"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
12-08-2015, 04:48 PM (This post was last modified: 12-08-2015, 04:48 PM by The Elves.)
Astri and Xiah have been eliminated from this quest.
Astri, for the next two real life weeks you will have evergreen needles instead of fur for your coat. Be careful who you hug. You’ll shed the pine needles throughout the next two weeks until you are more or less your normal shade of green, though you’ll always have a few random pine needles.
Xiah, for the next two real life weeks you will sneeze red and green glitter. A lot. It will be kind of unpleasant, because you really aren’t supposed to sneeze glitter. And after being human twice, your horse nose is going to extra sensitive for those two weeks. There will be a lot of sneezes. After two weeks, you’ll pretty much sort yourself out, but everyone once in a while your nose might leak a little glitter here and there.
Both of these defects are non-genetic.
If you are helping the Grinch....
ENOUGH!
The voice is impossibly loud, coming from somewhere overhead though you cannot see the source. Everything around you stops, almost frozen in mid-step; some tumble to the ground, others pause in the middle of grappling, some just simply put their feet down and look toward the sky.
You hear the reindeer first, the jingling of bells so quiet and pleasant, especially compared to the sounds of war only a few moments before. But now, all you hear are the bells and the breathing of those around you. Then, they come into view. Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen. You know all their names without thinking twice about it.
Then you see the red sleigh, the pot bellied Santa with his rosy cheeks. He cracks the reins on his reindeer and they slow, hovering in the air above you. The Grinch makes his appearance now, climbing up onto the rooftop to better face Santa. “Come now Grinch, it’s not the presents you want.” The Grinch’s mouth curls into that sickly grin, and he twitches a finger slightly. The demons start, but Santa just laughs, a rumbling “No no no,” and the demons stop just as quickly.
“You’ll have to come get me.” He says, his voice jolly though his eyes are hard and angry. He calls down to the humans trying to save Christmas and to his elves then, the Grinch already descending from the roof and collecting his own minions.
Santa is already talking to his elves and his human helpers. Fools. In the end, the Grinch would win. Santa was playing right into his hands. The Grinch hits the snow and the minions come running, dragging you with them. There are new things to do. They aren’t just ransacking Christmas anymore.
“We have to get to the North Pole before Santa, steal whatever magic from that place we can. I cannot send you, but I will give you some aid, and the demons will travel with you.” The antlers on your head glow for a moment, some magic restored to them. “Now go,” the Grinch hisses, before he disappears on his own journey North.
If you are fighting the Grinch....
ENOUGH!
The voice is impossibly loud, coming from somewhere overhead though you cannot see the source. Everything around you stops, almost frozen in mid-step; some tumble to the ground, others pause in the middle of grappling, some just simply put their feet down and look toward the sky.
You hear the reindeer first, the jingling of bells so quiet and pleasant, especially compared to the sounds of war only a few moments before. But now, all you hear are the bells and the breathing of those around you. Then, they come into view. Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen. You know all their names without thinking twice about it.
Then you see the red sleigh, the pot bellied Santa with his rosy cheeks. He cracks the reins on his reindeer and they slow, hovering in the air above you. The Grinch makes his appearance now, climbing up onto the rooftop to better face Santa. “Come now Grinch, it’s not the presents you want.” The Grinch’s mouth curls into that sickly grin, and he twitches a finger slightly. The demons start, but Santa just laughs, a rumbling “No no no,” and the demons stop just as quickly.
“You’ll have to come get me.” He says, his voice jolly though his eyes are hard and angry. He calls down to the humans trying to save Christmas and to his elves then, the Grinch already descending from the roof and collecting his own minions.
“I wish I could send you straight to the North Pole, but my magic is weak this far from home. The elves will help you as much as they can, and I’ve given them all the magic I can spare. Good luck, and thank you for saving Christmas.”
Santa snaps his reins again, starting with the all too familiar “On Dasher, on Dancer,” his voice fading as his sleigh heads northward. The elves are already clambering, pushing you to run. The Grinch is still rallying his army, and you might be able to get ahead.
You have to travel to the North Pole. You have the ability to transport, but not directly there. You must stop in two locations on your way to the North Pole, and will not be able to simply teleport immediately again. You’ll need a few minutes to “recharge”.
You can choose where you start and what locations you teleport to, but they must be real places. Look at a map, and make sure you describe where you end up.
After your second location, you should teleport to the North Pole, and end up outside Santa's workshop.
The demons/elves will accompany you on your journey, and you can power play them at will.
Remember, there is a war going on over Christmas. You will encounter more issues on your journey. The closer you get to the North Pole, the more magical the world becomes, which means yes, you can run into mythical creatures.
You have limited dark or light magic this round. You will be able to perform four acts of magic, and they can be more powerful in nature than the previous round. You can blow things up, light them on fire, freeze them, etc. You cannot shape shift, manipulate the weather, etc.
You have until Saturday, December 12th at 10am EST to reply. PM or post on the OOC board with questions.
"Oh shit, oh shit..." The words uttered hoarsely when the thud-thud comes from above. The leaky black rein-demons seem to freeze. The elves fall frozen in place and Oakheart feels herself start to sweat. Something is about to happen and it wasn't good. All she can hear is her heartbeat in her ears but and she seems to notice how thirsty she is. If only she could have a drink-
Reindeer...real reindeer!
"Oh thank you sweet baby Jesus!" She throws her heard back in an almost maniacal laugh as the big red man comes into view. His distracts the Grinch, Oak can feel the tension and hate burning and the oxygen feels like it was sucked out of the room. Santa laughs jollily but there is strength behind it, almost mockingly. With a smirk the gift-giver announces that he is heading back to the North Pole and must be caught. He turns to Oakheart and explains that she must follow with teleportation. The now stone sober woman reels at the idea of teleportation. I thought that was only in movies. Obviously not. There is magic here, duh.
Oak feels her legs moving without effort and little hands shoving her along. With each step the world blurs and she tingles. They are moving so fast, fast, fast. Images melt and time evaporated till in the blink one of her pretty eyes and she finds herself standing in a parking lot. She shakes her head as she tries to clear the confusion that swells inside like a black mist. Her senses tell her she is some place warm, the goosebumps once there now gone. "Ugh." Groggily she looks up to see a massive check make on a sign..."In n Out?" Hell yes! California!
All around her there are people fighting. Some against the nasty fake reindeer and others with elves. Oakheart takes her chances to head towards the fast food place and dashes inside. The place is trashed. Napkins, ketchup? Oak runs behind the counter to look for some sustenance. Eyes darting and listening to the war raging outside. She looks to find some fries still in the bin and feebly grasps a few and shoves them into her mouth. This bit of normalcy makes her eyes prick with tears.
Smash!
The windows are broken and glass flies as the elves pour in calling in their small voices for Oakheat- "Oak! Oak!" Frantic and sharp. The woman finds new strength in her legs and stands to meet them. Their little hands pushing and shoving. Oakheart realizes she is the key, the magic carpet back to the North Pole. And again as they run out of In n Out, the world falls into a blur of faces and snow, like static on an empty television station.
But not before long they stop again but Oak knows they have yet to make it to the Pole. It is far to warm to be the North Pole. She recognizes the humidity, the tall bamboo, the white sand beach. She's in Guam. Fucking Guam. "Oh for shit's sake..." More of a groan than anything, she is on the tiny island. By now her little companions are growing weary but they must press on. Oak pushes her hair off her forehead and looks around frantically. Here she remembered that wild packs of dogs roamed. Eyes widen as she looks around. The sounds of growling seems to reiterate her fear...
A group of three canines stand bristled and snarling. They foam rabid but the drool foams green like the color of the Grinch. Their eyes are empty and dulled. The Grinch has stolen their minds. They begin to advance. In a blink one has lunged upon an elf, another is trying to fight it -blink- another is attacking two other elves -blink- one is advancing on Oakheart. A struggle is ensuing with the elves and she is left to deal with the green foaming animal.
It lunges.
It seems as if certain death is imminent and Oak is about to be eaten like a zebra carcass on the Serengeti but suddenly snowflakes begin to fall. The dog stops and looks about with stupid eyes and Oak has enough time to grab the largest rock she can possibly find. When the feral creature turns to catch her movements, it is met with a crushing blow. Oak manages to get back to the elves. At this point, two are bloodied and others are injured but the wild dogs have been subdued with a rather large stick that had been plunged deeply into their throats. The woman can not help but feel bad. She did not want this to happen but she could not think of another way...
Oak gathers the elves to finish the last leg of journey. She was so weary. And with her mind and soul, she imagines Christmas and the smiles and lights and presents and tree. She imagines family and hugs and laughter and love. She slams her eyes shut and does what we all secretly wish we could do since it works in movies. "There's no place like...the North Pole. There's no place like the North Pole. There's no place like the North Pole..."
And with a fizzle pop a familiar chill sends her senses ballistic. Long lashes lift and she is knee deep in snow. Finally! But she is cold, freezing in fact. The elves look to her with renewed strength. The magic has healed their wounds. Their cuts and bruises gone. The tears in their clothes now stitched. But they had to find Santa. Thankfully there was magic here. She snaps two fingers and a snow white unicorn appears alongside three reindeer. The elves quickly scramble upon the deer as Oak stands flabbergasted at a unicorn! The mare whickers and bobs be beautiful head, beckoning. Oak doesn't understand at first. "Get on the unicorn! We're wasting time, dumb ass!" An elf spells it out as politely as possible. So off they go!
The elves and Oakheart race towards the workshop. Snow swirls around them as the unicorn gallops so smoothly it's as if she never touched the ground. Oak snaps her finders to give herself some warmer attire- gloves, jackets, boots. Finally the workshop comes into view and Oak readies herself. This would be it but her magic is strong here. A smirk touches the lips of the wiry woman in thought of the next events to come. Good WILL triumph!
The shout stops everything. Nayl's heart is in her throat and her eyes tightly shut, waiting for chaos to ensue. "Bossman!" The elves shout ecstatically before Nayl can bring herself to look up. A sweet sound of jingling bells brings an entirely new aura to the destructive scene. What had just been a warzone with shouting, a gunshot, and blood, has suddenly settled into an eerie silence. Nayl spares a glance to the minions then to the Grinch. She holds his gaze for what feels like eternity before she sets her attention on the reindeer above her. A broad smile wiggles onto her pretty face as she searches for Rudolph among the group. This isn't how she imagined her Christmas, but she finds light of the situation when she sees the scarlet light emanating from the reindeer's nose at the head of the team. Warmth blankets over her heart but within a matter of moments Santa is bidding them farewell. He looks down at Nayl and lends her that little information before cracking the reins and soaring away. Feeling helpless and confused she stands motionless for a long moment. It's when she feels tugging on her sleeves that she blinks and glances down.
"Snowflake," she whispers his name as he stays nestled in the snow and in her arms. "We'll get you home. You'll be okay." "Nayl, we have to go NOW." Bubbles strains through his teeth as his eyes flicker to the demons congregating to the Grinch. "Run," she agrees before standing, still holding Snowflake in her arms, and running toward the back woods with the elves.
"They're getting away!" The minions turn and shout before looking back to the Grinch, waiting for his orders. "Then go get them. The others will start making their way to the North Pole." A few of the demons bound through the snow after their enemies but just as the distance was beginning to close there is a pop in the air and suddenly no one is in front of them.
Nayl didn't realize what happened. They were about to crawl through a fence that led to the woods before she heard a pop and the fence was no longer within arm's reach. With her balance thrown off Nayl tumbles to the ground. The snow that had swallowed their feet is gone and replaced by a dry landscape. Dust lifts from her fall and clouds around the group of them before eventually settling. A few of them cough and shield their eyes as the sun heavily bears down on them. "It's so hot here! Where are we?" Nayl finally rises to her feet and looks around with her hands on her hips. "Guys, I think we're in the Australian Outback," she sees the sculpted cliffs and Ayer's Rock. "You have some weird magic to bring us here," she manages a small laugh before swinging her arms to urge them forward. "We can't stop. We have to get to the North Pole." She's worried for its safety but at the same time excited to finally see Santa's infamous workshop.
Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. With the sun hovering above they've almost forgotten it's Christmas but a groan emitted from Snowflake reminds them.
