[centre][h1][sub]Mish-Cheechel the Avenger[/sub][/h1] [img]https://i.imgur.com/LDRtUBd.gif[/img] & [h1] Zima the Zimmer [/h1] In [h1] Death Song Adagio [/h1] [/centre] [hr] Zima the Zimmer zoomed about Mish-Cheechel as the two wandered through the forest. They had traveled a ways after stopping for the hunger that ate at his belly, and the thirst that parched his throat. Then the inevitable curse of sleep- all of Mish-Cheechel’s words at the time were lost on his spirit companion. It was true, she did not need to eat, to drink or to sleep- but she did sleep willingly from time to time. Indeed, Zima was beyond the whims of Bjork needs but all the free time meant one thing. Questions. They flowed from her brimming tongue if she had one, and she would ask about anything. ‘Why color green? Why red? Why wet? Dry? What bird?’ On and on they went, without rhyme or reason. Like the incessant mewlings of a newborn kit, or of a manbjork whose head got hit by a tree one too many times, only devoting his life to simple questions of whys and what ifs near the end of his days. One no longer fit to act and only trying to find a deeper meaning in his time left, when there was truly none. Zima was just like that, except, as far as anyone knew, she would live forever. Would she still ask questions? There was at least a small victory to be had, for her speech was improving and talk between the two was flowing better. Perhaps she truly was as a kit, just a child set out on the same path of vengeance as he. Now that was how one should act. There was only doing! The Green Murder was out there somewhere and it would be vanquished once and for all. So Mish-Cheechel thought at least, but Fate had other plans, as Fate often did. “Misssshhhh.” Zima called out. “Missssshhhhh Cheeechellllll. Mish-Cheechel!” She floated around a tree and found him at last with an excitable giggle. “There you are! Look!” The mist that made up her body transformed into a small otter-like creature, but it was much smaller and incredibly skinny. Narrow, as if made for tight spaces. “What this?” she inquired, jumping around his head. The massive manbjork sniffed and blinked his red eyes at her, barely restraining a yawn. “Youra a zimmin hround doomus Zinma. Wassa ming or somin?” His stomach rumbled and the bear sat beneath him shook its great head and shuffled side to side. Scratching at his chin, Mish-Cheechel allowed himself to fall from the saddle and landed awkwardly, leapt now on this foot and now on his tail, then righted himself and stumbled towards the tree and placed a palm on it. “Danggreen muhr,” he mumbled as he brought his chisel-like teeth to the bark and tore groggily at it, then spat the wood out. He left a few unclean gashes in the bark and then huffed and sat down against the tree. “Imma te yasummin Zemehhh,” he rubbed his face and restrained another yawn, before stretching so that his ribs cracked and small tears bubbled in his tear ducts but did not quite fall, “ahwa zayin,” he leaned back and made himself comfortable against the tree. He paused for a second, frowned, then got up. He stood there for a few seconds, staring at Zima, then sat back down and lay as though to sleep - but he had no sooner closed his eyes before he leapt back up. “Zima!” He declared unsteadily, “let’s go!” He clambered onto the bear and sat in the saddle again, staring vacantly ahead. He had been doing that for two days now. Zima didn't know for sure what was going on with the bjork but she knew something was more amiss then he was letting on. She stayed close as they set off at last, Mish-Cheechel rocking side to side dangerously as the bear made its way through the trees. As the pair traveled they started to notice… movement nearby. Something big that was moving as quickly and without caution through plants as physically possible. It wasn’t coming towards them… it was just fleeing from the direction they were heading in and happened to just pass them by. A strange occurrence to be sure… Then the rest of the stampede started. Though calling it a stampede was wrong… It was more of an exodus of animals of all shapes and sizes, running as quickly as their bodies, and the terrain, would let them away from something ahead of the pair. It wasn’t just land animals either; Flocks of birds could be seen and heard flying away… and a close eye at the river might even spy some fish that were strangely all heading in the one direction as well. Zima went on the alert quickly, gasping in surprise at the stampede and exodus of animals. She began to growl in a high pitch. "Something is wrong. Something bad." She swirled around Mish's head, her shape losing any identity beside the usual fog. For his part, Mish-Cheechel opened his eyes wide and leapt to his feet even as the bear (whom they had named Bear on Zima’s insistence) continued plodding forth through the snow. “I’ll show ‘em bad!” He cried as he pulled his spear from the saddle and leapt on the nearest fleeing wolf. The animal easily darted away and continued fleeing, however. Mish-Cheechel rose just as a bear dawned on him. He stared at it bleary-eyed and its