Splat, Splat, Splat. The first three drops fell heavy through the pine canopy. The gray skys swirling overhead as the rainclouds fell in from the mountains, mist still clinging to the tree tops living up to its namesake. It wasn't long before the sporadic raindrops fell quicker and thicker than before. Fast falling like a torrent through the dense pine. Soaking the wood before passing on to those beneath. The cold air stealing in through the blanket of trees latching its icy fingers on those hidden within its folds. It was through this bleak panorama that Irienys struggled.

Her heavy boots crushing through the needle carpet that smothered the landscape. Cloak dragged in hard around her as the cold leached the heat from her. Kicking her way through the landscape she left a trail of shifted leaf litter and detritus from heavy boot prints. It was clear that inside she was fuming. She wasn't long down from the moon and the distaste still coursed through her. This rain wasn't making things any better. Any second know it would burst through this canopy. She shuddered violently at the thought.

"I'm cold enough already gods damn it, like I need this to add to my gods damn problems"

Turning her face upwards she stared into the dark leaves as a single raindrop fell, gracefully onto her upturned head. It exploded on her forehead. She called out, a half growl half mutter of distaste as she threw her head back down and yanked her hood on. Her left horn tearing through the thick leather. Pursing her thick black lips she growled again and grabbed violently for a stout stick. Ripping it from the undergrowth she hurled her weight against it as she brought it down against a tree. Watching it splinter satisfyingly. Tossing the broken limb aside she slumped down against the tree pouting. Pulling her cloak in around her.

"This infernal rain, this infernal world. Even the moon was better than this."

The torrent of abuse that flowed forth could have blackened the breath it was spoken with as this lone devil, huddled for warmth in the desolate forest hid from the world. Yet it wasn't even cold. The weather mild air far from bitter but she huddled from it none the less. She spat a gob of spit to the side and fumbled in her pouch for a pipe and tobacco. Deftly pressing it into the bowl she struck awkwardly with a flint and steal to light it. Her large hands slipping over the metal and stone before finally creating the required fire. Drawing a deep breath she drew in the thick smoke before exhaling. Watching as the thick pawl drifted up skywards. The fire in her heart subsided as she puffed gently on the small pipe. Waiting for the world to pass.

A snort. The alligator's breath misted in the cold- there was magic in these woods, magic that compelled nature to go against its grain and bring the sky to meet the ground. It was, perhaps, a bit too much to expect that a kindred of the scale would be able to survive here. Stroking the alligator's strong back was a little girl, bandaged arms and hands poking out of a musty brown cloak. Her injured fingers trailed down each scale as if she could nurse the creature to life as if it were but a child taken by illness. Water sluiced into and through her cloak, and where it ran away it was accompanied by rivulets of redness.

"Robyn is sorry." She whispered, patting the giant reptile gently, leaving crimson fingerprints. "Robyn did not Know. Robyn will Know next time."

Another snort. The breath almost frosted over this time, the cloud managing to assume the jagged regards of ice and snow before dispersing into the mist. For all of Spring's joviality, a bit of Winter was still left in the air- the Old Man just didn't know when it was time to call it a night and go to bed, sapping vitality with the wisdom of death. As the pounding rain continued its inexorable trek, the alligator kicked feebly at its necropolitan master. She ignored it, apparently content to continue stroking the beast. It kicked harder. Perhaps it wasn't quite dead after all.

A sigh escaped the little girl. It, curiously, did not quite become mist, mingling with the rain instead. "Robyn knows, Robyn knows." The musty brown cloak unclasped itself before being thrown over the freezing reptile. "Wait here. Robyn will be back."

"Robyn... will be back."

As she fled the alligator huffed, warming up considerably as Winter left. Stupid Master. It cuddled alongside the cat who had been left behind as well, content to sleep through the rain, dreaming of warmth and sewage instead of mud and rain.



The rain continued unabated, driving against bandaged and fragile flesh, coloring red what used to be a white fashion statement. Boots that missed the snow became mud-logged in the ferocious, frothing mess that the ground had become and it was only through the barest of Words that the little girl managed to find her way through at all. Fate called her- there was something here, some part of a Story that needed narrating.

"More... red water."

The little girl glanced behind herself and winced. It was getting worse- she was actually starting to drip. The fabulous winter cloak was quickly becoming an unrepentant mess. All the more reason to move more quickly. Sticklike legs ran and then tripped and then ran again. Finally- finally!

The smoke was the first thing she spotted. "Hah... hah." Deep breaths. Old reflexes gone but not forgotten. Blue eyes flashed merrily. "Robyn found you. Your Story... Your Story..."