Nearby they see clusters of wildlife. There are red kangaroos, emus, and even camels (how odd). "Can you use any magic to use on them?" A hopeful glance is given to the elves. "We can try. Boys?" They all rub their hands together and let fly a small, controlled bout of magic. Within moments two kangaroos have approached them. With a smile of awe Nayl asks, "They're so cool. What did you do?" "Just a very minor and short-term mind control. Nothing crazy. Just wanted them to offer a little assistance," Sugarplum pats one of the animals with a proud expression brightening his face. "Let's put Snowflake in a pouch and we can try moving. Less of a distance to travel means less exhausting teleportation for you guys." They agree and begin to take their places until a low growl cuts through them like a knife. As one whole they all turn to see the small pack of dingoes. "Oh no," her voice is barely a whisper as she sees the stained jaws glinting in the sunlight. What most captures her curiosity, however, are the strange green eyes they have. There are no pupils, just a solid, disturbing green. "They're being controlled by the Grinch's crew," a breath catches in her throat as they inch closer. One howls into the afternoon sky. Fortunately, most of the elves have already clambered onto the kangaroos with Snowflake nestled into one pouch. "GO!" Nayl hops onto one kangaroo as quickly as she can and within a heartbeat the animals are taking off into the open landscape. Their hops are swift and so powerful. Each elf is clutching tightly to whatever they can, their eyes tightly shut as they wish for it to end. Looking back behind her shoulder Nayl sees the dingoes running after them, desperate to reach them. "Hurry!" "We're almost strong enough for another teleport!" They're excited, but there is one elf who did not speak as he strains to maintain a grip. Cuddles, the heaviest elf of the bunch, is clamping down as he struggles to hold on. He is on the right side, his palms becoming sweaty against the kangaroo's coat. "Oh, please no," he whimpers before his muscles quiver and crumble. In an instant Cuddles is left behind rolling in the dirt. "Cuddles!" Nayl shouts. "We have to get him before the dingoes do!" "We can't, Nayl! We have to keep going," They assume Cuddles will figure out a means to escape.
With one last look back at Cuddles, they continue their escape.
"The fat one fell, the fat one fell! Get him!" The dingoes are communicating as they watch Cuddles topple from the kangaroo. Their mouths salivate as they prepare for their meal. What they didn't expect was to be met with fire. A blast of flames is shot toward them, igniting two on fire. "You'll never make it to the North Pole!" Cuddles shouts after having seen his comrades continue on their trek without him. He wouldn't want them to stop. They need to save Christmas. "And neither will you, tubby." The remaining two dingoes leap onto the elf, ending him quickly while their own partners take their last breaths as the fire consumes them.
POP.
Tears are burning in Nayl's autumn eyes as she buries her face into her hands. She, along with the remaining eight elves, are in another distant land. The magic on the kangaroo was waning but fortunately by the time it gained its entire free will again the elves were able to teleport them into a place much farther north. But where? Nayl is too heartbroken, too distressed, to even look up at her surroundings. They are all panting after the chase. Their adrenaline is steadily coursing through their veins. The only silent one is Snowflake who is huddled in a blanket. His eyes open weakly to look at them all before shutting them again as the wound burns through his core. "Just hang in there, okay? We're almost there," Nayl gently speaks to him when she lifts her head and rests her chin on her knees. A chill shivers down her. "Let's figure out where we are." Standing slowly she brushes the snow off her legs and looks in every direction. There is no sunlight, only stars and the distant northern lights. "Are we in Alaska?" The question hangs idly among them before Peppy steps forward. "No, miss, we are in northern Norway. We're just below the Arctic Circle." "So we went from the Australian Outback to Norway? Yet you couldn't have teleported us straight to the North Pole? How does that make sense?" There is tension in her voice that shudders through Peppy. He cowers down, frowning. "I'm sorry, Peppy. Just losing Cuddles and watching Snowflake suffer is really getting to me. I wanted a quiet holiday, not this." She rubs her face thoughtfully as the elves peer up at her anxiously. "Okay, we have to get started. I guess covering some ground in the Outback helped with your teleportation distance. This is the most random place ever but we have to make the best of it." She offers them a smile before they move on, Snowflake being carried piggyback now.
They're traveling on foot. They're muscles are exhausted, their feet hurting. "This is taking forever. Can you halt time for a bit? I don't want to arrive to the North Pole late and long after the Grinch has already overrun it." The elves glance among each other before finally nodding their heads. "That's a little harder than, say, moving us at an extra fast speed as to use up less time." After a moment to think Nayl agrees to the latter. Magic nestles across them all and suddenly their exhausted pace becomes a blur as they speed across the mountains and snowy hills. Only until they've approached a village does their speed revert back to normal. "There's life in these parts!" Smile stretch across their frosty faces. Snow has crusted in their hair and clothes. Their cheeks are rosy and their noses runny. Forcing themselves to forget their obstacles they run into the small fishing village of Forsøl.
Most of the houselights are turned off, leaving the world shrouded in black. There is one home, however, that twinkles in the night sky. With hopes warming their hearts the group of nine approach the small cottage and knock on the door.
A woman appears at the doorway with a smile spread across her pink lips. "Hello, dears. You look mighty cold. Please, come in and sit by the fire." Her eyes aren't green, Nayl notes, before leading the elves into the house.
It's a small cottage but what strikes her as strange is that there are no family portraits on the walls or tables. With minimal decoration Nayl asks, "Did you just move here?" The woman pauses midstep and hesitates before facing the young girl. "No, why would you think that?" There is a pointed edge in her voice and the elves recoil. "Ahem, I'm sorry. You're just, uh, not the first to comment on my decorating." What decorating, Nayl almost asks but keeps her lips pursed tightly shut. They proceed deeper into the warm home and sit down near the fireplace with their hands stretched outward. "This feels so nice, but you know we can't stay long. We just need to rejuvenate then go," he speaks low with hopes only his friends will hear but the woman's attention is unexpectedly piqued. She says nothing, at least not yet, as she offers them raisin bolle, a type of bread bun, with cheese. The group nibbles hungrily and allows their bodies to warm before standing up. "Thank you so much, ma'am, but we really must go.""Go? But why? You only just got here and it's getting dark," she glances to the door as her breathing becomes slightly more labored. "Dark..." she repeats in a deeper voice. Suddenly, she collapses to her knees with a growl. Her skin rips and tears but rather than spout blood there is gray fur. It spreads across her as her body shifts and transitions into something far more dangerous than they could've expected. "Run!" Nayl shouts as she makes a break for the door and ushers the elves out, Snowflake being exhaustively carried. They hold off on their magic knowing that the time for it is quickly approaching just as the edge of the ice is.
"Where do we go?! We're hitting the end of the road!" Fear grips them all as they hear a howl behind them. "She's coming!" What they didn't realize is that the seemingly kind woman was a Maras, a she-werewolf known in Scandinavian folklore. No one knew they actually existed, but they can hear her rushing footsteps as she closes the distance. There's no denying the reality of the situation now. Without anywhere else to go, they all stop on the edge of the ice. Some look to the frigid waters while the others stare bleakly at the Maras running toward them with eyes hungry for blood. "Can't we teleport yet?!" She yells as her muscles tighten and her mind falls into a dark trap of what may happen to her. Christmas will be no more. Her parents will move on without her around. She will no longer be able to torment her brothers. Cuddles' death and Snowflake's injury will be in vain. She will be dead. They will all be dead.
A breath catches in her throat as a large wake crashes into them. They scream as the water splashes across them and soaks their coats and shoes. When they each look to the water they're met with a sight that twists their stomach in knots. A sea dragon, or lindworm (or linnorm) as the Norwegians call them, stares coldly back. Needle-like teeth protrude past its lips giving the creature a more grotesque appearance. A serpent neck rises from the water followed by two legs that clutch heavily to the ice. It reaches forward quickly and snaps at the air thought hoping to have caught one of the elves. It fails and retracts itself immediately prior to submerging back underneath the water. Waves roll against the icy edge in a rather foreboding way.
A sea serpent behind them and a she-werewolf in front of them.
"Shit," Nayl mutters under her breath as she wraps Snowflake into a hug. "We tried," she listens to the elves mention they need more power to teleport and that this will all have been futile. She can hear the disappointment in their voices and see the resignation in their eyes. "Just try," she hisses to them as the Maras edges closer, licking her jowls. This can't be the end to Christmas; they couldn't have come all this way just to be viciously murdered by folklore creatures. Her breath is held and her eyes tightly shut. What she doesn't see is Snowflake lifting his arm so that he can contribute what little magic he has left inside him. With a combined effort the elves turn the Maras into a block of ice before being able to finally teleport. What they didn't take into perspective was the ice-on-ice. The she-werewolf is held prisoner in a block of ice that continues to slip toward the water's edge. There is no control over where she is heading. Her velocity to reach the elves has now repaid her with her life. With the inability to stop, the Maras approaches the edge just as the colossal sea serpent rises from the water with gaping jaws. In one fell swoop the linnworm grabs and crushes the ice that the woman is contained in before pulling her down into the cold depths of Forsølbukta. Two monsters - one made into prey - slip into the darkness, their attempts to kill Santa's elves futile.
A whimper slips from Nayl as she huddles close to Snowflake, expecting their lives to have ended. Only when her arm stings does she open her eyes and see what surrounds them. Where the BB gun's shot had grazed has left her arm red and inflamed. Air hisses through her teeth as she examines the damage before returning her attention to the giant building in front of them. "We made it?" She questions how real this is. Is this a dream? She steps forward and reaches to touch the building. Giant candy cane columns stands sentinel next to the grand entrance. A smile stretches broadly across her lips as she glances over her shoulder to the elves. "Guys! We did it! We made it to the North Pole!" She runs toward them and embraces them all in a warm, excited hug. "We're home! Now, let's save it." In unison they nod their heads and turn to face the North Pole around them. It will only be a matter of time until they are faced.
Nayl
covet and myrina's creation
4 magic uses: minor kangaroo control, Cuddle's fire to kill 3 dingo devils, move group at a limited fast speed, freezing the Maras
2 places teleported: Australian Outback and Forsøl, Norway
12-11-2015, 09:12 PM (This post was last modified: 12-12-2015, 09:41 AM by Arka.)
his perfect kingdom of killing, suffering & pain demands devotion, atrocities done in his name
And there is was – that face from a dozen stories Arka had been forced to read his children as they fell asleep, the man who gleefully stole cookies and milk that Arka spent his own money on under the guise of bringing presents. He may have had the rest of the world fooled, but not Arka…never. The hard expression in the usually jovial man’s eyes might have been unnerving – unnatural – but to Arka it was just a revelation of the truth.
The Grinch’s instructions floated through one ear and out the other, an idle explanation for something that seemed to require a more in-depth divulging. How exactly was he supposed to get from Richmond, Virginia all the way to the North Pole in time to keep up with Santa’s ugly, glorified pets?
But – as with most things that night – he had little say.
Within moments he was swept up in a tide of pitch-black bodies, for the first time putting a sensation to that oil-slick skin. It was as disgusting as he’d imagined, soaking in to his sweatpants, squelching against his skin. They leapt through windows, blasted through drywall and brick, flooded out of the open front door to escape the house and start their journey towards the holy grail of Santa’s workshop. After a moment Arka did not need their cajoling – he was as eager as ever to see just how much destruction he was capable of.
Just as they popped out of existence in Richmond, he looked back at the glaring red and blue lights of police cars that had responded to the alarm he’d set off in the house. Their screaming filled his ears as a pack of demons overturned the cars, contorting human bodies to impossible shapes under their onslaught.
It felt as if his body was being shoved through a tube, his skeleton fusing to itself under the pressure of his sudden inexplicable movement. He could hear his demon companions cackling in excitement, reminiscent of hyenas, as he spun through the darkness. Just when he was about to ask if he could get off the ride it came to a halt so abrupt it almost caused him to lose what little was in his stomach. Surprise managed to stave the nausea however.
He’d landed on his back, spread-eagle and disoriented. Bright, colored lights roamed over the ceiling high above his head – strobe-like, frantic in their encouragement of whatever activity they oversaw. He could smell sweat and cigarettes. What he mistook for ringing in his ears suddenly became obvious as the whine of feedback, a guitar held too close to an amp on its last growling notes. With a groan, he moved his head to look around only to realize hundreds of pairs of feet surrounded him. Slowly, he looked up to see those nearest surrounded him in a circle, looking down at him with expressions he imagined were just as surprised as his. The huge room was completely silent despite the chaotic lighting and atmosphere.
Scrambling to his feet, he looked around at the people staring at him and then up to the tiered balconies reaching up towards the ceiling. Even multiple floors up they were all staring at him…accusing.
He’d been here before.
The House of Blues in Boston…he’d seen Lamb of God here, made a trip to the city just to get away with some friends (a surprising thing for him to have, truly) and blow off some steam. Whether he’d ended up here because the demons had searched through his brain for familiar stops, or the power of his own unconscious suggestion had made it happen, he couldn’t say. But the place was distinctly less friendly than he remembered, even if it was decked out to celebrate Christmas Eve in style.
He didn’t recognize the members of the band standing up on stage, staring at him in the same dumb-founded silence as the rest of the crowd. But it was in the frontman’s face that he saw the first tide of recognition – perhaps not of what was really going on, but of some emotion other than confusion: rage. When Arka looked again on the people immediately surrounding them he saw the same furrowed brows, downturned mouths, one of the women cracking her neck as if preparing herself.
The Grinch’s demons appeared directly above and to the right, curling too-long fingers around the railings of the balconies above.
On the other side the Elves appeared, perhaps following the sea-water stench of the demons. Arka wouldn’t pretend to understand their magic and he didn’t have the time – the arrival of the opposing rooms seemed to strike a match, lighting the fuel of the crowd’s agitation.
Almost immediately the room turned on itself, man against man as those within the House of Blues picked sides and fought for Christmas.
Arka wasn’t particularly keen on becoming a part of the most murderous mosh pit he’d ever been in but as he tried to think of somewhere else – anywhere else – to go, he felt something like a fizzle as the teleportation that brought him there tried and failed to activate.
Goddamnit.