great panicking snout rammed into him as he thrust his spear right between its great legs and missed entirely. He fell over backwards and squealed as one of its paws found his stomach and pushed him deep into the snow, leaving him wide awake but otherwise unharmed. “Fuggin Green Murder scum.” He managed as he rose and the great stampede was behind them. He glanced over at Zima. “What was that about now, eh?” Zima did not share a giggle like she would normally at such a display, in fact she had become rigid in form. Almost like a rock in shape but not of texture. "Danger. Something… Someone coming. Can't you hear…?" She said cryptically. The manbjork glanced at her, adrenaline pulsing through him and bloodshot eyes wide. “Are they now Zim? Well, let’s get it over with then.” And with that he strode forth clutching the spear in his numbed hands and wearing a terrible frown. His eyes burned, but the memory of sleep was gone. His stomach rumbled but there was no thought of food. His muscles ached but [i]rest was for those without vengeance[/i]. He snuck from tree to tree, glancing warily into the snow and darkness, leaping from shadow to shadow into the heart of whatever it was that caused the forestlife to panic and flee. He did not pause to wonder why bears and wolves and deers would flee the eagle god - for there was no doubt in his mind that they were now approaching that horrorsome thing. He was not without fear - that nagging voice clawed and pulled, but he brushed it off and did not hear: he only ventured forth and stalked to revenge himself and Clan Rod’s folk. As Mish-Cheechel continued, Zima close behind, they still heard or saw the occasional slower animal that was trying to flee or make its speedy exit… but as they stalked or floated [i]it[/i] started to finally be heard on the edge of their hearing. It was… difficult to put into words what the sound actually was: There was no rhyme or reason to it, loud and energetic but terrible and horrific at the same time as it assaulted the ears and seemed to reach deep into the part of the soul that enjoyed art and music before stabbing a knife into it and twisting the blade. The true horror of the terrible din through was, for those lifeforms capable of higher thought… Despite how unworldly, terrible and tortuous it was to listen to, it also provoked a degree of curiosity and fascination. It was captivating in the same manner that a public execution tended to draw a crowd to witness it. Fascinating because this was what it meant to discover truly terrible music and sound, rather than just listening to songs you didn’t like or amatures that had only just started to learn how to play their chosen instrument and still weren’t very good at it yet. The animals living in the area clearly did not enjoy it, whatever it was. The bear that Mish-Cheechel had left behind seemed to be… struggling with itself. It clearly wanted to turn around and run, but the divine will that had bound it into service compelled it onwards regardless of its natural instincts. The closer they got to the source and the louder the noise got, the more they started to notice other animals. Some were standing, others were on the ground, but they were still breathing and rigid with their eyes glazed over. Unresponsive to anything and everything around them. They were a creepy but more pleasant sight than the dead animals though; Birds and animals that had clearly slammed themselves into tree trunks until they had expired, horrific self-inflicted claw marks to the neck and chest… several animals, including one of the largest bears the pair had ever seen, had opted to go to the river and stick their heads underwater before breathing deeply. Mish-Cheechel, at that point, finally paused and took in the scene. He scrunched up his snout at the smell of death and glanced at where the blood of the forestfolk dripped down the bark or grew in lazy pools on the loamy earth. It dawned on him only then that this could never be the Green Murder’s doing - it was the sort to kill wantonly, no doubt, but somewhere in its demented head there was [i]reason[/i] to it and purpose. That was to say, some kind of rationale that Mish-Cheechel had seen and which the Murder had deigned to explain. There was none of that here. He glanced ahead, where the noise seemed to roil up like some terrible wall, and then behind him, where there was safety. After a brief moment, he shrugged and turned away. “Fuck this Zima, I don’t know what’s up there but I sure as hell don’t want to find out. Let’s go.” And with that the manbjork backed away at speed, leapt onto Bear’s back, and turned the relieved creature away from the noise and stench of death. Zima gave no complaint to that suggestion and eagerly followed after Mish. “Sound… Wrong. Very wrong.” She murmured as she seemed to focus on all the death and insanity around them. “Death…” The mist seemed to shake a little back and forth before zipping around Mish’s head once more. And then… the sound ceased. There was suddenly silence… for the most part. The river still ran and the wind still ruffled the leaves in the trees, but there were no more animal noises since they had either fled, were in a presently catatonic state, or were dead. And then… “[color=f6989d]Hi. Did you like my song?