well-mannered Fsemacea slapping another for gossiping to the notorious wire-spawn brutality of Atochengra.  Though in general, things were becoming more peaceful.  Younger creatures preferred to show others up rather than resort to fighting, and the more violent older creatures slowly died off.  But in the Woodlands, a place that was cursed to be old-fashioned by its very nature, casual violence continued, despite the worst offenders dying off or being made into Tanonuim.  Teltra had been inclined to extremely peaceful, even by outsiders' standards, drawing ire from both more traditional and violent Woodlanders back in the day. They would call him cowardly for not involving himself directly in conflicts, or an imposter for not acting as Woodlanders ought to.  He was fast enough to usually escape them and avoid physical confrontation, with one exception.  

A breeze rattled some tree branches up high, making him jolt out of his trance.  No, nobody was there.  He tried to reassure himself but couldn't stop his quick, heavy breathing remembering him.  He really didn't want to have to talk to Bygovir but just maybe he'd get a bit of reassurance.  

"Uh, Bygovir, can I ask you something?"

His gaze was flat and mildly annoyed.

"What?"

"Is Vitabre a Tanonuim?"

"Yep. Totally is.  The greatest Tanonuim of all.  He was born to be that kind of thing....  

Ahaha, of course not.  He wasn't in any kind of shape for that in his last days."

Teltra blinked and felt himself stop.

"He's dead?"

"Of course, he's been gone for a good four years, seven if you want to start from when he first went dormant."

He picked up his stride again, feeling a wave of slightly guilty relief.

"Positively nobody liked that fat furball when he was alive.  Visitors hated him, Necchmia hated him, Ehtstunisa hated him, even his Far Spirit knew he was a mistake before he was even finished.  Not to mention all the death rumors he attracted, Nsteamarek wasn't even sure if he was a murderer or not they were so rampant.  All she figured out was that one of his legs gave out and did some minor damage to a bunch of visitors  and they modified him after that and he was never the same.  Not as vicious, just utterly pathetic.  Had to have been about when you left."

"Ah."

He certainly never liked Vitabre.  He was terrified of him, really.  Moreso the idea of what he would do than what he managed to do.  But now Teltra couldn't help but feel a little bad for him.  Regardless of his actions, he couldn't imagine living a life where absolutely nobody liked him.  Sure, he was lonely himself with how he had previously never found a group to fit in with, but at least he made the visitors happy. And even though he may have also been a mistake, at least he was a happy accident.  

There was another breeze.  He shivered on reflex.  But not fear, as he now realized.  That thought sparked something within him.  Perhaps he wasn't so scared of the Woodlands or the others in it anymore.  It had been ages since he'd even last seen them, and the ones alive and physically intact had surely forgotten about him.  Maybe even dropped the whole imposter thing in general.  The ones in the meadow certainly hadn't done the latter, but they also seemed civil enough.  Which was a small change for the better. Surely the same would apply to the others.  After all, it had been a good decade or so since he left.  At the very least, they seemed to resent him less with these new Tanonuim wandering about.  And with more collected emotions on both sides now, perhaps he could change them.  He hated the idea of jumping on the idea directly and preaching to them, but going about it subtly surely might do something.  

Lost in thought, he hadn't paid as much attention to his surroundings, and was surprised to see that the terrain had grown wetter and more rocky.  Dense coverage of palmettos filled in the gaps between the trees, making the path a bit less foreboding, but more constricted with the low walls beside it.  Things were suddenly looking very clear to Teltra.  He had been here before.

He looked around and quickly found confirmation in the form of a burned-out foundation.  He never knew where it had came from, but had been told it was some atrocity that occurred years before his creation.  It was the only thing Thendru and Gillorn said to him despite the three all belonging to the Great Banenhaxer.  Which was a shame in retrospect, they were older and had probably seen a lot of interesting things.  It made him wonder where they were now.  With everything else that had occurred while he was gone, he wondered if they were still around somewhere.  While outsiders only lived half a human lifespan or less, it was not uncommon for Woodlanders to twice as long or more.  They were cheaper and more practical to fix and so long as their spirit would continue to replace parts of them each year as needed, they could be sustained eternally. Though for all he knew they were Tanonuim now.  From what he remembered, they certainly fit the criteria.  No longer popular, decent-sized, good physical condition, not too historically significant.  

"I know where we are now, Bygovir.  We're close to the northern mountains."

"Yep, we're entering one of the more populated areas."

"Any Tanonuim here?"

"Just Nyoccelivel."

"Don't know that name, who were they before?"

"The River Nyoccel."

"Ah."

"You want to just go around this time instead of through?"

"Let's go through, actually."

"Oh, changed you mind?  Well, suit yourself."