He ducked low as a fist made right for his face, narrowly avoiding having his skull smashed in. He nearly fell over backwards with his effort, catching a glimpse of the Demons and Elves leaping from their respective balconies to meet each other midair overhead. It was the kind of thing he might have laughed at in some cheesy B-rated Christmas horror film. And yet the tremble in the room when one of the Elves managed to throw a demon to the floor with a sickening thud was all too real. The crowd was milling, fighting each other tooth and nail in the cramped, dark space glowing with the light of the red-and-green strobes overhead.
He needed to get out of the center. Fists were flying – both at him and at each other as the strangers decided whether to kill each other based on their support of Elves or Demons – and space was more at a premium with each second that passed. Searching for a spot where the action seemed thinner, Arka rushed forward towards a slightly less packed spot in the crowd. The floor was slippery with alcohol, his feet losing traction as he pushed against a solid wall of people pummeling each other. He threw himself against them trying to get out but he was trapped. As space disappeared, the crowd attempting to devour itself, pressing ever inwards until Arka could feel his back pressed up against a row of fighters. Surrounding, it became harder to breathe. Every time he let out a breath the next inhalation was smaller, his ribs crushed under the weight of the crowd crush. Panic clawed at his throat and he did the first thing that came to mind: with a quick flash of light from the antlers crowning his head, he let out a telekinetic blast that sent everyone near him flying up and backwards. Screams of surprise shattered the concentration in the room as people fell from the sky, hit the pillars holding up the balconies – even the bottles behind the numerous bars on the first floor shattered in the wave of his attempt to extricate himself.
An inhuman scream from overhead caught his attention, one of the demons looking straight down at him from a perch on the balcony. He was throwing an Elf from over his shoulder and looked harried, but Arka could interpret the urgency in the scream.
With another thought, they blipped out of the club and in to the freezing cold.
Arka had never been wherever it was they were, but it was far quieter than the House of Blues – a fact for which he was eternally grateful. The same impulse that had made him immune to the cold outside his house (so far away) kept him buffeted now. The landscape was alien to him: a huge sheet of snow and ice stretched out ahead of him and his demon companions, eventually rising to meet the face of the tallest, most beautiful mountain Arka had ever seen. It was dark, crowned by snow that seemed even brighter in appearance under a high-set moon. Trees ringed its base. Water lapped quietly on the shore behind him. He wondered if he’d seen a picture of it once, if his mind had longed for quiet after the chaos of Boston and had taken him here.
He took a deep breath, watching it mist while he waited for their teleportation to come back.
The demons prowled around him as they waited – like sharks, ever moving.
A scream from the distance caught the attention of every single one of them, each stopping – Arka even holding his breath – to listen. Another call came almost immediately after. The sound carried down the sloping face of the mountain with a clarity that shot down Arka’s spine. Another thirty seconds or so passed but none of the group dared to move again. Another minute passed. Two.
From the cleft between two peaks of the mountain, a cloud of displaced snow caught Arka’s attention. It glittered in the moonlight, powder swirling in the night air. It might have been beautiful had he not seen its catalyst. Something enormous barreled down the mountain’s face at breakneck speed. The demons started pacing even faster as if preparing themselves to greet whatever came with such haste.
The closer it got, the more details Arka could pick out. It was at least twelve feet tall, not including the jagged antlers that rose from its skull. It had the face of a caribou or something along those lines, but its eyes glowed a bright enough red to shine through the snow it was kicking up as it…ran on two legs. And arms hung from its sides, abnormally long and ending in bestial hands. It was thin except for its barrel chest, its ribs revolving under dead-dry skin. Arka had something of an affinity for monsters and the like, and even he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“A wendigo?!” he exclaimed to himself, the demons shivering and spinning their heads towards him in question.
The closer it got, the more powerful the stench of rot and decay became.
Little could be said for the Grinch or his pets so far that night, but Arka had to hand it to them: the second the Wendigo got too close for comfort, all of the demons jumped without hesitation to head it off. With an enraged roar, the antlered creature reached up to pluck one off its face, a chunk of rotting flesh coming off in the demons mouth as it was tossed to the side. This close Arka could see his measurement was wrong – the Wendigo was several times his size and built with wiry strength despite its emaciation. It peeled another demon from its side, throwing the Grinch’s minion on the ground before lifting both fists high up in the air to bring them crashing back down on what it surely considered a minor inconvenience. Oily blood spurted up, suspended for just a second in the cloud of snow that puffed up under the Wendigo’s strike. The ground shook beneath Arka’s feet.
He tried to teleport the group. Nothing happened.
As if sensing his attempt to get away, the creature turned on Arka, spinning around with a massive arm extended to knock the man from his feet. Narrowly missing a boulder jutting from the snow, Arka rolled through drifts until he slammed against a tree trunk. He let out a groan, hearing something roll and crack inside of him as he scrambled to his feet.
Think Arka, think…how do you stop a Wendigo!?
Of course from whatever he read there were conflicting theories – and even differing opinions of what the creature looked like. For fucks sake, the thing wasn’t even supposed to be real! Wracking his brains, Arka stayed low in the tree-line as the Wendigo went back to trying to dispose of the demons.
Fire.
Wendigos hated fire.
He’d used barely any of the magic in the antlers, and though he could sense his options were finite, he thought he could use what was stored up for something that would buy him enough time to wait until the teleportation was active again. Closing his eyes, he imagined the treetops above him on fire – a raging inferno feeding on the rich oxygen this low on the mountain, bright and dancing flames reflecting off the snow to seem even larger. A flare of heat exploded over his head and when he looked up he saw flames growing towards the sky, the pine needles of the trees burning with loud cracks and pops. Sparks flew towards the stars, the inferno egging itself on with Arka’s help.
The Wendigo stopped what it was doing, turning to watch the flames with something like hesitation in its eyes. It wasn’t the fear – the animal panic – that Arka had hoped for. But it would do. It hesitated long enough to let its guard down – a fatal mistake around creatures built for deceit, as the Grinch’s demons. One threw its inky body at the Wendigo, clamping its jaws in to the creature’s neck and growling in ecstasy as thick, dark blood poured down its throat. The Wendigo screamed in rage, whirling around to try and remove the demon.
It was a show Arka might actually have enjoyed watching had he not felt the rush of teleportation returning to him – just in time, as the Elves finally caught up. Perhaps it had been too strange a location for them to figure out immediately, or perhaps they’d just taken a beating back in the club. Either way, Arka grinned up at them – a cruel tease of a gesture, a sign of his arrogance – as he disappeared with the Demons.
The group found themselves outside an enormous factory, one complete with a warm, homey feel usually not associated with the word. The demons cackled again, though the laughter turned to low, throaty growls as the Elves – persistent and annoying – joined the party.
“This is where it stops,” the Head Elf insisted with confidence despite the blood marring his outfit, the same elf that had attempted to stop Arka before.
“You’re just afraid we’ve gotten this far,” Arka replied, a grin too much like the Grinch’s curling on to his face.
ARKA
the chamber's scumbag cadet
Places Traveled: House of Blues - Boston, Massachusetts (REPRESENT!!!); Scoresby Sund, Greenland
Mythical Creatures Met: Wendigo
Powers Used: One instance of telekinesis, one instance of pyrokinesis
It as if everything freezes around him, and he is concerned. Even he seems to find himself stuck in place, feet tingling in the snow the longer he stands, the reindeer behind him and the elves in front of him. He hears the bells before he sees the sleigh, and something inside of him cringes; the fog is penetrating his mind and he finds himself enveloped by it, much of his original self hidden in the cloud. But at the bells some of his old self cringes and cries for him to return, to go to the jolly man and back to his home, to have this please, please be over, let it just be a dream! The bells are so gentle and kind, a stark contrast to the shattered glass and smoky air around them, and he aches to be back in the kind world, but the fog banishes those thoughts and he is back to being cold and dangerous.
"Come now Grinch, it's not the presents you want."
He feels the energy move around him, anger electric in the air between him and the demons that back him. They move forward as one mass, but stop, the jolly man's voice making them freeze once again. He strains to go to the jolly man, to obey the Grinch's orders to attack, to maul, to destroy, but he cannot. The jolly man's voice is kind but he can see that in his eyes there is a hardness, an anger, that is never portrayed in the movies he loves to watch during the winter. His words are a taunt and the Grinch knows that. So when the Grinch leaps down and the demons drag him along with them, it is no surprise, and if he had a bit he would be chomping at it. This is his purpose, he knows it, despite the fact he is barely a teen, and he revels in having such an important purpose. The fog and the demons whisper to him, telling him he's doing good, that the Grinch will reward him for such brave and heroic efforts, and he listens, head craning to get more praise, he wants more.
The Grinch's instructions to go to the North Pole excite him, and the devilish little monsters around him; this town, this neighborhood, are nothing in the grand scheme of things, and he knows this now. These houses are but a useless speck in the universe, but they are important. They have made themselves a worthwhile enemy, and the jolly man is playing directly into their hands without seeming to know it. Leading them back to his headquarters is going to be a grave mistake and he knows it, he can taste it and feel it in the crackling of energy that suddenly surges through the antlers, leaving a warm tingle through his body. He no longer feels the cold that freezes his feet and the dampness that consumes his pajamas. He feels determination and strength and the excitement of destruction; the fog in his head is strong once again, and his lips curl into a devilish smile at its instruction. He knows the Grinch will be pleased with him.
The demons whisper at him that they have to go, to teleport, and so he wishes it with aid of the fog, not knowing where he has brought them but knowing that it is right. It is dark and snowy here, and he licks his lips with anticipation. The fog tells him that he cannot go again just yet but he does not care - the demons are itching for destruction and so is he, and this little town seems to be perfect. So pretty and Christmas-sy it makes him sick, with the trees on the sidewalk all covered in lights, everything illuminated in the happy twinkle of lights.
Disgusting.
The demons are hungry and so is he, and before long there is the glorious sounds of breaking glass and the whoosh of gas escaping from the street lamps; the demons are making noise, something grossly humanoid, and so is he, shattering lights with crushed fists and body weight. The demons swarm as residents are roused, creating such a clamor that contributes to the chaos they are creating, and suddenly everything pauses, the calm before the storm. Then the elves appear out of nowhere and it is hell again, demons rushing in a black tide against the green, shouts and the noises of breaking glass and breaking bones that aren't quite bones, with humans caught up in the magic, taking sides and fighting among themselves. He can feel the confusion in them and he drinks it in, narrowly avoiding a punch to the jaw, instead having it clip against his head, sending him sprawling backward; he cradles his jaw and lets out a growl, something more animal than human, as he rights himself and throws himself into the fray.
He is grabbing and clawing and scratching like an animal, not having any particular target but the fog is urging him forward, pushing him, screaming at him to move. So he obeys - of course he obeys - and the demons follow, tossing elves and humans aside, antlers catching bodies before tossing them into the dirtied and bloodied snow. The demons are telling him to teleport away, out of here, to leave the humans to their destruction and the elves to this mess, and so he tries again but is unsuccessful. The antlers flicker and he knows that the magic isn't there yet, and frustration clouding his mind even further as they beat through the crowd, a dark mass among the colored wave. The demons scream at him again and he does as bid, world going black before erupting in color again.
There are northern lights above them and he comes to the realization that he is on his back, snow seeping into his clothes, but he does not care. The reindeer help him up, black forms illuminated by the jewel-toned lights above, and he brushes himself off - an old habit from the self he can say he was. There were houses but they were far, and he had no desire to approach them, satisfied from their prior bout of destruction. The demons circled and prowled through the snow, their breath floating up in black plumes in the otherwise whitened landscape.
Had his intentions been different, he would've been enraptured with the stunning scene before him. The town is bathed in a warm, yellow-orange glow as the lights from the sky and the stars illuminate off of the snow, creating a starry landscape they have the pleasure to stand on and view at their pleasure. Demons and fog do not care for such pretty scenes of beauty, but his inner child is awash with joy and amazement. The darker things only want the magic but the child wants the scene, and he is torn between the two, the darkness more powerful than his malleable self.
He is alerted by a crunching that sounds so unusual, so unlike the sounds he is now accustomed to, and so he turns, sharply, to face the newcomer. His mind instantly says polar bear but it is nothing of the sort, at least seven feet tall at his spine and claws that could destroy a town. There is no face but he can feel its eyes on him, head lowering with a bellow that is more like thunder than like bear, and he knows it wants to charge him. The demons swarm him in an instant and they are ready alongside him, eager to taste this bear-monster's blood.
There seems to be a pattern of calm before the storm and this time is no different; the tension could be cut with a knife as both sides wait for the other's move, with neither willing to relent. Yet they charge at the same time, heads and bodies clashing and swarming the bear-thing as it tears them off with impossibly sharp teeth, somehow grasping their less-than-tangible bodies and tossing them away. He rushes in and the antlers ignite, setting the bear-thing's paws alight with the blackest of flames without a conscious command from him, but from the fog. The bear-thing rears up in pain but it only seems to heighten its rage, and it charges with more force, pawprints black and bloody in the snow.
