It was a bright and sunny day, which was terribly uncharacteristic given the colder weather lately. Still, no one was complaining. With the sun high in the sky, it was able to filter light through patches of the tree's canvas, and down below was lit what looked to be a toy civilization. Holes in the bases of trees that had doors affixed, a few carts here and there. Many of the trees had wooden platforms around them, suggesting a sort of childish tree house for small knick knacks. It wasn't unlike a miniature version of Yomeniampa. Inside the trees were dwellings, pulleys, and mostly toy weaponry. Out a bit further, in the clearing of grass, was a "high" fence with a village. A market with food on one side and lumber on the other, a number of homes and nurseries. Even flags flew up here and there.

Of course, this was not a play area. Normally it was bustling with activity, small men that made dwarves seem like giants dashing about to do their business. Some of them were busy thieving, others joined in circles and singing. Napping, drinking, dancing, working. More than a few were even hard at labor perfecting their magic, which could be used to aid the crops and plant life of others. Such friendly little critters, even if they did enjoy a few games of trickery here and there.

Right now they were not enjoying themselves, however. Their usual past times; napping, stealing, or even healing things was abandoned. Instead, they were busy screaming and running for their lives in every direction, barely able to hold on to their pointed red hats. The tomte were not a large race, nor were they known for ferocity. As such, every woman had grabbed every child and took into running away as fast as their little toy-like legs could carry them. A good deal of male tomte had stayed behind to wield the weaponry they had, but it did little to deter the massive dragon playing with them.

...Massive. Riight. The creature tormenting them was just under two and half feet tall, smaller than most toddlers. Even with his brightly coloured golden eyes and sharp claws, he wasn't any more intimidating than an overgrown eagle for any full grown man. But these tomte were smaller than apples, and his wide wingspan was enough to knock back a great deal of them. The fact scales coated him where the fur was thin didn't help either, for many thrown things rebounded harmlessly off of him. Then again, it wasn't as if their weapons were made of mithril.

Every step he took caused a thin layer of ice to spread out, and where he'd crushed the walls still held a glossy gleam. The wall had been surprisingly high given his frame, and he hadn't even been able to crane his head over it. Unfortunately, the material and width wasn't enough to withstand his own heavy-set frame. It had been all too easy for him to body slam through it, his weight splintering the area and freezing it brittle. Even a few homes were crushed from his insistent feet and head-butting, the footprints engraved upon the remnants looking distinctly bird-like. At the moment he was enjoying crushing as many tomte under his feet as possible, so he could eat their crushed carcasses later. A few had taken to shooting arrows at his tail, but it wasn't enough to penetrate the leathery hide-- not when they were smaller and thinner than toothpicks.

"Run! Runnn!" Called one of the tomte in a high-pitched voice, and the "dragon" snarled before clamping his beak down on him, then drawing back and tossing him in the air to swallow whole. The beasts eyes closed momentarily, then it snarled and looked back at the other tomte. With a hiss it began lumbering at them, running awkwardly at the group. Generally drakes weren't made for running, and when they did it was with a characteristic gait. However, what this particular creature had over most was that his curved horns, spikes, and tails were all working with him as he moved.

Distantly he was aware he hadn't injured even one tenth of the entire city yet, but that was fine by him. All the more to play with!

Stella decided that today was too hot for her liking. Usually everything was perfect, she loved everything how it was, but this... this was just unbearable. The grasslands where dry, strange after the cold weather they had just been through. Spotting a small wooded area, Stella rushed gratefully over, thankful for the small spots of shade that it provided. Sitting down on a Fallen Log, Stella sighed, breathing in the smell of grass.

But somthing wasn't right. Small squeaks could be heard, getting closer, and Stella wasn't sure whether to draw her wand out or simply run. They sounded frantic, and the louder they came, the more high pitch they got. Standing, Stella looked down at the small creature that was at the feet, running into her. Kneeling down to get a closer look, Stella noticed that the one closest to her was shaking as he layed on the floor - obviously going for the "Dead" Look, though he was not fooling her.

"What's wrong little guy?" She asked, picking up his hat carefully. It was the size of a dolls, and it was so cute Stella had to refrain herself from squealing. The little guy rose, and took the hat, his whole arm shaking. His mouth began to move, but all she could hear was a high pitch squeak. Frowning, she held up a hand to stop him. His little voice was giving her a head ache!! Reaching into her cloak, Stella took out her Fairy Necklace, and clasped it round her neck carefully.