------

OOC: I hope that was okay. If there's any confusion or whatnot just PM me! It's a wee bit colder around Robyn because of her winter cloak so that's why her alligator was suffering. >>

Eyelids drooping closed the gray world was replaced by a black one. Slow intakes of breath continued as smoke curled from her upturned nostrils, she sat there for all the world like a leathery dragon. Sitting atop her hoard, little more than a cloak, sword and clothes. What a pathetic dragon. She began to slip into the realm of dream but something dragged her back from the precarious drop.

Frowning she tried to draw the thick tobacco smoke down the pipe but the once smoldering bowl had abruptly died low. The long pipe stem drooped low in her mouth but the cause of the interruption was yet to be discovered. She shivered once more, the cold driving needles into her unprotected skin. Pursing her lips she drew the cloak in hard around her still tightly closed eyes. It was then that her mind screamed at her. Sounds of life outside

The eyes flicked open, greeted by the light of the world she blinked furiously as the orbs adjusted to the blinding illumination. She looked around squinting, still struggling to see as she heard more from the creature that was encroaching on her territory. "My... story? What the bloody hell?" She muttered to herself trying to understand what was going on. Her eyes fell on the blurred outline of a human shaped creature. Not taking her eyes off it she shifted her weight and drew herself up to her full towering hight as the world began to focus.

It appeared to be... the outline of young girl. Skinny and underfed but a female human. How confidant of it to be out this far. Irienys strode forward puffing out her chest slightly and drawing her broad shoulders back in a majestic symbol of her prowess. Then her eyes fell on what was protruding from the girls skull. A wicked looking dagger, lodged firmly in that child's skull. Irienys mouth opened. The pipe dropping from her ink black lips. Loosing her composure only for a second she grabbed the falling pipe with a large fist before closing her mouth firmly. Slipping the hand behind her she pushed the pipe into her belt staring at the somehow upright girl.

"What the bloody hell spawned you." Slowly it began to dawn on her. The rising sun of knowledge imparting rays of wisdom. The ashen skin, hollow eyes, bedraggled hair and dagger. The undead. How she despised them. She spat a gob of spittle between them and snorted with thinly veiled laugh. "I know what you are and I know where you should be. So what do you want of me you wretched creature?" The last word was emphasized. The sarcasm palpable. She had seen these things on the moon, liches and undead beings, to weak to live in the real world and to weak to give up on life. Survival of the lowest form but Irienys was wary enough to know what they could do.

{{OOC the dagger refers to the one your inventory says you have stuck in your head :lol: any problems do say}}

The child's eyes gleamed as she nodded. Yes, your story-! Teeth washed by wind and rain shone wetly, filed points only subtle enough to disturb and not quite alarm. Bedraggled and caked with the offerings of the forest as she was, Robyn's face was curiously unmarred by the dust or dirt of both time and nature, an expectant, happy curve of the lips marring the otherwise serene, contrasting tableau of grace and dirt. The smile grew revealing a cavernous maw of shark-like teeth as the devil stood and when at last the creature loomed over her small frame the little girl began to tremble. Affected by some obscure, repressed emotion, her bandaged and bleeding hands clapped firmly over her mouth as her second skin danced.

"Big..." The wind whispered.

"Tall." The necropolitan silently agreed, still shaking. Gradually the shakes ebbed and faded as the mirth died away. Finally under control again, she let her hands drop away, leaving a bloody jaw that was soon washed clean by the tumbling rains, rivulets of red turning lighter and lighter as they sluiced downwards, mingling with the exotic blue dyes of her cloak, turning it purple; finding white trim, transforming the cold into hazy-lazy passion. Robyn pouted. Alice-Mommy would be mad- Alice-Mommy did not like drying and cleaning and washing. Mmpf. Robyn-Rin would manage. Robyn always managed, somehow. Searching, looking, finding, grasping at the straws of the Dream was dangerous-! But one day... one day...

Finally, after a small pause of eternity, the Storyteller spoke again.

"What the bloody hell-"

Robyn lifted her head, eyes looking desperately deceived as she peered upwards at the questioning demonkin. A question that was not a question- and repetition too!- she could see the words, twisting and collapsing on themselves, their ashes food for the next Words. Was the Storyteller sleepy?

Mouth water and a croaking laugh answered her unspoken question. Somewhere far, far away thunder should have boomed climatically accompanied by twisting, furrowing lightning but the dramatics of the sky seemed unwilling to lend their aid. Robyn shrugged. The sky seemed remarkably... empty. Whoever looked to It for guidance would receive an answer as feeble and stalwart as that of the recently deceased night and morning. Still, it was a comforting pathetic fallacy. Around them the mist writhed, suddenly contorted by a wild wind. Blood vessels stood out in the child's eyes. Fate toyed with his bones again, wondering if they should be cast.

"I know what you are-" The demonkin began.