The antlers fire again and he is nearly thrown back from the force, and once again the bear-thing stops and rears up, murder in the eyes he cannot see. It charges again but the demons attack with a stronger force, their black masses turning the white pelt dark as they attack him. The fog urges him to go, to leave this place and so he runs, he obeys, and after a moment the demons follow, a black horde swirling across the white landscape. They transport again as the bear-thing charges once more, and he can feel the air behind him split as the massive claws catch on his clothes and rip them before he can fully escape, fully leave. The demons know when they've met their match and so does the fog, and this bear-thing is more powerful than they thought.
They appear in the center of the North Pole and the demons swirl around him, making a cacophony of noise that is somehow pleasing to his ears, and he smiles, a Grinch-like smiles that curls up his lip and shows his teeth. The fog plays with his eyes, making them gray and dark and stormy like the essence of the demons around him, and he feels triumphant. He sees the elves approaching but he does not care, for he knows the Grinch is here. He demons are laughing, somehow he knows that it is the sound they mean to make, and he laughs too, the sound just as wrong as the noise of the beasts around him. He feels at home in their inky presence, with the antlers filling him with a strength he didn't know he had.
So he laughs, and so he knows: this is how the Grinch steals Christmas.
F A R R E N
i'll taste the sky and feel alive again
places traveled: Westborough, Massachusetts (my pretty little town), Attu, Greenland magic used: two bursts of fire magic enemies met: polar bear-like monster with no face
12-11-2015, 11:39 PM (This post was last modified: 12-12-2015, 06:31 AM by Weir.)
Weir clenches his fists, tightening them around his hammer and shield. The outcome of this fight did not bode well for him, but he still held a small shred of hope. Believe, believe, believe. He chanted to himself, as if willing the words to become material, wincing at the weight on his injured leg.
An impossibly loud voice cracks through the air and a stillness ensues over everything. Several demons trip in their advance, the elves fall into one another, hurrying their hands to catch the next. Weir’s head cranes to the sky, looking for the source of the sound, turning his head every which way. The next thing he hears is a tinkling, a sound of wonder, and even the elves excite at this. Bells. Sleigh bells. That notorious sound of reindeer pulling a great sleigh, and then like a veil has been lifted, he sees them.
All of them. Dasher and Dancer. Prancer and Vixen. He counts them in whispers. One two three, four five six, seven and eight. They pull a great, wooden, sleigh- polished and gleaming. The intricacy of the patterns are the likes of which Weir has never seen, filigree rolling in and out of each other with no end or beginning. The most pronounced thing about the sleigh, is the jolly man who proudly holds the reigns. Santa Claus. His cheeks are red and rosy, his eyes are twinkling yet somehow, they are hard and angry. The Grinch appears, standing on the roof in his attempts to champion Old St. Nick, yelling from the shingles.
That slippery Grinch smiles with his snaggly, dirty teeth, and Santa says to him “Come and get me you Grinchy Grinch!”. Well, more or less that is what he says. Weir is too awe struck to focus on the details of that conversation, it’s not every day you see Santa mind you.
With an end to their verbal spat, the Grinch descends from the roof, intent on collecting his demons and reindeer. Santa peers over the polished edge of his sleigh, his voice ringing and jolly as he instructs Weir and the elves on what they must do. They’ll have to come to the North Pole to help him, to finish saving Christmas but his magic has grown weak. To the elves he gives what magic he can spare, and bids them luck and thanks. With a snap of his reins and a the familiar call, he disappears with his sleigh heading due north.
The elves clamber about, grabbing at Weir and tugging. So hard and so fast, that he’s pulled away from his companions, spinning and spinning into what he doesn’t know.
His eyes, blink open with blear. Looking and looking to see where is here? With a groan and a grunt, he lifts from the ground. Nothing is familiar, not a single thing around.
He looks in his sack, the first thing he must check. Up peeks Darwin who says, “Weir, what the heck?” From his canvas burrow, it becomes quite clear. That wherever they are, the North Pole is not near.
Weir thinks with a thought, with a hum and a guess. “Wherever we are, it’s way too far west.” A sign looms before them, with letters bold and dark. On their way to the Pole, they’ve thoroughly missed their mark. “Universal Studios,” Weir announces, with a laugh and a grin. It’s a place people film movies, now and again.
“Is this some sort of joke?” Darwin asks, sounding quite glum. Weir shrugs in response, he’s not sure why they’ve come. “Not the slightest idea, my good green fellow. Though we should make the best of it, might as well have a look around- say hello.”
Darwin grumbles at this, and he grumps like a grouch. Weir hums a joyful tune, patting his pouch. The elves mill about, pointing left, pointing right. They’re pleased with themselves and they giggle with delight.
For the place that they are, is a place you might know, but everything is artificial- even the snow. A movie set, with a sign at the front, “Welcome to Who-ville” Darwin reads, with a grunt. “Now don’t be so sour,” Weir chides the turtle-soul, with a glower. “We’ll be off soon enough, let the elves rest their power.
“What, what. What was that? Weir have you noticed this whole time? That everything that’s said, well, it all seems to rhyme!” With that he presses his turtle hands to his face, surely astonished, it’s all so hard to embrace. Weir looks puzzled but he fully agrees, why, he’s just now noticed that too. Geez.
They elves nod their heads, hats sounding with bells. Like they knew this would happen, like a prank to their spell. Weir sighs feeling stressed and unsure, and his leg really hurt- he could sure use a cure. Taking the cue, from him rubbing his leg, the elves step up to help Weir. A useful bit of magic instead.
With a pop and a crackle, a snap and a whop. Weir’s leg is as good as new, “Hey, thanks you lot.”
So their troupe hurries on, deep within the movie set, but they havn’t seen a single actor- not a single one yet. That is, not until they hear a young girl cry and fret.
She cries with sob, with a wail most sad indeed. Weir can’t help but want to help her, she must be in need. So he walks on over, our red headed friend, and he offers her help- no need to pretend. “Hallo there young lady, my name is Weir. Is something the matter? Can we help my dear?”
That little tot, she blinks up at the group, looking at Weir and his elven troupe. “I’m sorry Sir, I don’t mean to cry, everyone want’s to leave- they don’t want to try.”
“Dont want to try?” “And what exactly is it that you mean, by-the-by?”
“This movie Sir, no one has Christmas cheer. They told the director they quit, bye, see ya next year!” She covers her face, that blonde-headed young girl, Weir pats her gently. “We can try to help, give it a whirl.” The elves nod, most excited to assist, they don’t like to see good children cry like this. So they will help, even Darwin complies. The turtle, it seems, can not stand her sad, big, blue eyes.
And so our group, does what they’ve come to do. They help that little girl, young Cindy Lou Who.
They chase down the actors, they spread Christmas cheer, they convince them to return- to stay and persevere. When the first task is done, when all is finite. The elves tap their watches, their charge is complete. So they say goodbye, to the girl and the rest. Then it’s off they go again, to continue their quest.
Weir heaves ,grabbing his stomach, doing best not to lose it’s contents. That teleportation thing would take some getting used to. Right now, he didn’t have much time for that, so instead he breathes deep. “Where are we now?” He groans, Darwin making noises much the same. It occurs to him then, that things no longer rhyme. Well, that was a relief.
The elves look at him with a twinkle in their tired eyes, pointing at the building they stand next to. “The British Museum” Weir reads, righting himself and pulling open his bag for Darwin to see. “Oh this is much better, yes, good choice.”
Well, at least he’s in a better mood.
It’s a good trip, at first, and Weir enjoys looking at the displays. The elves stay close, one even hangs onto his bag. Obviously it’s not often that they are around so many people either, but they knew Weir would like it here. They had to do something, that last little visit wasn’t a very nice trick. Even they admit that it was more than they had bargained for. It’s nice at first because they can actually relax for a while it seems, for a while that is- until they can’t.
They’ve been in looking over a Medieval England display for all of five minutes when there is a crash sounding from another exhibit. “What in the world, now who would be causing a ruckus in a museum. I mean really..” He doesn’t have to finish because his question is answered. It seems they’ve been followed,and not by little Cindy Lou Who either.
The Grinch’s demons have somehow found the little group, and they’re doing all they can to make a mess of things. Weir can’t believe they have the nerve for such a blatant act of magic in such a large crowd. They don’t seem to care about outing their kind, or the elves for that matter.
It’s not a terrible room to be caught in, so many weapons hanging on the walls. Besides, Weir can hardly keep hold of the elves now, everyone’s taken to running- and screaming. The screaming. That’s the worst bit of it all. “You’d think they’ve never seen a demon before.” Weir yells, covering his ears with his palms in an attempt to quell the volume.
“That’s because they havn’t” Darwin yells, pressing his own turtle hands against his head. “Well don’t just stand there Weir, help them.”
“Oh yes, quite right.” Weir nods, spinning on the spot, still clasping his ears. Help. Help. How can he help? The elves are busy exchanging magic for magic, one’s even trying to help the people. Weir turns around and around, finally grabbing an idea from the top of his head. “No maybe I should not, I don’t know that it’s quite right.” He says out loud, letting his inner monologue slip his lips.
“You must do something, anything!” Darwin cries, his voice vibrating from being jostled about as people try to flee. “Fine. Fine! If anyone asks though, I’ll say it was your idea.” Weir verbally jabs at Darwin, who laughs almost instantly. Weir runs to a case, one that’s made purely of glass, with the edges affixed in gold flaked metal. He pauses over the container, placing his palms against the top. “Merlin forgive me.” He prays, before taking a nearby flag from its pole. He wraps the material twice around his hand, and smashes the glass case. From its velvet lining he takes the sword, the sword. Excalibur.
The elves can’t believe it, though they suppose it couldn’t be helped. As it were they were vastly outnumbered, a bit of theft for a good cause was okay, right? Weir slashes the nearest demon in the back, and it falls with a thud from a screaming man’s leg. “Thank you, thank you so much!” He praises, grabbing at Weir clothes. “Yes, yes of course, now if you don’t mind.” He gestures to his coat, indicating the man should release him. The injured civilian nods, looking rather embarrassed. “Atta boy Weir!” Darwin cheers, “Now the elves! We’ve got to stick together.”
Weir takes a moment to look around, spotting the small jingling bunch. They’re grappling with demons over a large Christmas tree and light display. Two of the elves fight to keep hold of presents, while the other three duck and block bursts of green light. “The presents? Isn’t that just a display?” The red headed man says out loud, questioning the significance. “Maybe they don’t know that,” Darwin guesses leaning over the zipper and the flap. Weir pushes his way past tourists, running up to strike a demon in the chest that lunges at him. “Not this time!” He yells, scrambling up the steps to the elevated presentation.
He comes to a skidding stop, gold words catching his eye. The podium in front of the display says that these gifts are for the museum’s ‘Annual Orphanage gift Donation’. “Why those bastards!” Weir yells, jumping over the rope barrier, sending the red velvet cord swaying haphazardly.
“You can’t have those presents, you nasty, greedy animals!” It’s the best he’s got in a pinch like this. Not to mention there are still children present, and most of them are upset enough at the sight of the green devils. Though cheesy, it’s enough to spark something in the hearts of several other adults. A few of them rally together, grabbing what they can to fight. Those that have nothing to take up as arms, simply try to save the presents, a theatrical tug of war. The demons don’t like this camaraderie one bit, so they turn to using their magic in more dubious ways.
One animates a suit of armor, sending it crashing into the gathered cavalry. Others follow suit, bringing life to the statues of metal. Weir agonizes over the lives lost, putting even more effort into cutting down the lamp eyed beats. Then he wonders, turns a play on some words, on a thought. If you can’t beat them, join them.
He grabs one of the elves, whispering feverishly into it’s ear. The little guy nods vigorously, bounding off to grab one of it’s friends. When that elf tells it’s brother, they are both nodding excitedly, tumbling like acrobats across the room. The museum floor houses a great many things, one such thing being the skeletal structure of a Triceratops. A marvelous herbivore, one that can really pack a punch with its great horned head. The elves do their thing, sending a crackle of popping, silver, magic at the skeleton. Binding the beast with bewitchment and giving it some life.
They use this ceratopsid dinosaur like a bowling ball against the gleaming, suits of medieval armor. Striking at them like pins, sending them sprawling and dismantled across the tile floor. “Out of the way, out of the way!” Weir instructs those that still remain inside, either too scared or too stupid to run away. With the help of the elves and their new prehistoric comrade, the demons start to flee, disappearing with a resounding crack.
Those that are left, heave from their strain, and others collapse. Some have lost so much, friends, family, loved one’s. How was this helping? Weir wondered, looking thoroughly crestfallen at the wreckage. At the sadness. “Weir?” Darwin peeps looking up with sad eyes, “Weir, we need to go. You did all that you could.” He tries his best to still the sadness and pain in his voice, hoping to console his host. “Did I?” Weir wonders, gasping on the words. “This. This is the best I could do?” He’s disappointed in himself, it leaks from every uttered word.
He heaves, dropping Excalibur to the floor, and retching what little he had in his belly.
With a tattered sleeve he wipes his mouth and his chin, looking at the elves who slowly approach. One solemnly holds out his watch, and the others clutch their belled-hats to their chests. Their long, pointed, ears drooping like a dogs.