The transformation immediately took effect. Her whole form began to vibrate, and her usual soft white glow became a very pale pink. As the ground rushed to greet her, the tree's and plants become larger then houses, Stella was unaware of somthing missing. Her wand had fallen out of her pocket, and rolled away into the forest that was the grass. Pink wings sprouted from her back naturally, as if they had always been there.

Soon enough Stella was their size, around the size of an average little finger. Dusting herself off slightly, Stella smiled at the little guy, who was stood staring at her in shock. "Sorry about that!" Stella announced, smiling. She walked closer to him, waiting for him to speak. "I... What are you?" He asked, his voice still high pitch, but not as bad as it had been - Stella's own voice now rather high pitch.

"Oh, this necklace just lets me shrink to your size. Don't worry about it... Now... why are you running away?" She asked, worriedly. It was odd indeed to see a creature as small as him - usually they where not seen, only heard about in story's told to little kids. His face suddenly grew scared, and he spun around, pointing behind him into the thickness that was grass. "A DRAGON!! It's attacking our people! Please! You must do somthing!" He squeaked, and Stella nodded, thinking.

A dragon? Here? She was sure that if there was a Dragon, she would have at least seen him, yet Stella had received no sign of disturbance. Flapping her wings as hard as possible, Stella rose in the air, raising the dirt a little around the Tomte, who was holding his hat in fear that it would get lost. In the air, Stella was awed at how differnt somthing could look. She hat sat on the log moments ago, yet right now, looking down at it from her small sight, Stella found that everything looked more... Impressive. Yet even from this height, Stella could not see any sign of a disturbance from a large Dragon, which was indeed off.

Lowering herself back down, Stella found the spot where the guy had been empty, and once again she was left alone in her thoughts. Repressing a sigh, Stella reached behind her neck to remove the necklace... Only to find that the clasp would not come undone. Panic began to rise slowly... She began to tug at it, trying desperately to try get it undone. But it would not. Sinking to the ground on her knees, Stella looked around sadly for signs of more little people. But she was alone.

His name was Antioch. His master called him 'Meester Ant.' The matter was not, as it stood, wholly satisfactory for the little wraith.

Not for the first time, Antioch wondered how this had happened to him. He had once been the most terrifying- he absolutely loathed the term but- Wispy Wraith in all of existence. He had served the greatest of warlords, the most powerful of conquerors- he had brought death, suffering and the plague to hundreds upon thousands of foes. He had once dealt with the representatives of the gods themselves... he was Antioch of Antaeus! Antioch of the Thousand Skulls! His foes feared him! His allies trembled at the touch of even his merest breath. And his friends... ah yes, his friends. His friends hated him. And that was how it should be... but now... now he felt like Antioch of the Thousand Suns. By Lord Raku he hated this. Being here. Especially being here.

The 'here' in question was a forest. In the middle of nowhere. In the company of the most illustriously disgruntling army he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. And it was an army, no matter his complaints. He had been informed by his master that it was an army. An army it thus was. He remembered the... no, it could -not- be qualified as something as pedantic as a meeting, it was an incident. Hopefully one that would not occur again.

“Meester Ant.” His master had said. She had been sleeping but moments before and had apparently woken without him noticing. To be fair though, the dead didn't have the usual signs of wakefulness that the living had. Even if he had been watching her- making sure that no clumsy paladin would appear to chop off her head- she had appeared exactly the same the entire time. And he had to make sure she was properly protected... the paladin incident had happened before. As well as a vampire one. And a cult one. And a 'we must resurrect the goddess of chaos' lupine one. This girl had an amazing amount of un-luck. Prodigious amounts of it, even. And because Antioch hated hyperbole he was fairly certain that the adjective was properly placed.

“Meester Ant. I had a dream. A friend-friend-friend-friend,” Antioch had never quite understood from whence all these extra friend tags came from nor why they existed but listened patiently anyways, “is in trouble.”

Antioch had heard horror stories. Masters who had accidentally summoned Wi... Wraiths instead of angels. Masters who had required Wraiths to do good deeds. Masters who had been uncommonly, wretchedly sadistic and demanded of the undead menial tasks and small acts of kindness. He had mentally prepared himself for the next few words but they still floored him. He felt a small piece of him live and float away.

“I need joo to help her, Meester Ant.”

He hadn't whined. Hadn't begged. Hadn't even demanded her soul in payment. Just a promise to one day conquer the world. She had giggled.

“But you already have an army, Meester Ant.”