[/color]” A youthful and energetic tone asked them. ...They weren’t alone anymore. The figure that had joined them had simply… appeared before them the moment that they looked away, be it turning to look in a different direction or blinking. There had to be some kind of magic or witchcraft afoot because there was absolutely no way that the figure could have naturally snuck up on anyone without being spotted in any sane world. Neither Mish-Cheechel nor Zima had ever seen a being like this before. Standing on two hooved legs and wearing a beautiful white gown, the humanoid equine offered them a smile as their multicolored and ridiculously poofy mane and tail shifted slightly behind them, even as a horn rested on their forehead, jutting out. They were beautiful in their way, but if they were a male or female was impossible to pin down. They seemed to be significantly smaller than Mish, causing them to have to look up at the larger manbjork. And held proudly in their hand was a flute made out of wood. It seemed to just be that; a flute whittled out of wood… and not even done in an artistic or masterful way. Still, the strange entity was staring right at them, eyes wide and filled with a desire to get some earnest feedback or praise for their musical talent… and completely ignorant and blind to the insanity and death that had been inflicted on the area. Mish-Cheechel stared at the odd creature for a few silent seconds. “No, it was the worst thing I’ve heard in my life.” He said frankly. “In fact, if I were you I’d find some way to never play music or sing ever again - I dunno, rip out your tongue or something.” Lack of sleep had made him oddly loose-tongued, and any apprehensions about speaking so brusquely to this strange being - clearly more powerful than he was, and mighty enough to strike fear even into Zima’s great swirling form - was non-existent. His stomach rumbled and he cracked his own neck with a quick twist. “You know, I sometimes wonder to myself if there is some kind of torturous hellscape the likes of you can go fuck off to if you die - or even better, if we kill you off. It’d mean death wouldn’t be a mercy for you, y’know? I mean, I don’t even mind that you were killing all those scum back there, but then you come along all happy like and ask me in that [i]stupid[/i] voice: ‘DiD yOu LiKe My SoNg?’ - no I fuckin didn’t. And, like, what even is the point? Why the hell did you do it? Was there any reason at all? Here I am, splitting my backside tearing at trees and trying to kill even one of those fuckin beasts, and you come along all frivolous and smiley and knock out half the damn forest - and there’s not even a reason behind it. Y’know, as soon as I’m done with the Green Murder maybe I should turn to wankers like you. In fact,” he turned in his saddle, brought one foot over and jumped down, spear in hand. "Mish-" Zima tried to say but his rant continued. “What do I care, it doesn’t even matter. Here, I’ll do you in right now. Go on, play your stupid song - whatcha gonna do, blow my brains out? Help me drown myself? [i]Assist[/i] me in bashing my head against your skull so that maybe I’ll bash your brains out as I bash my own? Whatcha think? I like that last one, personally.” The manbjork continued raving away as he hefted his spear and casually approached the equine, a smile growing on his face, bloodshot eyes wide and pupils grown to the size of little moons. For their part, the strange Equine seemed inclined to let the manbjork rant and rave in a polite silence, the smile never leaving their face… but their eyes slowly narrowing with what appeared to be anger. The sleep-deprived Mish-Cheechel had clearly made a mistake… through exactly what that mistake was and when he made it was debatable. As the rant came to a pause, the equine finally spoke… and did so in the exact same tone of voice they had before. “[color=f6989d]Oh, I didn’t kill anyone. I was just playing a song to pass the time while I was waiting for you to get here Mish-Cheechel. But since you’re clearly not in the mood for explanations, I’ll just give you the gift I intended to give you to help you fulfill your oath to me and let you be on your merry way.[/color]” With the statement given, there was suddenly a multi-colored blur as within less than the blink of a mortal eye, the equine figure had [i]moved[/i] from where they had been standing to cover the distance between themself and Mish-Cheechel, before leaping off the ground in order to impale the manbjork through the heart with the wooden flute, driving it through fur, skin, bone and muscle as if it were nothing and out the other side. Yanking the flute out and holding the blood covered thing in a now blood covered hand, the Equine’s smile seemed to grow a little as it reached out and placed a hand over Mish-Cheechel’s heart… and the angry manbjork would feel something anchor itself to his body and soul as the light of his life faded and a body without a working heart started to fail. “[color=f6989d]Enjoy the brief respites of darkness that death will offer you Mish-Cheechel. It is the closest thing to rest you’ll have until your oath to me is fulfilled and you successfully slay the Green Murder.