“Wait, you’ve got to fix this.” He pleads, teary eyed. “We’ve got to fix this.” They nod, casting their magic throughout the museum, making everything as it once was- whole again.
“You owe me one more,” Weir reminds them, looking at the faces of those that stare back at him. Some accusing, some lost, most broken. “Them too. Put them back too, and what they’ve lost...make them not remember.” He had a point, however sad and questionable the magic might be. The elves did what they were told. These humans, they would never know this day happened, nor would they recall those they had lost. The missing pieces will be as if they never existed, you can’t miss what you don’t have- can you?
Joining hands the elves make a crescent, readying themselves for departure, and taking Weirs limp hands in their own. “It’s going to be okay Weir.” Darwin promises, but he doesn’t sound so sure himself. “It’ll get easier.” He starts to say, but his words are drowned out by the tossing and turning of the world as they transport.
They land with a thud, surrounded by snow and twinkling Christmas lights. The air is merry and cheerful, but Weir stands with a blank look on his face.
Saving Christmas hadn’t been so easy, saving Christmas had been hard, it had been sad.
There’s too many voices now, all high pitched and foreign, talking relentlessly to one another. He lets a smile bloom across his face, though he doesn’t have a clue what they’re saying. He’s not sure it matters either, because they had spent themselves fully for Santa. In more ways than he had expected, but he can’t say he’d take it back- perhaps sacrifice was a necessary evil to reach an outcome of good. Perhaps sacrifice was just necessary as a means to an end, he’d be sure to ask Santa what he had to say about that.
For now Weir looks at Santa’s Workshop with a heavy heart. Wondering what might be asked of him next, wondering what more he and Darwin would have to give.
WEIR
merry christmas you filthy animal
Is this a thing? Places visited: Who-ville on the set of 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas" at Universal Studios in CA
The British Museum in London
Magic used: Heal Weir's leg, Animate triceratops skeleton, Fix museum wreckage, erase memories of event and deaths from bystanders.
12-12-2015, 12:01 AM (This post was last modified: 12-12-2015, 12:11 AM by Pollock.)
“So that's where you've been.” The hoodied boy returned a toothy, wry grin, He turned his knife over, watching it flicker, its sharp edge cruel and thin. “Here I am,” The boy replied, with a whisper through teeth clenched up tight, And he took a step forward, his glare unmoving from those green eyes so bright. (‘Slash him left! Slash him right! See if he bleeds green!’ The voice wailed, ‘Cut out his beast-heart! Tie it up with a bow… Oh! Imagine it impaled!) The boy could almost see it! Small and wrinkled! Slimey and still beating slow, On the tip of his knife. He could crush it and quell it, find a candy-striped bow… Pollock let out an unhinged peel of laughter, his mind filled with feverish dreams! He could give it to old Santy! Oh a fine gift indeed! Or perhaps dissect it at the seams...
And then a great crack! A mighty and thunderous ‘Hooo!’ and everything around Pollock stilled to a slow. All but himself, his movements still sharp (whether he was hyper speed, or they were hindered, he does not know). His wide and wild eyes dart up to the to sky, and he leans over the railing to get a better view unencumbered by the roof, no use! He jumps down the two frosty steps onto the snowy front yard. He squints at the sky, slate-black and cloudy — starless save for a large, stubborn bright glint through the cover: Polaris. And then he hears a soft ting-ting-ting, an impeccable clear and powerful jing-a-ling. He stumbles back a step, dropping his armed hand to his side, “Dasher, Dancer… Prancer! Shit!” An uncharacteristically amused smile on his smoothed face as he prys his muddled mind for the rest of the count. Elliot looks up, turning around in place to locate what he knows, beyond a doubt and despite what he has long thought of as reality, for a sleigh… if the tales have it right. He howls boyishly into the unsettlingly hushed air. “Whoop!” Pointing breathlessly at the red vehicle above and the familial old man. He turns to the elves, but they are just now taking painfully sluggishly steps out the front door. “Right.” And then the world fills with sound! An impossibly loud voice, the jingle of his harness, the snorts of his breasts of burden. And then the world picks up its natural speed, and the Grinchy steps out to the street.
“Claussss.” He hissed.
“Come now Grinch, it’s not the presents you want.”Elliot narrows his eyes, his focus turning back to that green, grinning man. (What else, then? The young man wonders.) He can see his long finger, tuffed in coarse, lime hair, pointing and like a magic wand animates his demons forward. The round, rosy man puts a stop to that operation with a shake of his pure white beard. The Grinch let out an angry bellow, calling for the temporary retreat of his garbling troops.
“I wish I could send you straight to the North Pole, but my magic is weak this far from home.” Elliot nodded, turning to the elves now gathering around his knees. “Good luck, and thank you for saving Christmas.” The boy watched him leave, just as fast as he came. Crossing the threshold of his range of sight, into the dark night sky. He glances down at the elves, a smile on his cracked lips — “Holy shit!” Was all he could make out, before the tumult of angry screams and the even angrier sounds of physical clashing filled the streets. Perhaps the elves trying to steal the boy some time. He turns back to the porch and launching with bounds back into the bungalow. Slamming the front door, he huddling down below the sight of any windows. (The white cat had returned, probably scared to familiarity by the din outside. It crouches near the dead gremlins, dark splatter on its squished face.)
(‘We made so much progress,’ Came the gnarled little squeak, ‘Well I thought we had found you, Pollock. But you’re still weak.’ It made a sound like a slamming fist, ‘One look at a fat man in red and you’re like a wee babe,’ It slammed again, the acrimony ringing in his head! It sighed in frustration, and a little contempt, ‘That fat old man, He undid everything we tried to accomplish. But I’ll come back with a plan.’)
Elliot brought the heels of both his hands to his temples, hissing in pain and clenching his eyes shut. In front of him the semicircle of elves share glances among themselves. “Umm. Saviour?” The thoughtful, soft-spoken one finally pipped.
“Elliot… Pollock.” The boy spat, rubbing the sides of his head — exorcising the citizens of his mind.
“Elliot… uh, Pollock. Right. You see, we need to go. The boys out there cannot hold them off for much longer.” He watches the boy close, with big, green eyes. “I’m Horace by the way.” He fixes his triangular, red hat. “And this is,” he points first to the squat elf who had sealed the boy’s bedroom door shut; and then to the lanky elf that had rang the silver, mournful bell; and lastly to a bespeckled little man holding one sharp knitting needle, all while numbering out — “Gino, Jake... and Flopsy.” The boy lowers his hands, and they tremble with the effort of his quieting. “We’ll bring you to The Pole,” Gino nodded. “But we gotta go now.” The boy stands up tall and strides over to the corpses of their slain foe. The cat hisses, and yowls, backing away from the boy, glowering at him with large, untrusting eyes. (Does it see something? Animals can be very perceptive…) He pulls the needle out from the shoulder of the demon and extends it back without looking. Flopsy takes it from him slowly, holding the bloodied utensil out at arm’s length. Pollock tilts his head, dropping down to examine the pooling, unholy black blood; the cruel, decisive remarks of his knife — one in the back, one in the chest. He grips the handle tighter, poking the creatures here and there to test the weight and make of their skin and limbs.
Then a great bang! on the street just outside and the teenager flinches. He whips around, the elves summoning him closer, “Think of somewhere!” Horace shouts, the clamour outside reaching the steps of the porch. “Anywhere!” The boy mouths a few words, panic gripping him tight, but just as the front windows crack and cave in with a million pieces of thick glass...
He lands hard on dark pavement, choking and reaching for his dislocated shoulder. Somehow, the knife had managed to come along. He put it down on the ground, gathering himself up on his knees, and a singular gut churn wrenches up everything he has in his stomach. In front and behind him, the elves are looking around (and at him with concern and apologetics). “Sorry there Elliot,” Horace said, stepping forward and motioning for a second as if to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder before drawing it back. “It’s not an easy ride. Where are we?” There was a sad quality to his voice. Pollock stands up, running the cuff of his sweater over his mouth. “In CP,” He coughs, as if those two letters side by side had some intrinsic, powerful meaning. “Bridge...” His voice trails off, mouth agape. He know this street well. Pretty well. Whether it is just a product of more joyful days of boyhood when everything was bigger and jollier, or whether he actually truly had fun here, well, he couldn’t say. “My grandma lived here.”
But what is in front of him now is unrecognizable.
“Fuck,” He takes a jelly-legged step forward, peering down the straight, narrow main street. On his left: an old, Romanesque revival stone building; turrets and jutting bell tower. On his right: a hairdressers with low rent housing on the second floor. Behind him the street crosses a bridge. He can hear the river there, like a vein running through the center of the town (the water was always nasty). What he remembers is delicately lit up trees, in neat and evenly-spaced intervals outside an eclectic string of always-changing storefronts...
What he sees now is a street under siege. The lamplights that normally would keep the shopping district aglow are out, a few sputtering sparks. Some of the small trees are still ornamented with their lights, but they are pulled down around their trunks to lay on the sidewalks like litter. Most of them only hold chewed-through, dead strings in their limbs. It is immediately obvious that the demons had come this way, over the bridge. The windows of a flower shop and real estate agent nearby are smashed. The old, 1800s log house (that had once been in another part of town, but had been carefully moved across from the Hall) was aflame — it’s door kicked in and windows blown out. Down at the end of the street (near the town’s most popular dive, a Pizza Pizza, and a gas station) is a wild horde of black, jibbering creature — from their faraway vantage point, the boy can see that at least a few of them have torches, of some kind and make.
Fighting with them in melee combat, or chained hand-in-hand together protecting local shops, are a much overwhelmed platoon of North Pole elves.
“We have to do something!”Gino grunts, balling his fists and pulling the brim of his hat down over his brow. Flopsy, with shaking hands holds his needles up two swords; Horace is pacing back and forth to get a better lay of the land; somewhere to his right he can here the single, clear trill of a single silver bell. Do we? He wonders, remembering the orders from The Man: make it to the North Pole. The boy can see as he watches the little men around him — he isn't getting out that easy. These little men, rosy cheeked and timid, are suddenly a potent mixture of sad and angry. Pollock’s lips twist up with a chaotic little grin. The acrid smell of burning, and the high screams and grunts fill his ears alongside the eerie hums that have been steadily taking up choir in his head.
“We should make short work of this,” He hisses, and his voice is not entirely his own… or, is it more his own than it has been since this whole night begun? “We are expected.” He turns his knife in his hand, feeling its weight and size. In close combat it had served him well. But this? It suddenly feels wildly inadequate. Too short. Too puny. It had spilled blood, but his thrusts had been made at already felled (or near-felled) foes. He remembers what Horace had done in the house, and turns to the thoughtful elf. “...The Man said you had magic.... that he’d given you all he had…”
“It is not without its limits. Very limited, actually, I’m afraid to say.” He pulls at the hairs on his chin. “But, there’s potential for destruction.”His tone is disapproving, but before he can continue on Pollock is moving away towards the left sidewalk. He presses close into the brick and stone work of the shops, every now and then ducking into a doorway of a restaurant or second hand shop. He moves in the shadows. He feels oddly comforted by this dank embrace; equally so, he feels naked and vulnerable… he feels without, and in his gut he knows the need to slip away into wretched transparency — how much easier this all would be! (The harm he’d caused in the welcoming arms of invisibility…) But the thought was senseless. Passing fancies unfettered from reality. Every boy dreams of superpowers. Invisibility might be his.
“And flight.” It takes like rot on his tongue.
Closer to the throng now, he slips into an alleyway, blocked off by a fence. No escape. The elves gather in too, squeezing into the damp, cave-like space. Pollock motions with his knife, Horace flinches and turns slowly to the fight. He concentrates hard, bringing his hands in a cupped shape up to his chest. And then in the space between his fingers: a blue flames (like the ones a science teacher of his had transformed with copper chloride!) It grows a bit in size as the elf pulls his hands apart, until just smaller than a basketball. And then with a forward motion like passing a ball from the chest, Horace flings the unearthly blaze at the scene on the street. It casts off a queer glow, lighting the street up like a flash of electricity. Then it hits the ground just in front of an awe-struck gaggle of gremlins. For a moment it looks dulled and extinguished by the slush. But then it leaps up, reanimated, and explodes in the air! Four nearby demons catch fire, their bony arms waving in the air, patting themselves with their long, hideous fingers. But it is no good. Not the slush, or not rolling relieves them of the inferno. The smell of flesh — sicky bitter tasting on the air — draws other gremlins forward. A seemingly endless supply of cackling critters spilling from the spaces between buildings like oil.
“Again!” The boy hisses. He know too well that they have only so long until the gremlins pinpoint their location. Horace exhales sharply, closing his eyes. Before he can conjure up another trick, a particularly short gremlin slips around the corner, at first just as surprised to see them as they were to see him. And then it panics. It’s eyes first grow wide, and then it’s wide mouth gapes open and it lets out the very same cry that the gremlin in the house had — (it had been rewarded with a blade in the chest.) He does not need to look up, he knows they all hear it. Feel it. He knows, without truly knowing, that this shrill call is something inborn in them. Like the howl of a wolf.