You do not. The blood vessels became fiercer, more pronounced and the wind's intensity increased. Around them, trees shifted in sympathy. The child closed her eyes, refusing to look- refusing to read. Robyn was not- Robyn was not that. Robyn couldn't be. Robyn-Rin was Robyn-Rin, Alice-Mommy's little girl. Robyn-Rin was definitely, definitely, definitely just Robyn-Rin. Slowly, in her mind's eye, the little girl was sliding downwards, until she was hunched over, arms wrapped around her legs, knees kissing her forehead.

"...want of me you wretched creature?" The Storyteller finished.

"Robyn-Rin wants a story." Came the shallow whisper, the timid smile ready to crack. "Just a... short story."

Unbeknownst to her, a bird the color of the rainbow had appeared perched upon her back, unfathomable stare directed at the devil. And then it flapped its wings once before vanishing.

The harsh face softened somewhat. Blinking at the sudden revelation. This girl... this, undead creature. Was insane. There where no other words for it. Maybe death had some something to it. Or maybe "Robyn" was just like this originally. Irienys stared blankly at the girl before her. She was crouched and huddled some how she looked even smaller than before. Like a little waif. Skin and bones. But then, how do you put on weight if your dead? It wasn't that Irienys had warmed to the child but she had lost the fear. How could she fear a tiny malnourished stray? She ran a hand through her mane of hair. A story? She snorted slightly. Years of unlife had done nothing to mature the creature. It was as young as the day it died.

She was unwise, missing the little tell tail signs of this being. The teeth were all to sharp, the smile all to wide. Its hands where bleeding, but why? The dagger in the skull had to be there for a reason but this had all paled into insignificance. It was as if her judgment was clouded by the trembling, wet creature. Irienys had never been truly evil, and she had never been cruel. The knee jerk reaction to the undead was only natural. In spite her fearsome appearance and facard she didn't have the heart to put the creature to rest and maybe that was why she chose to ignore the signs and listened to its proposition.

"A story..."

She mulled over the idea, did she know any stories? The oral traditions of her race were slim, most passed down through written lore and children's stories were not read in a race when maturing was encouraged at the earliest opportunity. Though she knew one. Drawing her cloak under her she squatted down and sat back. Fumbling for her pipe her eyes glazed over trying to remember the story. The girl would probably have already heard it but it mattered not. She flicked out the burnt tobacco and forced some more into the bowl. It would stave off the cold. She lit it with difficulty and felt the warming smoke curl into her chest.

"Well then, I better tell it. There once was a little girl, much like you. She was going to visit her mother through a forest like this one. Along the way she met a wolf and the wolf said "which path do you choose? The path of needles, or the path of pins?" the little girl unafraid said "i choose the path of pins" So the wolf ran off down the path of needles and devoured the little girls mother. The little girl did not know of this and she scurried off down the path of pins. When she reached her mothers house she dutifully went inside and sat down by her mother. But... her mother was different."

She paused to puff on the pipe looked down at the little girl. She half meant to frighten it. It could do with some growing up and fear never hurt anyone. Now, how did that story go?

" The little girl spoke to her mother "what big eyes you have." and her mother replied "all the better for seeing you with," "what big arms you have mother," "all the better to hold you with." Then finally the girl spoke, stuttering "What big teeth you have," and again the wolf spoke for the last time "all the better to eat you with Robyn." And then the wolf ate up the little girl, her meat, her skin, her bones. Little girls are very tasty for wolves you know."

The little undead creature had its story now. She wondered what it would do now. Ask for another? Irienys had no more to give. She looked down on Robyn. Was Robyn really the little girl in that story? Or was she the wolf?

{sorry if its a bit of a weird one, its unusual telling a story in a story and building an RP around it Isn't the easiest, if you need anything changed throw me a pm}

She fell into the Story, words coalescing to form the fog and substance of a new world, a new kingdom. The faraway land of Once Upon A Time. A sigh of contentment swept through the wind and the trees as they relaxed, their limbs contorting into their original positions. The rain itself seemed to dance, their long descent finally allowed to flow in the direction the sky had intended. Through it all the trembling girl stilled and then finally stopped. Her eyes closed to the horrors of the world, seeking inwards... ever inwards, to that faraway place of grace and beauty.

"There once was a little girl..."

"Yes," Robyn breathed. "Yes..."

It had been a long time past since the last Storyteller. Robyn did not remember enough to know how long it had been- many moons and sun, for sure. The emptiness, the longing- perhaps she had never been without such feelings. Never had been truly sated. She had hungered, had hungered for so long and had been so tired, so very tired. Perhaps this one… this one…

On the path of needles, sleep claimed her.

“What big eyes you have, Mommy.”