An army, the small wraith mused. He had shaken himself out of his reverie by now and was making a cursory examination of his 'army.' She was good- she had tricked him. He didn't know how she had managed to send him in the right direction (if she had) and could find no plausible reason for her to send him on some wild goose chase. Then again, she was like an incarnation of insanity. She was beyond chaos, even. She was a living, breathing example of what it meant for there to be living Nightmares again.

But still she had tricked him. He had been promised command. Power. Prestige. She had given him a pig, a cat, two spiders, a stinkbug and a... blob. He wasn't quite sure what the blob was. It felt funny to his honed senses. Like a hole in the fabric of reality.

Then he spotted the fairy. And sighed. How had his Master known...?

The Wisping Wraith floated towards the small, floating creature.

“Are you...” he consulted his memories, “a Friend-friend-friend-friend of her most Imperial Royal Majesty Robyn of Rin?”

Jakabok gave a soft growl of irritation from where he was perched. The 'massive' creature had scaled one of the trees, and shattered bridges lay hanging precariously from the few bolts still in them. A few splinters were scattered in his thick fur, but they were by no means embedded and with enough movement he could shake them off. For now, Finch was happy sitting on the branch they'd made the main part of the fort on. With high rising wood it looked a lot like an archer's platform, and even had a small booth where they likely had supplies. The creature had taken to prying the door off with it's teeth and devouring every archer that ran out, hat and all. Though they weren't the best meal he'd ever had, he took to eating enough of them that he was now full.

Now he was just playing with them. A few that had come out after his hunger was sated were being tossed up and down with his tail, the spade twisting and turning to catch them on either side. They made such funny noises as they were crushed! Still, he wanted to play with more of them, and many of the tomte had come to the obvious conclusion that he wasn't going to go away. So they decided to flee. Grumbling and muttering (not any words, mind you, just those funny noises Master made when he was busy) Jakabok descended the tree, letting the tomte he'd been juggling fall to the ground. Rather than swoop down he used his sharp hind feet to clamber down, the small hooks on his wings allowing him to manoeuver somewhat. By the time he got back down he was hungry again, and viciously he swept his wings back and forth.

"Eet's here! Runn!!" Squealed a tomte, who had been hiding under a leafy mess. With a snort Jakabok drew his head back, then began running towards it in his odd gait. To his surprise a number of them leapt out, hats and all, and bolted. They're so much fun! Thought the animal, with more than a little sadistic delight as he chased behind them. Clumps of grass froze together underfoot as he ran, though when it appeared he wouldn't catch up he threw himself forward and spread his wings, letting the momentum throw him into a low glide. It would be harder to manoeuver around trees like this, but he was far more faster. With a shrill shriek akin to a falcon he threw himself upwards, flying high. Then he tilted and fell back down, gravity pulling sharply on the beast so that its dive bomb was that more effective.

Directly ahead were two tomte, and at this speed he was sure to catch them. His legs lifted under his belly, talons spread and wings back. The wind pulled Jakabok's feathers, and his tails entwined amongst themselves for the added benefit of aerodynamics. The little tomte's eyes went wide in fear, and he turned momentarily to stare up at the massive beast lunging for him. Then he dove to the left, and Jakabok followed him with his eyes in surprise.

THWAP!

That was the noise the animal made as it crashed into the trunk of a tree, head, then body, then tail. It was still for a moment, crushed up against it like a blob. A few tomte gathered around, curious if it was dead. Then its wings started flapping madly, and it let out a great number of shrieks as it struggled to un-embed itself. Apparently those spikes and claws weren't great when they were buried in bark, and even its horns were stuck near the tips. The tomte stared at the loud animal for some time, not sure what to do about the trapped 'dragon'. Should they try to kill it? Some of these questions were asked amongst themselves, some recommending throwing stones and others even considering climbing the tree to drop apples on Jakabok.

Apparently someone liked the initial idea, and a small pebble thwapped off of the furry neck of Jakabok. Immediately he stopped struggling, instead growling lowly. With precision he lowered his head, sliding his head away from the tree. Then he carefully unhooked his feet, one at a time. Some of the tomte ran, but most were too shocked to know what to do. Only when he turned and glared at them did they do anything. "RUNNN AGAINNN!!" Before the words could die out Jakabok gave his own loud howl, then clambered after them again. Shaking his head he got the last ringing noises out, then took to the air to chase them. He was low enough that breaths of cold air slipped from his chest and onto the ground, and small sticks and pebbles were covered in frost as he streaked over them.