The gremlin is on him before he can react. It’s sharp, crooked teeth digging into his lightly clothed tigh. Pollock yells, adrenaline pumping his body, like an analgesic it numbs the flare at the site of the bite and his shoulder. He kicks out, and it dislodges the mohawked demon. He stumbles a step back, falling to one knee. Beside him Horace pushes his hands out, palms facing the opening of the alleyway, and then with a look of mighty effort, the opening fills with a whiteout. An impassable micro-blizzard. The angry and frustrated cries of a great many demons rise to greet the loud sound of wind. He squares off against the demon. It is jibbering and jumping from one leg to another, and then it charges. He is more ready this time, but the tight space and his wounded body makes maneuvering difficult. The gremlins snaps at his arm, catching the sag of his hoodie’s sleeve and tearing a hole in the fabric. He makes a hard sweep down and to the side with the arm, hoping to stumble the demon — it just barely does, his bad shoulder owing to a serious weakening of his left arm. It falls back, landing awkwardly on its hip. Pollock shifts forward, thrusting his knife out. It makes contact, sliding easily into the gremlin’s shoulder. But it is not a mortal wound.
The black critter grabs itself, howling and shaking furiously. And then Horace’s arms fall, and with the last of his effort...
...they are winding through a tunnel at unimaginable speeds. They land in snow, deep but crusted with ice. He has nothing left to heave so he gags for a minute or two. The knife is gone. Whether it had spend off into some other exit of that tunnel (perhaps flung, like out of nowhere, at someone unsuspecting…), or whether still lodged in the shoulder of the gremlin. It is gone. Pollock blinks. It is light here. Stark, white light, glinting off the impeccable cover of snow. Everywhere. Snow. Snow drifts. Snow-capped mountains in the distance. He wonders, for a peaceful moment, what time it is exactly. Where are we? And then the searing pain in his thigh catches up to him, and he grips around it, blood staining the snow underneath it...
As he looked at that bite on his leg, and wondered, more angry than ever, He had no family, really, so the Grinch's plan had been out. But this endeavor? He had never had things. Never went to Disney! He never could play sports, Capitalism had given him nothing! He had never had any special possessions of any sorts! Oh! But he’d hoped! He’d hoped for it madly! He’d hoped, and he’d dreamed, for Playstations, and television sets; (for two whole wings that gleamed!) But this world had not been fair. In fact, in had been very cruel indeed, He made a fist, and blinked through angry tears, (‘This spite is exactly what we need! You see,’ said the voice, ponderously, ‘I've been thinking, dear boy, this Santa Claus must know you're weak minded. You've fallen for his ploy, Just as easily as you fell for old Grinchy's. and I think it's a trap.’) Fear and betrayal filled the boy up, and he screamed, “He takes me for a sap! He thinks I'm stupid and useless, he's got something tricky up his sleeve!” Horace looked at him cautiously, “Elliot… we are close to home I believe...”
Pollock looks at the little men, all of them staring at him in dread.
“What?” He demands, his voice now entirely possessed by… By… Something inside of him. Not some bodysnatcher or virus, although… that’s not so far off. Something of him, a second form held captive. And it riots against it passionately. He can feel it, a thrum in his chest threatening to rip his ribcage apart; the disparate hums in his head sewing together into one wild and violent shriek. His own. Releasing from his cells, moving through his body like a pulse. Thick like tar. He is breathing quickly, all at once light headed.
Pollock moves to get up, but succeeds only in falling backwards again in his throne of blood and snow. “We… We are close. I need only a brief moment to recuperate.” Horace’s voice is heavy and tired. Pollock looks around again. This land of endless ice and snow stretches up and around them — they are in a valley, tucked between mountainous desolations on either side. It is utterly foreign. Cold seeps into him, shivers taking the control of his muscles. “I need to get up,” He chatters, again pushing himself up, this time slower and steadier.
It could be the middle of nowhere, but it is now. Just a few feet in front of their landing spot he spies the hills and valleys of a snowmobile tread. He takes wide, high steps. The snow is deep, a much tougher go for the elves than he. He shades his eyes and looks down the trail towards a village, not very far — vibrantly colourful and nestled around the edge of cold looking water. Europe somewhere. Scandinavia he supposes. He limps along, the bitter cold air meeting the open flesh of his wound unhappily. It stings. There is nothing to do but wander the village’s way. All around is nothing, in endlessness’ form.
After a few minutes they happen upon and a sign, a reprieve for the boy to double over and breath deep. It is a cautious looking triangle, black with a thick orange outline, and in its center the white silhouette of a bear. Distinctly polar. Below it, on a white triangle in clear, black letters: “Gjelder hele Svalbard”. He winches, staring back at the sign as they pass it by, his mind a-wander.
When they reach a proper road it is a mercy for all involved, the hard uneven treading had caused more than one of them to stumble. They had passed a blue sign with white litters: Longyearbyen, as well, but he was far too preoccupied in his pain to care. This is a breaking point. He feels his body growing now hot, still wracked with shaking — something in him, his survival instinct he suspects, it rattling the bars of its cage.
The town before them is festooned with lights and garland, all in tact. “I guess we’re just too far North…”Horace offers, “too remote.” It is quiet. Deep and tranquil. He scans the copse of blue and red and orange houses, squat community builds, and boats just off the coat. He looks down at his leg, and sighs a deep sigh. “Are you ready?” He mutters, unwilling to look back up at the small remnant of unscathed Christmas. He is not quite sure why. His heart thumps in his ear, thump-bump, thump-bump, rhythmic and hard. He feels an uncomfortable swell behind his eyes, and yet in this quiet he feels still compelled by chaos. If he could he would dash their lights out; send polar bears to their front doors! Spill them out on the clean snow of their streets. Find their joy and rip it clean with his hands.
“I think so,” Horace replies, drawing fresh, arctic air into his lungs. “We are very, very close.” Pollock braces himself...
They land at the beginning of a short, twisty, shovelled path, lined on both sides with red and white striped poles ever few feet. At the end of the path is a tall, stone curtain wall like the protector of a fort. It is clad in tinsel and merrily manned in even intervals by tall and fully-decorated pines. The boy rights himself, following Horace, running his good hand vacantly over the smooth top of each candy-striped post, one. Two. Three.
They approach an arched, heavy wooden door set into the wall. Around the top curve of the stone frame are large stones carved intricately — a polar bear’s head bearing teeth, a pair penguins touching beaks intimately, two narwhals cross their swords, a stately coniferous tree with a star on the top; and, the panel in the very center, between the regal heads of two caribou: OMNIBUS BONAM NOCTEM.
Then Horace approached the door, and knocked a very, very specific way, The white world around Pollock begun to spin and spin. It got bleary and grey. His breathing grew heavy, his raised his hands to his face, his fingers dark with blood. He tumbled to one knee, clutching his leg, shivers washing his muscles like a flood, “He’s bit!” Comes the yelling, sounding hollow in his ears, “Bring him in! Quick!” The world around him grew dark, and elves moved in. Ready! With their wrist a flick All together. One motion! And perhaps he did hover, or maybe he just dreamed The strange sensation.. (‘Still weak, I see Pollock. A shame. Yet unredeemed. Not even all of this, all of this chaos and violence could make you less of a rat!’) He blinked, sure now the voice was familiar… the vile hiss of his dam, angry and flat.
- Carleton Place, Onatrio, Svalbard, Norway
- fire ball to attack gremlins, blizzard to keep away the horde, hovering spell at the end to try and get him to safety
And inside you're burning with some secret yearning
ENOUGH! The word cracks through the air like a whip, resounding heartily across the group of battling elves and demons. Lirren freezes, just as the rest of the group does. She can hear the chiming of bells, and she knows before she even turns around who has arrived. Santa. Her silvery gaze turns skyward, disbelieving even in spite of all the events that had taken place that night. She had known Santa must be real, but the truth doesn’t really sink in until her eyes are locked on that floating sleigh. On the reindeer harnessed to its front. Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen. The lyrics of that ridiculous song echo through her head as the names come to her. No Rudolph though. How odd.
Although, given all the odd things she has seen today, the lack of Rudolph heading the team is the least of them.
And then suddenly everything is happening at once. Saint Nick has challenged the Grinch, daring him to come get him. The demons are running off, the elves are straightening themselves and preparing to depart. And Lirren is simply standing there, gaping stupidly at them all.
Mr. Thimble turns towards her, hand outstretched as he gestures for her to join them. ”Come, Miss Lirren,” he says in that no-nonsense tone of his. ”We must go. Quickly.” Shaking off her reverie, she stumbles forward, forgetting for a moment that she is still wearing the too large boots. As she drops her hand to grab his, the sleeve of her jacket falls over it, though the elf seems to have no trouble finding her hand underneath all the fabric. As soon as her bare hand touches his gloved one, the world shifts. Between one blink and the next, she has been transport to somewhere entirely new. A place she does not recognize at first.
Around her she sees trees, well sculpted hedges, a manicured lawn. Gardens. Turning in a circle, her eyes fall on a fountain spilling clear blue water. Then on a building to the right of the fountain, square and plain. A classic European design that always seems to house something official. Entirely unremarkable, in other words. As her gaze turns, lifts, her eyes fall on a building that is the very opposite of the other. From here she can only see the top part of the building. Pale stone and a clay red roof. This is not what catches her attention however. No, it is the dome on top. A very distinctive dome. It is only when she recognizes the place from pictures she has seen that shock truly sets in.
”Hoo-lyyy shit,” she whispers. Although, given their current location, that was perhaps the wrong epithet to use. Turning to Mr. Thimble, she stares at him with wide eyes for long a moment before she is finally able to stutter out ”Is this… is this really the Vatican? The Basilica of St. Peter?”
Mr. Thimble glances around him with mild interest. ”Why, I believe it is, Miss Lirren. Fancy that.”
Her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline at his blasé attitude towards the whole thing. How could he not find this place entirely fascinating? Lirren had always dreamed of traveling the world. Of being able to behold these magnificent sights with her own two eyes.
But then again, perhaps this is normal for the little elf. Gazing around herself with wonder, she remains mute for a time. At least, until the urgency of their situation catches up with her and she shakes off her wonder as best she can. ”Why have we stopped here?” she finally asks, ashamed of how long it took her to ask such an obvious question.
Mr. Thimble smiles reassuringly, as though he recognizes her self-reprimand. ”’Tis only a pit stop, as you would say. We need some time for the magic to rekindle before moving on.”
Ah. Yes, she can understand that all too well. Memories come forward, memories of her life as a horse. Of the magic she had wielded so freely. But even that magic had not been limitless. It had been possible to over-extend its use. And no doubt the Christmas magic has been stretched very thin this day.
But alas, it seems they are not to be left in peace while the magic regains its strength. The sound of a vehicle startles her, drawing her attention back to the road behind her. ”Miss Lirren, we must hide!” It is another elf who speaks this time, one whose name she does not know. Nodding, she turns to follow them.
But they are too slow.
”Arrestare!” An authoritative voice rings out as the motor cuts. Shit. She doesn’t speak Italian. She can only hope that these elves do. Actually, she really rather hopes the little men haven’t been seen. She doesn’t know what these strangers might do in the face of a whole horde of Santa’s little helpers.
The elves continue to scurry forward, so Lirren follows suit. She can hear the distant footsteps of the man behind them as he approaches, speaking into the walkie talkie clipped to his shoulder as he does so. ”Ho detto smettere!” He calls out after them, more urgently this time.
The elves don’t stop, so neither does she. She really hopes they know what they are doing. As if to belie her words, a shot rings out behind her. The bullet grazes past her shoulder, slamming into a tree and sending splinters flying even as Lirren dives for the cover of the nearest hedge. Her heart thuds wildly in her chest as her adrenaline kicks in, honing her senses and focusing her on only one thing: escape.
The elves have also darted for cover, scampering up trees and diving into bushes much as she had done. Peeking out from behind her impromptu shield, she finds the man slowly advancing upon them. He is wearing navy blue pants, a crisp white shirt with epaulettes on the shoulders, and a badge tucked into his front pocket. Great. This must be the Italian version of the police.
Deciding to go for a broke, she calls out to the man, hoping he will be able to understand her English. ”I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know Italian.”
There is a pause as his footsteps cease. He seems to be waiting for something. This pause is ended when she hears him make a sound of disgust followed by a grunted ”Americanos.” This she needs no help in translating. She’s also fairly certain she should be offended.
”You trespass, Americano.”
Well, at least he knows English passingly well. Deciding to take a leap of faith, she edges out from behind the bush until she can see the man, keeping her hands where he can see them as a precaution. ”I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she says, her tone placating. ”We’ll just leave then.”
The guard shakes his head at that, his gun still pointing at her. ”No, you come with me.”
Well, this is certainly not going as planned. Belatedly she realizes he must have called for backup as several other small vehicles appear and skid to a halt. Men bail out of each car, guns already in their hands and pointed at her. Jeez, how much trouble did they expect one woman to give them? Well, one woman and nine elves.
Suddenly the guns are ripped from each guard’s hands by an unseen force, the weapons landing with a clatter just in front Lirren, much to her surprise. Before she even has time to react, all of the elves are running towards her. The magic must be ready, she realizes. Wasting no time, she turns and reaches a hand out to the elves. The last thing she hears as they disappear into the ether is the angry shouting of the police they had just left behind.