[/color]” Zima screamed. "No no no! Mish!" She yelled, taking the form of wind and trying to push the Equine back. There was anger in her voice now. "You leave now Song Demon!" The Equine didn’t budge… though their mane and tail was blown around a little bit. “[color=f6989d]Don’t worry… he’ll get better.[/color]” They insisted with a surprising amount of confidence. “[color=f6989d]I was here to give him this blessing anyway - so he could go on his way without starving or dropping from lack of sleep, because he’s been trying [i]so hard[/i] to keep to his word but his body was slowly betraying him… So I decided to take pity on him and made it so that his body won’t slow him down anymore. He won’t need food, water or rest to function… and even death is more of an inconvenience then a stopping point it should be now.[/color]” Glancing down at the blood coated flute in their hand, the Equine added “[color=f6989d]As for that… I’m actually okay with honest criticism because… well, lies are bad and if someone doesn’t tell you an uncomfortable truth how can you deal with it? But he didn’t have to be a jerk about it.[/color]” The spirit growled all the same but stopped her aggressive blowing upon the being as she realized it was fruitless. She seemed to still for a long time, floating around the body of Mish like some lost thing. “Death is… Death. No reason to kill. Cruel. No reason to die. Death is undoing.” She paused in thought before adding, “If what said is true, then Mish is corpse. Walking. Undead. Undying. Abomination. Against cycle.” She said in a voice like ice before her form began to coalesce into the shape of animal bones. “Mish words truth but harsh.” She seemed to agree, her shape changing to that of a small misty dove. It looked upon them. “You are like papa? Creator. God? What is your name?” “[color=f6989d]In my defense, he had become an abomination against life long before I got to him.[/color]” The Equine answered earnestly. Before a little smile appeared on their face again. “[color=f6989d]You are very clever. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.[/color]” They took a moment to clear their throat. “[color=f6989d]When Mish-Cheechel made his oath, he swore it on the names of all the gods, known and unknown to him. As for my name… well…[/color]” A small, good humored chuckle actually escaped before he continued “[color=f6989d]Names are important little one and I have many. But for the sake of this conversation, I am the Keeper of the Tree of Harmony. It’s an utter delight to meet you.[/color]” Zima kept a safe distance from the Keeper, never letting her eyes off him. “Delight. Perhaps. Papa said, if ever to meet another like him, to be true. To be polite. Never assume. But… It is hard. Mish was no abomination. Do you think he knew? Of such an oath made? Just misguided. Lost and afraid. Rage… Vengeance consumed. No question such what you did, not my place. Only wonder if truly deserved.” Her form changed to that of a mink. She hopped around Mish’s body. “When will wake?” The Keeper shrugged slightly at the question. “[color=f6989d]I have no idea. His body will heal and he’ll awaken, but I’ve never done something like this before so your guess is as good as mine. Shouldn’t take too long though… I mean it was [i]just[/i] a stab through the heart.[/color]” As for the rest, they tilted their head… and the poofy mane flopped cutely to the side because of it. “[color=f6989d]I doubt he did at the time… but just because an oath is made with haste and pain doesn’t make it any less valid. I confess part of my motivation in this is to serve as a warning to those who hear the tale of your friend that one should be careful when calling upon the attention of the gods. I was meeting with the Lord of Parasites when we [i]both[/i] heard the call… and your friend should be thankful my brother decided he had better things to do.[/color]” Zima flashed between a handful of animal shapes, undecided on what to settle on. “Parasites…” She said aloud to herself before focusing her attention back at the Keeper in the form of doe. “Warning is received. I, Zima, will make that he know better. And any we meet.” She looked at Mish again. “Hurt runs deep.” She looked at them once more. “Do you, Keeper, know the Green Murder?” There was a small ‘hmm’ of thought from Keeper as he considered the question. “[color=f6989d]Who’s that? I haven’t met them personally yet. Maybe if you tell me about them it’ll jog my memory.[/color]” She became an eagle in flight. “Mish says green bird. Large. Terrible. She spoke anger. Kill many bjork. Many young.” She became a small bjork kit looking up at the Keeper with large eyes. “Is why he hunts Green Murder.” It was with a degree of sadness that Keeper shook his head. “[color=f6989d]I have many kin and we generally have many different forms and names. All I can say for certain is that this was not the work of the Lord of Parasites, the Master of the Hunt, the Mistress of Destruction or myself. While it is true that all of us are able to inflict chaos and destruction as our duties and whims dictate, this Green Murder’s methods run counter to their desires and goals.