The tomte hastily ran, though Jakabok wasn't about to fall for the same trick twice. Sweeping low he followed them, making sure to stay perfectly aligned. Even as one broke from the herd he followed the tomte, and not once did his eyes leave it. Not even when it appeared to go under something low, and he crashed into something soft. Luckily he only clipped it, though the motion still threw him into a rolling spin on the grass. With a soft yelp Jakabok curled up, the world spinning wickedly before him. Even after it stopped he felt his head continuing the motion, and lazily he let his wings flop out on either side of him. It didn't look like he'd getting up any time soon.

And then, "I'll eat you stupid man-flies! Just wait!" Carefully the beast raised up, swaying. Then Jakabok drew his wing close, and in perfectly irritated fashion began preening it. The fact others were around was lost on him, he was too busy mulling over how painful crashing into things was. Especially when those things turned to solid ice when you connected. He wasn't made of mithril! Master would be most displeased with this bumbling, no doubt. With another growl and irritated snarl he moved on to the next wing, letting the clean one fold neatly against his white body. Stupid tomte! They moved the ground, it wasn't there before!

More grumblings and clacking of teeth and beak slipped from the snow drake.

The words had barely escaped his lips (figuratively speaking, of course) when a distraction arrived. It, being a distraction, did not have the good grace to be quiet, humble or servile which were all proper signs of respect; nor did it evince even the slightest hint of good breeding. If Wispy Wraiths could be offended by such things Antioch of Antaeus would no doubt have throttled it for the stench alone. As it was he was on the verge of throttling the darn (wait, had he really just censored himself?) thing for its stupidity. A mount- how had he ever even imagined that the idiotic porker could be anything close to a bearer of an Apocalypse? The General sighed in displeasure, murdered his urge to roll the glowing red dots in the cowl of his hood, and muttered 'one moment please' to the pixie before floating away. Perhaps she tried to say something, perhaps she even tried to attack him- her being a mortal, living thing and him being a not-quite-mortal, unliving thing. He didn't care and didn't notice. Back in the day, a proper distraction would have been a shy, demure, young maiden ready for the sacrificial dagger or a long bout of agony-filled torture followed by a conversion to evil and a brand, spanking new family. His family. His master's family.

Today the distraction was- What in the freakin' name of Raku was it doing?

Behind him there seemed to be some sort of commotion. Yowling. Screams of despair. Hoardes of stampeding feet. He ignored it all, favoring instead, the scene before him with fascination that should and was accorded to the strongest and stupidest member of his army. The porker (he would not use his master's... 'nickname' for it) was going through a long and elaborate ritual that first began, it appeared, with getting mad at a rock. Being a glutton as well as an idiot, the dreadsnout solved this particular problem by eating it. This, understandably, gave it some trouble going down, and probably twice as much trouble as it was forced back up along with a bunch of other interesting artifacts that really shouldn't have been capable of being ingested. The small wraith briefly tried to determine where the dreadsnout had managed to find a sock in a forest and in an equally brief period decided that along that path of thought lay madness. And yet, even though it took his mighty intellect but seconds to formulate these thoughts the dreadsnout was, without missing a beat in all appearance, getting mad at the rock all over again. For a moment he saw a young, blond-haired girl imitating the porker. Then he realized that it was his Master- and was disgusted with himself. Doubly disgusted because his disgust wasn't the fact that it was disrespectful- but because his mind actually thought it realistic.

Where, dear Raku, had it all gone wrong? He was from the world beneath, the realm of Raku. It had been his unfortunate priveledge to die for his last Master and he had been patiently waiting to be re-summoned to the realm of the living. As time had passed he had realized that the re-summoning would not occur, and that the war had been lost. He had been touched and annoyed- he was no doubt the most useful member of any army, but any army he commanded should have been able to get along without him a wee bit better than that. And so the long years passed and he continued to wait, a beacon of intelligence in the morasses of wispy wraiths that existed and would ever exist. Puny, unintelligent, idiotic fools! They had turned his noble race into nothing more than an elevated clown! Pranksters! Had they no respect for-

Maybe it was the chill in the air, or the sudden realization that the Dreadsnout had stopped fighting with his rock and small assortment of objects that should be kept away from mini-humans and from her most Imperial, Royal Majesty. Maybe it was the fact that he had gotten so used to the screams of his second largest but weakest member of his army that their absence had actually made him notice things that were not his own thoughts and self-recriminations and rantings against the world. In any case he was absolutely apalled by his own lack of control and was about to order an attack against this interloper who had apparently managed to rip off Mr. Fluffington's lower jaw when he heard Dreadylocks snort. In the back of his head he heard his Master speak again, the memory of her voice oddly comforting.