When they materialize once again, they are surrounded by forest and snow. Taking stock of their new location, she finds herself faced with one of the most beautiful sights she has ever seen. They are on top of a tall rise, the forest stretching out before them in miles and miles of mountainous terrain. She notes several odd rock formations in the distance. Formations she feels she should be able to recognize, though the name or location won’t come to her just then. She knows only that they are in a remote area, surrounded by acres of pine trees and untouched snow that glitters in the weak sunlight.
The elves huddle together, conversing quietly amongst themselves. Lirren joins them, figuring she may as well be in on the plan. It seems that each jump is taking them closer and closer to the North Pole. The next one should get them there. From what she can understand, they are currently somewhere in the Russian wilderness. Before they can continue however, a mournful howl echoes across the hills and valleys. A howl that is quickly followed by several others.
Lirren immediately jerks herself upright, glancing around with wide silver eyes. The elves have straightened as well, peering at each other with worried glances. The elf that had spoken to her before, the one whose name she does not yet know, comes to her side. He grabs her hand, urging her along. ”We should keep moving while we wait for the next ‘port,” he says quietly. Lirren heartily agrees.
As they walk through the forest, the elves somehow manage to dance across the snow without sinking through the surface. She studies the traveling band with blatant interest. They are lithe and graceful little creatures, able to move far more quickly than she might have given them credit for. Even with her significantly longer legs, she struggles to keep up. Of course, it doesn’t help that her feet keep slipping inside her overly large boots, effectively prohibiting any graceful or efficient movement. She is starting to wish she had taken more care in choosing her footwear.
”You know, I don’t even know most of your names. Besides Mr. Thimble, of course,” she says after several minutes of silence, offering the aforementioned elf a small smile. The elf leading her tugs at her hand slightly, drawing her attention. ”I’m sorry, Miss Lirren, but we must be quiet,” he says in an urgent whisper. ”I am Mr. Pimble. We would be happy to introduce ourselves properly once we reach the North Pole.”
Lirren clamps her mouth shut, realizing belatedly that perhaps she should not have allowed her curious and gregarious personality to overwhelm good sense. As if to emphasize the point, another round of howls split the air. These ones are much closer. Far too close for comfort, as far as she is concerned.
Perhaps she had jinxed them somehow, for they had not even gone another quarter mile when the first wolf appears in the distance. The group breaks into a quick lope. At first she thinks the creature must be quite close. Studying it as well as she is able to at a run, she soon notes just how wrong she was about the wolf’s distance. It had actually been quite far away. But as it closes in, quickly followed by at least three others, more and more terror suffuses her features with each glance. It looks as though it is actually quite massive. And unfortunately the distance doesn’t seem to matter much. The small pack closes quickly, crossing the snowy wilderness with swift ease.
Oh god.
She starts praying, hoping that the magic warms up enough to jump soon. Very soon. She can hear their heavy panting now, can imagine the steam from the breath even if she is not looking at it. Can almost feel it on her neck.
A sudden crack rings through the air. She whips around wildly, just in time to see one of the massive trees that fill the forest falling over. Directly onto the group of wolves. She can only imagine it must have been the work of one of the elves. They don’t stop to look however. Instead they are running, telling her to hurry, and so she does. She sprints as fast as she can.
Unfortunately the tree did not stop all of the wolves. While it seems to have reduced the pack number by one, the remaining three are quickly back at the chase, nipping at their heels again all too soon. Suddenly a branch catches her eye. One that had fallen from its parent tree. One that appears to be quite sturdy.
The wolves are too close. Even so, she pauses to snatch the thing up. Perhaps it is fortunate that she had ducked down to retrieve the branch when she did, for at that very moment, she hears a vicious snarl and feels the passing wind of something sailing over her head. The massive wolf lands about ten feet from her, cutting off her path to the elves. Clutching the branch to her chest, she flings her wide-eyed gaze from one wolf to the next. Two of the beasts have focused on the group of elves. The remaining one has focused its vivid yellow gaze upon her.
She has watched too much Game of Thrones, she thinks. These creatures look far too similar to the giant dire wolves on the show. They certainly look just as lethal. As the thing comes closer, she swears she can smell its fetid breath. Suddenly it leaps. Lirren, as ready as she will ever be, swings the branch at the wolf. To her amazement, the large beast flies twenty feet through the air before slamming heavily into a tree trunk and falling into a crumpled heap at its base.
It is only then that she realizes Santa must have given her some of his magic. Unfortunately, the massive wolves seem to have some sort of magic surrounding them as well. To her dismay, the battered wolf clambers to his feet and shakes himself, almost as though he can simply shake the injuries off. And, even more alarming, she sees the fourth wolf, the one who had been crushed under the tree, rejoining his brethren.
True fear clutches at her throat as she glances anxiously towards the group of elves. They seem to be holding their own against the pair of wolves stalking them. Barely.
Before the two remaining wolves can target her once again, she bolts for the elves, crossing her fingers that they might be able to try that teleport now. She is almost there until, seemingly out of nowhere, one of the massive gray wolf leaps onto her, crushing her slight frame beneath his. The stench of his breath is overwhelming, his nails digging sharply into her even through her thick winter jacket. She can almost feel his teeth ripping at her throat already.
This cannot be how it ends. It simply can’t.
A sudden force lifts the wolf bodily off of her even as his teeth scrabble for flesh, leaving several bloody gouges in her cheek. As the weight is removed, she claps her hand to her cheek, curling in on herself as the shock and horror set in.
In the next moment, elves are surrounding her, clutching at her with little fingers. She glances up to see everyone except Mr. Pimble. Looking around for the familiar little face, she sees him a short distance off, facing the wolves alone. ”Mr. Pimble!” she shouts, desperately calling for him to join them. But a sick feeling has settled in her gut.
The last thing she sees of him is a small, sad smile tossed over his shoulder even as the world dissolves around them.
”NO!” she screams, but the word echoes into nothingness. As they land in a thick, powdery layer of snow, she gazes into the spot where Mr. Pimble had disappeared with a blank stare. It takes her a long moment to realize that they have made it. They are at the North Pole, just outside of Santa’s workshop.
Except they aren’t all here. They have arrived one short.
Lirren
starlit daughter of joythief and carnage
html c insane | pic c laura-ferreira.deviantart.com
Places visited: Vatican City, Italy and Krasnoyarsk Stolbi, Russia
Obstacles Encountered: Corps of Gendarmerie of Vatican City, Dire Wolves
Magic Used: Telekinesis on guns, tree, and wolf x2
The battle raged on. Anahera tried so hard to brush off the face that her leg injury from the dog attack still throbbed. She pushed through the masses of fighting elves and demon reindeer, smacking the hell out of the elves left and right with a large plastic lawn ornament candy cane. But soon a booming voice and the familiar sound of sleigh bells filled the battle filled night. It was him. Her blue eyes grew wide, she never thought she would actually lay her gaze upon the real Santa Claus. It was amazing, he was just as she imagined, chubby jiggly belly, big beard, rosy cheeks, the little spectacles that helped him to read the names of every boy and girl on the naughty and nice list. She notices his voice is jolly, but his usually joy filled blue eyes are now hard and angry. She feels her heart drop….she is the enemy. As the Grinch confronts Santa atop the roof, Anahera watches with dropped jaw as the demon companions leaped up to attack. But the real Santa silences them as fast as they attack. Santa exclaims they have to come get him first, and the Grinch comes down swiftly to gather his minions and have us in a huddle. He begins to lay down the plan, and before Anahera knew what was going on, the demon companions began to drag her away with them.
She was in WAY too deep now, her regrets of deciding to leave her bed becoming larger and larger with every fleeting moment. She blindly follows the elves down various roads and alleyways that she has never seen before. There was DEFINITELY no turning back now. The antlers on her head glowed with dark power, she could feel it’s heavy influence pulsing through her veins more so than before. This was going to get serious. Soon it was time. The Grinch was not just in it to save Christmas from the material and commercial focus it has….he wanted steal the christmas magic. How could she have fallen for that….poor Anahera has always been so easily mislead and taken advantage of due to her trusting and soft personality. She was practically a puppy.
Now it was time to get serious. She wanted to wake up and have this be over with. She just has to push through. The demon minions are close beside her as they run blindly forward. The demons snicker and giggle, one smaller imp leaps up onto her shoulder, it’s mangled fingers hold onto her shoulders tightly as it perched like a pirate’s parrot. It begins to whisper in her ear, ”Ok...time for teleport...think of NORTH” she hesitates a moment, but it’s eyes glowed into hers with a sensation of “do it...do it….” so she thought long and hard. North, North, we need to go NORTH! her eyes and fists clenched shut. Suddenly the antlers atop her head began to glow once more and soon she and her demon companions are sucked up into nothingness. A strange flash. She comes back to. Dizzy head causing her to stumble and wobble her first few steps. She rubs her head lightly, what an experience. Once her eyes adjust, she realizes she is not in her hometown anymore, she is in a place called “Plattsburgh” in the state of New York. Her eyes are wide….she is standing at the start of a street called “Macomb Street”. She looks to her left, a sidewalk runs along side a seven foot tall hedge and just on the other side of the sidewalk before the curb stands a large old oak. She looks into the branches and sees the imps climbing around and bickering. Anahera speaks up,
”HEY!! This is no time for funny business!! We have work to do!! Now get down from there and help me!”
She is furious, this was definitely not the North Pole. She tries to transport again but the antlers won’t work. She realizes that she needs to give them time to charge back up. Her stomach rumbles...and she needs to pee….BAD. She looks around, the house across the street is a little creepy, and she can hear commotion in the house...so she decides against it. She walks along the hedge a few feet more and when it ends, she is in awe. A wrought iron fence enclosed a beautiful 1911 brick victorian home. It looks empty...there are no cars in the red cobblestone driveway, but only one light is lit through a big bay window in the top room. She decides to go for it. She opens the creaking gate slowly, parts of it’s old green rusting paint crumples under her fingers. She walks down the shoveled path up to the front porch steps, large victorian street lamps light her way. The wooden door is home to a beautiful stained glass window, she motions to the imps to come closer. She then proceeds to ask them to pick the door lock. It takes them a few moments but soon the door creaks open.
She walks into the entry, in front of her, a set of carpeted stairs with a crafted wooden railing. Just to the right of the stairs, a doorway into the dinning room that housed a large brass chandelier, and to her right, a doorway to the living room. She is weirded out by the two wall lamps….they were brass torches, but the part that attached to the wall was an arm and the torch part was held by a brass fist. what a strange house.. she thought to herself as she walked into the living room on creaking original wood floors. She walks past a jade tiled fireplace with a beautifully decorated mantle, and to her right stood the Christmas tree. There are only cookies on the old wooden chest in the middle of the room, no presents...interesting. She thinks nothing of it and walks through pocket doors into the dining room and then through a doorway to the kitchen. She runs to the fridge, taking out cheese sticks and some soda. This will fuel her up and get her all sugared up for Christmas war. She snacks for a moment before she begins to do the “potty dance”. To her relief there is a bathroom just beyond the kitchen. She comes out happy as a clam and continues to snack a moment more until she is satisfied. She gets up and leaves a thank you note on the counter. She exits the house and begins her trek down Macomb street and around the block to a street called Broad. She runs down the street, passing local shops, yoga places, co-op, and then turning the corner again she is on the street where the City Hall is. She walks now, this is Downtown…
Drunk scuzzy men stumble down the street, throwing bottles and cursing. A woman is getting harassed in the small park by a group of Christmas war ruffians. She knows now this place is not safe. And to think this town was once in the 90’s filled with happy go lucky hippies for Phish’s Clifford Ball three day festival. Now this place is full of chaos. People ransacking stores and restaurants. It was getting out of hand. Soon something grabbed her by the shoulders and began to drag her down the alley between Iris’s restaurant and the Winery….
At first she thinks this dark skeevy creature is a demon, but it is man in a trench coat was dragging her down the alley. She screams, the demon creatures crowd around her but for some reason they cannot get within four feet of the man. Anahera panics, the demon companions screech and hiss, trying to get to her. She thinks hard...what to do what to do. Suddenly it came to her. She thought long and hard, thinking it over and over again. It needed to work. Soon, the man let go of her, screaming and flailing as a black shadow loomed overhead. It was it….it was the eagle from atop the MacDonough Monument. It’s green copper wings beat hard as it descended from the sky and snatched the man up. It let out an ear piercing cry and lifted off into the air, carrying the trench coat man high up upon it’s monument perch to feed.
Anahera was stunned….her heart was beating a mile a minute. The dark magic made the eagle on the monument save her. Strange, but awesome and helpful for sure. She knew that was a sign for them to get the hell out of there. So with a big whistle, she beckoned the companions and she thought hard again. This time she was ready. The antlers glowed again, and they were enveloped by the universe once again. Then, vision. She only staggered a little bit this time, but not nearly as bad. This time they were standing in front of a sign stating “Upper Canada Village”. How peculiar. Luckily for her, it is currently closed for the holidays. Anahera walked down the dirt road, her eyes wide. So many new places and things to see. This place, Upper Canada Village, was a place untouched by time. It was a place preserved to keep the old ways of the settlers alive. Working water mills, horse drawn carriages, hand churned butter. This place was the kind of place kids get to take a field trip to. She runs down the street, minions close behind her. She needed to find a safe place to collect herself. Soon she finds the souvenir shop, half the labels are in French, but she does not mind. She looks along the shelves, wondering if anything could come in handy. Then it catches her eye, a first aid kit on the wall behind the cash register. She runs to it and opens it up, the imps help. They dress her dog bite wound and it feels a little better being clean and wrapped up. No longer being irritated by her pajama pants.