[/color]” “[color=f6989d]The Lord of Parasites’s hunger is great, but they prefer their meal being consumed over a period of time. The Master of the Hunt would not be involved in a messy mass slaughter, even more so when the target cannot offer a challenge by fleeing or fighting back. The Mistress of Destruction, despite her title, takes her duty seriously and strives only to test; She would have made it clear that she was only doing it to test if the bjork were strong and adaptable enough to survive in the world with no hate or anger behind her actions.[/color]” Keeper explained, before offering a small smile of their own. “[color=f6989d]As for myself… I didn’t do it. Not only is the fact that I value my word and hate lies more than enough proof of that statement, but I can assure you that your companion would know if I had done it or not. A green eagle is such a tacky form to take after all.[/color]” Zima shrugged. "Obvious. You are different shaped. Not green. You kill with song, not talon and tooth. Is there more to give now or would you leave before he awakes?" Zima asked, becoming like a cold serpent, somewhat reminiscent of a certain heat goddess if any knew. "He will be angry and attack you, I know. Safe for you, not for him. Understand?" Keeper tilted his head in confusion. “[color=f6989d]What do you mean, kill with a song? I’m willing to accept that I might be something of an amateur when it comes to playing music but I honestly can’t help but think you’re being a bit over dramatic by claiming I’m so bad people who hear it die.[/color]” The question about if they planned to stay until Mish-Cheechel’s awakening was a valid one though as Keeper rolled their shoulders a bit. “[color=f6989d]I think I might as well take my leave. I’ve done what I came here to do and as amusing as it would be to continue to come up with ways to protect myself, that would kind of be counterproductive to the whole ‘helping him keep his oath’ thing. Tell him I would wish him luck, but Luck is dead and buried.[/color]” Zima became the flute he held. "Flute." She said. "Killed with song. Through heart." She became the small dove again. "I mean no disrespect Keeper. I will pass message along." There was a moment of understanding as Keeper made an ‘oh’ noise before looking at the flute in their hand. “[color=f6989d]Oh right… that was a thing.[/color]” And with little more than a shrug the equine turned to trot away at a calm and steady pace, offering a final wave as they departed. “[color=f6989d]Take care little one. I’m sure there will be others keeping an eye on you and your friend as the performance continues.[/color]” Zima said nothing else as the Keeper left and went back to circling over Mish's body. Not long after, the mighty bulk of the cave bear came and sat down next to Mish and nuzzled his body as a bear might nuzzle as a newborn cub. "There there Bear.” Zima cooed. “Mish will be okay. Just angry. Very angry.” She twirled above their heads in the shape of a fire. “None shall now stop his vengeance." [hider=Summary] Mish and Zima travel some more, Zima learns to talk better like the newborn spirit she is. Mish is basically dying from lack of sleep and food but his vengeance still burns. Soon enough animals begin to stampede, running past them as if fleeing something. This spooks Zima, who begins to act strange. Eventually they begin to hear music and more animals acting strange, as if trying to drown the music out. The two begin to leave upon Bear but stop when Aethel comes forth in the form of a pony/human with a flute. Some talk begins and Mish blasts their performance as absolutely terrible, which then prompts Aethel to run him through the heart with their flute, killing him. Not to worry though, after a tense talk with ZIma it is revealed Mish is now cursed for all time, until his quest for vengeance is sated. Zima and Aethel, whose name to them is Keeper of the flute or something, talk some more before parting ways. Leaving Zima and Bear to await Mish’s awakening. [/hider] [hider=Vigor Costs] 1 Vigor to make Mish a Champion. Aethel blesses/curses Mish: 5 Vigor all up. 1 Vigor in order to make it so Mish doesn’t need to eat or drink in order to survive or function effectively. 1 Vigor so that Mish doesn’t need sleep in order to survive or function effectively. 2 Vigor so that Mish can die or be killed in just about any horrible manner one can think of and despite being dead, his body will simply regenerate and he’ll return to life in due time. 1 Vigor for a hidden feature. [spoiler]In the event that Mish kills the ‘Green Murder’, her godly shard will be transported safely and intact to Aethel[/spoiler] [/hider] [hider=Spirit] Zima started with 4 spirit +2 for post =6 spirit Mish-Cheechel is now a champion. Started with 0 spirit +2 for post = 2 Spirit [/hider]