“I'm a little teacup, short and stout...”

No wait a darn moment, she was here. He watched in open-mouthed confusion and she waved cheerily to him from the branch of some tree. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the dreadsnout charge. When had she-? Why had she-? Was this a test? Was she more devious than he had originally assumed? Was she trying to make a test of his loyalty? Had he failed this test?

"Here is my handle..."

"Jakabok? Jakabok!" The deep voice bellowing between trees carried a harsh rasp to it, yet didn't waver in the face of nature. A few birds paused in their songs, frightened by the form making its way through their domain. The tall male crushed fallen leaves and sticks alike, paying no heed to any small frames that might be taking shelter. Branches were pushed aside by large hands as his dark eyes looked around.

The man, Nathaniel, had not been to this forest many times. There was one visit that had chanced solely to prove his superiority over a certain lupine; a hunt for rocks, if he remembered correctly. The sun was bright here, and the grass was fresh. It was a beautiful place to live if one was an animal. Naturally, it did little more than make the city-bred man sick, scowling at every scampering squirrel and chirping chipmunk. Even as a young lad he'd hated these outdoors.

"Jakabok!! If you don't come back, I'll have your head boiled in a stew, you wretched little--" Nathaniel paused mid-sentence, his eyes befalling a deer. Pristine beauty stroked through its white fur, and its antlers crested above its head finely. In silence the male watched, the beast oblivious to his presence. Then an ear twitched, and dark eyes looked to his own. The animal gave a twitch of the head, then began to bound off, dashing between trees and over fallen trees as if it were the child that had placed them there. For a moment he stared off into the distance where it had disappeared, confused.

Then, with a grunt, he continued on. "Get back here! Or you're never coming off that leash again!" The voice was lower now, more quiet. Perhaps he was more suspicious of the eyed trees, or else suspected his snow drake was near. Whatever the case, it had dulled his voice enough that he was less likely to be heard. A wary hand drifted near his sword, confirming the former fear to be true. Nathaniel wasn't eager to be devoured today.

~~

The snow drake, who's owner was looking so furiously for him, was entirely oblivious. The creature, who had dashed off through an open window when the chance arose, was now growling softly. A rather fat ugly thing had tainted its vision, running at him headlong. Of course, when Jakabok let his full attention befall it it noticed a number of other things. Such as precisely what had caused it to fall to begin with, and ---

Wait. What was THAT supposed to be? Some sort of Xoco toy? It was such a deranged thing! Adorable, in some odd manner, but still odd. Vaguely he wondered what it might taste like to gnaw on the hood of it. Perhaps it'd be one of those juicy toys, that were soft and spongy as they tore apart? Or perhaps another hard one, that cracked and splintered. Those were quite painful to swallow. Jakabok still reca--

"Ahh-ARK!" The animal gave a startled cry as it was tackled in the side, the heavier animal bashing into its stomach and dragging it. The snow drake skreed and cawed in pain, twisting and writhing. It tried everything to break free; pecking at the pig, clawing at the pig with its massive talons, and even jabbing at it with the ends of its spaded tails. The pig was searingly hot as well, the very breath of the thing enough to heat its usually frigid legs and ice abilities.

Snarling, cawing, and generally being very upset, it tried desperately a few more times to break free before stopping altogether. When it eventually realized that being half curled over the face of a pig made for difficult opportunities for escape, it began flapping its massive wings. The tips crushed against the forest floor, sending stinging pain to through its arms into its head. The leaves there turned to ice, freezing under the touch of the feathers, and a few of the white plumes broke free from the herd to scatter a trail below it.

It let the pain be its fuel, merely flapping all the harder, twisting and trying to right itself enough to gain leverage. It was bigger than the pig, and hopefully strong enough to carry the foul-smelling beast. If it could, it would be airborne in seconds. It intended to make pigs fly. And then fall down to the ground. Very fast. Before going splat. Then it could feast on the brains and entrails of the stupid beast, while it let the throbbing in its side die down.

"Stupeet peeg!" It howled in that language only those of the animal kingdom could understand. That tongue that sounded like no more than growls and hisses to others. Even if the pig had been to stupid to comprehend the words, it certainly wouldn't have missed the flashing rage and indignation in golden eyes. Eyes as fierce as the sun, with just as deadly a promise for those who got too close or remained too long affixed to them.