The bed is soft, filled with angel feathers that the two of them plucked together on one crystal-clear winter afternoon. The pillow is similarly cherished, filled with angel down harvested on a midnight morning during Winterfest. It’s all that exists in this strange, twilight world. No floor, no room, no forest- just a bed, a pillow and… pins? She stares at her hand before shrugging and turns to the voice.

“…better to see you with, my dear little Robyn-Rin.” Alice-Mommy replies. She doesn’t seem to mind the sharp little things sticking out of their skin.

Robyn peers. There is something different about Alice-Mommy today. Not just the metal twigs. Something… her mind reaches but there is a wall there where something should be and she is left with nothing more than a vague feeling of disquiet. Her mind gropes, flailing in the darkness.

Nothing.

“What big… arms you have… muther.” She finally says, at a loss for words. She knows that something about that thought should alarm her but she can’t remember what. The feeling of disquiet grows as Alice-Mommy smiles- but it’s not a real smile. Not a real smile at all. Robyn can tell. For it is Robyn-Rin’s smile. How did Alice-Mommy smile-?

Shock freezes her as she realizes she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t know. She isforgetting Alice-Mommy. The words Alice-Mommy says next disappear in a torrent of static as her mind starts losing cohesion. The bedding flies apart and as the teeth close upon her-

“What big teeth… you have.” She stutters, stuck in-between the jaws of a Story. “It’s the End, isn’t it?” She whispers. The Wolf laughs and sticks to the script.

And then the wolf ate up the little girl, her meat, her skin, her bones. Little girls are very tasty for wolves you know." The devil finished. Her eyes looked vaguely curious. Inquisition born of boredom.

Robyn blinked.

“Robyn thanks you.” Her eyes almost glowed as blood started pouring off of her in earnest, staining bandages beyond repair. “Gift for gift, word for word… what would the Storyteller like in return?”

Drawing her cloak in around her tightly Irienys shivered violently. She could really go in for a fire right now. That or a nice sunny spot in the desert. The rain pattered on the leather in a constant droning rhythm. Reminding her of the cursed land she had found herself in. This place was stranger than the moon it had to be true. The bizarre war fought between the gods and the thousands of minions seemed to pale into insignificance at the child of this lower world. One of the first creatures she had met was this... Robyn. So what else could this place hold? Undead children driven insane by death or time. Though it may well be the least this place had to offer and now Irienys had to live in this place. Unwilling to return to her home and a deserter from the war she was reduced to talking to the mental incapable.

Seconds into the story the girl seemingly drifted into unconsciousness but Irienys' words still followed, pouring out over the creature. It was the only tale she knew well enough to reiterate here but strangely the girl enjoyed it despite the fact she must have heard it before. Strange familiarity for the dead? Or a human child's immature mind? Well she had appeased this little girl at least. Maybe some peace and quite for a few minuets.

Irienys had to admit, the seemingly peaceful exterior looked like an inviting position to be in in. No cares in the world but perhapses its facard hides a more troubled mind. Irienys had never been one for reading people or looking through the murk of peoples minds but she had to admit this one was more interesting than most. Her own introspective searching was brought abruptly to a halt when the child pipped up.

“Robyn thanks you...Gift for gift, word for word… what would the Storyteller like in return?” Irienys' eyes flicked over the girl. Blood was welling up behind those bandages. How did that work? Clearly dead creature... surely the blood would have gone an age ago? Unless the death wasn't to long ago but how could you tell? One rotting corpse looked much like another. The corners of her mouth twitched and eyes narrowed slightly, trying to hide her disgust wasn't easy she had spent several life times being as blunt and course as she had liked but she had seen the way the child reacted to her own death. It would be wise to prevent that from continuing. She didn't want to have a child's blood on her hands so soon... despite the fact it was already dead.

She prepared some off hand remark about not wanting anything but the snaking gusts wind wore down her arrogance. "Irienys wants... A fire. Bloody hell I'm starting to talk like the creature as well. Irienys shouted in the privacy of her mind. But she could do with that fire. It was so cold here. Her own fire magic had withered pathetically since the defeats on the moon. Perhaps her own confidence linked to her ability's. All she could remember strongly was one dastardly trick picked up in the dark army for blinding opponents. She hadn't used it as the other had. They played with the blinded foe like a cat with a mouse. She had just finished the fight quickly and cleanly. The brutalization of the enemy was not something she had ever partaken in. Leaning forward she spoke again. "The story maker wants a fire. To keep her warm." Irienys wondered if the dead thing even remembered what warm was.

Sliding back Irienys' mouth closed tightly as if regretting asking for help from a child. She had sunk to a new low but she needed to be warm. This environment was getting to her. Chilling her bones, making her brittle, weak and irritable.