The imps go through the store, messing things up, breaking things. Such messy careless creatures. Ana thought to herself that they needed to learn some manners, but that would be a lost cause. Though, it is not long before a rumble is heard. The pseudo elves stop dead, their glowing eyes wide, staring toward the door. Ana turns around slowly, there it stood. Big, heavy, not good…
Taurus.
No flipping way. Ana is frozen….there was no way she could manage taking that thing on...no no no….but there is not even one moment to think….the Taurus lets out a loud cry and then charges forward, flames pluming from pierced nostrils. She turns on a dime and makes a run for it, trying to find another exit. But for some reason all the entrances have been sealed. The universe really did not want her to get to the north pole that’s for sure. She tries hard to think, but her panicked state makes her judgement blurred. She lets the antlers do as they please. They glow brightly and a million flashes of light and booms start going off all around her. She screams and runs blindly. She doesn’t realize the booms were none other than all the entrances being blown apart. Explosions. They exploded. She runs toward the nearest, the bull on her tail. She tried to think again, this time she knew what to do. She thought hard, the antlers glowed, and BOOM. A flood of rabbits hop forth, scattering all around by her feet. The bull was no more. Instead the mass of rabbits hopped away more scared than she was. What a relief. No more of this...this has to stop…
She needed to think harder, she had to think hard enough to get them all the way there. She thought harder than ever this time, she thinks out loud this time.
”north, north, NORTH….NOOOORRRRTHHHH!!!”
In a blink of an eye they are gobbled up again, the antlers spat them back out into the world, their landing a little less graceful. She lands in the snow with a hard thump. She is face first in the snow spread out like a little blonde, red clad starfish. She raises her head, blue eyes trailing up the front of a VERY large building….this was it. Santa’s work shop. She exclaims to the demons around her.
We made it!! The Workshop!! But where is the Grinch?”
She does wonder where the Grinch is….he never told them anything further, how were they to find the magic, what did it look like, how would they collect it? Plus, how could he not go through with his own plan? No way in hell was she going to have to do this without him... She felt helpless, but the demon companions snickered louder, now getting rowdy….something big was about to happen. Bigger than big….Christmas history...
ANAHERA
Marijuana x Freiya
OOC: Ok that was SO HARD to write. Now its time for bed...its 1:21 am and I have work at 8:30 am...crap.
Magic used: Making the Eagle on the monument take out a gross pedo man. Exploding all the exits in the souvenir shop.
Creatures Encountered: Taurus
Places Transported: Plattsburgh, NY (featuring my old home) and Upper Canada Village in Morrisburg, Ontario Canada.
12-12-2015, 01:31 AM (This post was last modified: 12-12-2015, 09:10 AM by Kataclysm.)
Kat had thrown her self back into the chaos, everywhere she turned there were elves and demon reindeer in the throws of war. There were cries of pain as humans and animals alike tried to keep their own false ideas of Christmas safe. The fight was reaching its peak. The noise was deafening and everything was spinning out of control, pure chaos. Kat was still in her warped state of mind. She still thought the orange eyes Grinch wanted the best for everyone, and she fought alongside his demon reindeer to help him. In fact she had just engaged with an elf, she was growing tired but adrenaline coursed through her dragging her along no matter how fatigued she was. Se had a black eye, a lovely shade of deep rosy-red, which would soon turn black and green hued. There were scrapes up and down her arms and her pants were ripped and torn in several places. She did not look bright eyed and bushy tailed, she looked beaten down and crazy-eyed as if she were out of control. The elf she fought off had just landed a smarting blow to her shoulder with some of it’s fancy magic. Kat had managed to scramble and catch the elf by the collar. She lifted him up off the ground, held him out in front of her with two hands, and prepared to throw him into the wall. ”You messed up my shirt, little man. Didn’t Papa Elf tell you not to mess with a lady’s wardrobe?!!” She pulled him in to get momentum, ready to let him fly to the wall.
Just then a voice boomed over everyone, over top of all the noise, and all the chaos. Everyone froze. Kat stopped when the words fell, “ENOUGH!” She released the elf, arms still extended out in front of her, the else falling to the ground in a final thump of noise. Everyone looked up, well most everyone did. There were a few who moved outside, trying to see the noise’s source. Kat listened through the eerie still that had fallen over then all. She listened for any noise; after a moment there was a distant sound. She squinted (because that makes you hear better and everything) trying to place the sound. It wasn‘t but a moment later when she placed the sound- sleigh bells!
Kat ran to the front door, and yanked it open; everyone was frozen in place looking up to the sky. Santa’s sleigh appeared and there was an awe that buzzed among them all-elves, reindeer, humans and pets alike. Kat listened as Santa and the Grinch spoke, at one point all the demons twitched into motion but Santa squashed it before it ever really started. Kat was confused, something didn’t make sense with what she knew to be right- Grinch didn’t want presents- he just wanted families to appreciate each other. But there was no time with a jolly rumble Santa gave way to the chase- as he sent his elves off to their destinations. The Grinch called all his demon reindeer (and you) and beckoned you to get to the North Pole. Once there he instructed his minions to steal all the magic they could. Kat pierced her lips and tilted her head- this didn’t make sense. Why? How did that help them get families to get together and focus on being grateful? Many of the Grinch’s minions wasted no time, but her small hoard waited for her, but she was not ready to move. The Grinch glared and yelled at her to stop wasting time. Kat’s eyed narrowed, this didn’t add up. ” What do you mean steal magic? Why do we need that magic? Can’t we show families the true meaning of Christmas without magic?”
The Grinch was not interested in explaining, but Kat was not budging, and he had already explained he could transport her all the way. She had to be the one to go, and so he would have to answer her. The Grinch frowned in displeasure, his eyes mere slits. “Look little girl, I owe you no explanation. But I can’t do all that needs done without the extra magic. NOW GO” The Grinch’s words were said through clenched teeth, and she was less than happy about the delay. He attempted a smile but it was that of someone about to blow his or her gasket- not the supporting reassurance- though he tried to hide it. Kat looked him over, and nodded, for some reason his short answer was enough for her. The fog obviously still had her mind in its altered state, though she was unaware. Kat turned and started running, she wasn’t quite sure how to use the magic, but the last times she simply thought what she wanted, so that would have to work again. Kat thought of the North Pole, she had to get closer, the Grinch said she couldn’t go straight there. But where? Just then she happened to look down- she looked a mess, which made her think.
She closed her eyes for a second as she finished her thought, willing herself to be in the grandest mall north of her current location. When she opened her eyes she was in a mall, from her current potion it looked like any other mall, she wondered what made it grand. Of course her group of demons were with her, She ran to a mall directory, “West Edmonton Mall” was written across the top, and the mall was HUGE. She sighed, knowing there was no way she could find a whole outfit when everything she needed was scattered throughout the mansion of a mall. You have got to be kidding me! She then remembered she had the reindeer, She turned at them smiling wickedly- shopping was never a laughing matter. ”OK you little twats, I need you to go find me following things: the best pair of fashionable winter boots you can- warm, but hella cute, size 7.5 and thermal socks; a cute vest, in a flattering color size Medium; a neutral long sleeved shift- think thermal cute workout type thing, size small. And black pants- WARM black pants- size 9. Now GO!”
The minions looked at her with distain, but did as they were told. Kat looked back at the directory, there was FairWeather right around the corner, and she figured they would have coats. She took off at ta run; the mall was closed so she would have to find her way into the store. She rounded the corner and collided with a security guard. He grunted in surprise but quickly grabbed her, loudly talking about the mall being closed, and what was she doing here. Kat struggled to get away, but there as little she could do. ”You idiot you have magic, USE IT!!” It was amazing how easily she forgot the damned antlers were on her head and she was in a weird Christmas nightmare. She closed her eyes and thought of the directory, there was a water park in this mall. She thought of him popping up in the water park and with a thick crack the security guard was gone. “Bye bye rent-a-cop, enjoy the bath! This is so cool!” The knew her time was limited so she ran to the shop and magiced the gate open, it clanked and clinked as the lock tumbled open and the heavy metal door rolled itself up.
Once inside, she found a coat quickly, warm, cute, and luckily free. With that she ran back to the directory, by now the rent-a-cop had surely reported her presence. Luckily the reindeer were already popping back to the directory with their finds. She gathered her loot and told the demon’s to turn around. She then changed into the warm, comfortable, and cute clothes. ”Whoever said you can’t be cute and kick some Santa ass never had free range of a huge ass mall!” It had been about 5 -10 minutes and she figured the magic had to be ready to take her closer. Kat realized she had broken into a mall and stolen goods, so she had to erase the evidence. "Take care of the evidence would ya??” she barked at the closest reindeer. It giggled gleefully, and hopped off to do the work. She figured it would know where to follow, so she closed her eyes and thought of being closer to the North Pole.
She opened her eyes and it everything was white, and it was cold. She didn’t really know where she was geographically, but she was somewhere that was flat and tundra like. She worked her way what she hopped was north, but she had no actual idea. She had been walking for several minutes when in the distance, something moved towards them. Kat was thought it looked like a bear, and she was not looking forward to dealing with it. She gathered herself up thought and trudged forward, she had magic after all. The bear like thing morphed as they approached, it wasn’t a bear at all but a Yeti! A scream escaped her lips, ”You’re real!! The Yeti looked at her like she was the dumbest thing he had ever come across. “Of course I’m real. Stories have to start somewhere.” She nearly fell over, not only is the Yeti real it can talk—this is too much, simply too much. He turned and looked at the demon-reindeer that accompanied her, concern growing on his face. Kat jumped in with a question, trying to distract him from thinking about their purpose here. ”Where are we anyway- I wanted to further north…” She trailed off, not wanting to say more suddenly. The Yeti smiled, “This is Nordaustlandet, or the North East Island in English. It is right next to Svalbard, one of the furthest north inhabited landforms and is technically a part of Norway. Its mostly ice and tundra and isn’t inhabited. It is technically some nature reserve. Perfect place for a yeti to exist…why are you traveling north?”
Kat listened, in total shock that a Yeti was talking to her and knew so much. No shit… She thought to herself, this is the weirdest night. He looked at the Yeti, trying to think how to answer. ”We are going the North Pole… so see Santa.” She smiled as sweetly as she could. Trying to play the best innocent sweet girl she could. The Yeti didn’t believe her; he shook his head, and glared at her. “No… No…I think you are with that Grinch fellow, some elves stopped through here a moment ago, they told me to prepared.” With that their pleasant talk ended. He snarled showing his pointed teeth and flashed claws. The Yeti took one of it’s massive hands and knocked a 2 of the reindeer down, unconscious. It had its eyes focused on her. She swallowed hard, not sure what stopped a yeti. She thought “freeze” and the yeti froze, and Kat ran as far as she could, but the magic didn’t hold, and the yeti was back on her tail. The reindeer were trying to interfere, to give her space, but the yeti just knocked them aside.
Kat was running out of ideas, but then she remembered the yeti said, that this place was ice. She could melt a hole for him. Kat stopped and turned around facing the large yeti that was gaining on her. She focused all her magic on melting a large section of ice in front of her. She hoped the ice would freeze quickly again so she could get away. The ice had melted and the yeti was almost there. It reached out for her but fell into the puddle just in time. Kat closed her eyes and Wished she and her reindeer were at the North Pole. Oh please be recharged, oh please! Oh please!
Kat opened her eyes, and sure enough she had made it to the North Pole. She took a shaky breath and tried to calm her nerves. To try and distract herself she looked for the reindeer that took care of the evidence at the mall. When she found him she asked how he managed it, the reindeer replied “fire, big fire.” Kat just about punted the reindeer back to the yeti she was so mad. ”You did WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?” The demon had set a giant mall ablaze, and she had been the real cause. Kat fell to the ground the night’s events finally caught up to her. This was all too much, the fighting, the traveling, the weird way some things just didn’t make sense. It was just too much. She sat there in the cold, outside Santa’s workshop and just wanted to be back home in bed. She didn’t’ want to fight got the Grinch or of Santa. All Kat wanted was for her bed. Christmas could go screw itself; no holiday was worth all this turmoil.
The reindeer pushed at her urging her up, to move, to get back to the fight. But Kat didn’t care. No matter how right she thought the Grinch was, she didn’t have it in her any more. Turned out the reindeer weren’t trying to get her to fight, they were trying to defend her, because a moment later she was hit square in the face with ball of red and blue sparks. The world spun and her vision went blurry. Her voice was angry, but wobbled, slowly it went weak, soft, “You have got to …be kidding…me…” And then Kat’s world went black. She didn’t have to fight, or worry, because she was unconscious in the snow outside of Santa’s workshop as the war for Christmas was going on around her.
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