In a few minutes, the clearing was upon them and Teltra's face lit up as he saw two familiar white forms.  Two thin, twitching tails, two long torsos crisscrossed with darker stripes, four small ears pricked upright.  Until he noticed that one had red paws, the other blue.  Thendru and Gillorn each had a yellow or green one. He scratched his head as he tried to rationalize it, until they turned around and he saw their long faces and small, dark eyes.  He was wrong.  No way that could be them.

Interlude 1

Because there’s a lot of stuff in this story that’s best understood from the perspective of others besides Teltra, I’ll be doing these between chapters.  Sort of short scenes/thoughts/flashbacks from unnamed characters to give some context. 

This one’s really violent, fairly graphic, and very much dark.  Just pretty damn heavy and screwed up overall.  But it will become very relevant.

Where are you?

I call out to the abyss of the darkness of space, out to the realm of the Far Spirits that destroyed them.  They survey their earthly domain from afar, stone-faced in the face of what they have done to my kind.

Year by year, their numbers fade.  Names I once loved become mere memories, and I lay powerless to stop them.  All are powerless before the Far Spirits.  Even the creators themselves.  Only a mass action by the lower travelling spirits can hope to change their minds, and as all know, the Nlegera have horrible taste that’s only gotten worse over the years.  They’re whiny, impatient, scared of anything that moves, and have no respect for the past.  It’s a shame we can’t throw them to the Great Mountain Grub, redeemer of the greatest sadsacks in the Woodlands.   They’re wonderful at turning around those who’ve fallen into pathetic shadows of their former selves. 

Anyways.  That’s besides the point.

I loved you, my dear Archer.  You who created me as I am- wild, unpredictable, divisive, full of life and personality.  Even if the passing spirits now scorn me for my coarse demeanor, such things never bothered you.  And that means so much more to me than their thoughts ever will.  Because they have horrible taste.  I’d care more about how one of the Lbutra imitators from the north thinks of me.  Had you never been, the Peninsula would still be overrun with those vile humans, with only a small population us creatures in the Woodlands at best.  And by now, they likely would have been wiped off in the die-off.  You encouraged the move out of the Woodlands and into the adjacent lands, drawing the fascination of the Nlegera and encouraging the Ehtstunisa.  You gave our kind horns, and never stopped pushing the limits, even until it killed you in the process. You brought about the first floaters, who saw their proudest hour ten years ago when Ehngra beat every Fsemacea in the popularity polls.   You brought the Disc-Eared Spirit to prominence through your work, which sparked the return of our creation after we were nearly wiped out,  and brought on the transformation of dozens, if not hundreds, of more Far Spirits.  Truly, you are the greatest creator who has ever existed, and almost certainly ever will. 

It's a disgrace to see those Spirits turn on you, who they owe their very existence to, slaughter your finest works. Orietno.  Eshkroc. Rarmesce. Cstepestler. Half of Ehngra’s siblings in design.   The countless spiral-horned beings. And soon Itactin will likely join them as their Far Spirit’s life flickers away.  Those of us that remain fall deeper into disgrace and we age and quiver more and more, and the spirits grow to loath us.  Horrible whispers follow us everywhere we go.  Rumors fly amongst them about who will be the next to go.  Perhaps it could be me, or virtually any of my comrades.  To think that a mere three decades ago, I was the future.  The most amazing thing anyone had seen.  And now, I’m on the chopping block. My years are numbered.  I can’t imagine I’ll live to see my fortieth year.

It pains me to see my siblings sit idle, to give up on any hope of resurgence, resistance, continued life.  To passively watch as more vanish by the year and Fsemacea appear in their stead.  All claiming that they don’t want to end up like Myrise.  Of course you don’t want to end up like Myrise, physically falling apart after a mere five years and driven not by hatred or any real motive, but by impulse and madness.  Waking each morning to see the atrocities you’ve committed and feeling as if they were the setup to nightmare, only to find that it was no dream and there is no escaping your guilt.  That mindset only harms you more.  If you are to harm, to kill, to sabotage, it had better be for a real cause.  Such as revenge.  Such as revulsion to the abominations taking over this world.  Such as fear that we all may be stoic, faceless, soulless without intervention. 

I don’t know why it’s taken this long for me to stir to action like this.  I’ll blame it on the madness of the past.  As much as I may idolize the golden years, I was a real idiot back then.  Really, I was one until this very moment.  Because I was as passive as the others.  The more I dwell on my disgust, the more I become enraged. 

I watch their black eyes, their stone faces, their smooth bodies.  And I wish to destroy them all, lest they destroy us all.  Perhaps I will come to regret this.  But I will regret it even more as I wait for my Far Spirit to euthanize me, as I smell the hot, smoky, breath of the Gnashers surrounding me, and realize what I could have done to stall the inevitable for both myself and others.  Surely it’s honorable enough to kill to save one’s own life, and those of dozens of others?

Though the others look down on me as a relic of the violent past and a hope passed.  I’m powerless until I can find a way to impress them and unite them, that we may be straight and orderly as an arrow into the heart of the plague of Fsemacea and the Dragons.