Hear tell the tale of the muses, a tale they’ll love to tell if you’re one to listen– A tale of a small pack of ancient wolves that used to roam the lowlands. Lands that were known to fill with a blanket of mist, so thick, one could not see their own hand in front of their face. This pack hunted these lands- they roamed these lands; every inch, every mile- they thrived. Hear tell- they were there, then they weren’t— one may guess like ghosts, flickering in and out of the living realm. One probably wouldn’t make such a guess, but if they did, they would surely win a prize. For these wolves had become so in touch with the unseen realms, they had gained the ability to slip through the veil itself. The veil that parted the living world from the spirit world; Where the souls of the lost wandered in a realm filled with the spirits of all the misdeeds of the living… hunted and preyed upon, used as fuel in their vile machinations… And their machines.
Mostly their machines.
It is said these wolves did more than crossover, they inspired spirits- wild spirits– formless in the vast nothingness beyond the veil. Gave them form; gave them inspiration. Gave them a lust to crossover themselves…
The tale of the muse’s is garbled here, you may need another to listen, but of this I have heard enough, for it was these wild spirits that eventually ripped through the veil themselves. These spirits that sought bearers, these spirits who, when the moon is at its full, finally take over the form of those cursed– Werewolves terrorize the night.
A fine tale of a nameless land, of an ancient animal that once roamed it- but once you’ve stepped back from one world, and witnessed the world before, you begin to question: ‘What world exactly did these ancient wolves roam?’ Or so asked one of the cursed, born on a technologically advanced ‘Earth’, though standing, thinking, pondering, on the world that came before- Mya, the Cursed World. A world with packs of werewolves that roamed far more than just the lowlands.
This same cursed man stood on solid grass-covered earth, led to a shore of mud and a river of flowing water. All so familiar, yet all alien versions of the home he once knew. He stomped his foot; it was solid enough, that was true. But would it even be called ‘earth’ here? Should it not be called ‘mya’? Or is it just dirt as in earth is dirt. What of it, that one world would be named after the dirt of another? What then was Mya named after? Fine questions all… but was their one to answer?
His musing continued as he came in from the wild, marched straight up the river bank, to the very dock where the old-timey riverboat sat docked. Really, the boat wasn’t even old-timey here on Mya, just standard fair. On Earth one may witness such a contraption only on television shows or maybe some movies that fancied themselves period-pieces; one or two, such, were sure to mention Mark Twain- and the time he spent upon one.
Two years, has he spent on this all new world. Just trying to find his way, with nothing but his curses. One curse that, monthly, turned him into a beast. And another curse, that dragged him, weekly, into the paths of monsters unknown. He accepted, a long time ago, that despite successfully killing that axe-murdering, demon-possessed man, the original curse had not been broken. Surly, he failed to kill the demon-witch, for that poor corpse, it wore, was merely a vehicle.
He strolled aboard the riverboat, loitered for a moment. In no hurry to return to his cabin, nor his chores. The night before, had been a night of the full moon. That monthly curse had taken its toll- and not just for him- for all those that lived and worked aboard the vessel; little more than a ferry for most the months of the year.
On a world that was filled with monstrosities, his weekly curse made for both a colorful life, and some rather unique acquaintances.
The most destructive and horrible monsters on this planet were the ‘World Consumers’—he had never witnessed such a creature on Earth. Many times, though, thanks to his curse, has he met with the local World Consumer. Their true form was so massive one could not look upon it. In fact, it was easier to look upon a mountain, than to see the vastness of the World Consumers. You could manage the sheen of their carapace, maybe a tentacle or two, ripping through canyons and gorges, gripping at the very crust of the planet. Other than that, seemingly mindless entities bent on their job; their function. Yet, despite this, they were intelligent. They were, if anything, demi-gods among monsters. They would send their mental projections far and wide, appearing as normal humans, wheeling and dealing, all the while devouring the world out from under its inhabitants.
The ‘mental-projections’ were what he met with, oh… so many times now. His curse would drag them to him, regularly.
There were dozens of them, spread out around the globe. ‘The Evil League of World Consumers’, a name they deemed appropriate for themselves, self-aggrandized, if somewhat sarcastically. For surely, they would die if they not find new worlds to feed upon. A force of nature. Yet they witnessed those that lost it all as they drained the world of its life, its warmth. Such uncaring apathy, could only be deemed evil.
All committed with an eye for what came next. Peering to Earth, salivating for it- a fresh, untouched meal, just hovering there in the future. Alas, much to their detriment, they could not move to a new world without first leaving the last a vile husk. As long as there was life still within the realms, they were stuck… and as long as the Witch-Queen needed Mya to survive, the planet itself would be as immortal as she.
Fact is, witches ruled this world. They ruled it with hate. Hate for each other- but most of all, hate for the Queen that stood over all. A reign that included the World Consumers.
Mya was cursed in its un-life. A zombie planet, held together only by some dark twist of fate; a paradox the cosmos had never thought to protect against.
Mya was corrupted through and through, even what life was drained by the World Consumers was tainted and unsatisfying to their palate. Hatred.
It was this hatred that kept Mya alive, kept it turning… something that surely should have been let go— should have been let to die. Yet, instead, it shuffled on. Like the zombies that marched through the dead lands; the stretches of wasteland between what was left of a civilization, equally frozen, unable to advance…
The world, itself, had shifted him here. Where his kind belonged- in the wetlands. A terrain cut-up and carved-through by so many braided rivers, that it was nearly impossible to traverse without a boat. Many a riverboat crossed these lands. Most, manned by the cursed. By those that, once a month, transformed into the wolves that roamed what swaths of land were large enough to entertain them.
Fact is, these many rivers kept the werewolves from venturing far, thus protected civilization and halted the spread of the curse.
One monthly curse, down. The weekly, still sure to be on its way. This made him especially weary of his environment. There was a tickle at the back of his mind, a tingle along his arm. His years of fending off monsters, had made him sensitive to their presence. Something was not right, he was sure. More, something was coming. He could only guess what.
He was not the only one returning from the wild, more and more straggled in. Mostly men, a few women. They looked a bit abashed as he turned to scrutinize them, though strode silently, straightening their freshly donned clothes, grimly returning to their lives. One woman, much too busy peering in a small hand mirror, rubbing dirt from her face, to cast even a weary brow in his direction. They were fairly sheepish of the truth- they compared what the beast may have done, in their absence, to what maybe a pet may have done if it slipped its leash; run out the back gate, spent the night free to do as it wished.
The terrain of the wetlands usefulness was two-fold, as it also protected the humans living in the wetlands. All thanks to the simple fact, that many of the undead hated to cross waterways. Some downright couldn’t, but many found it painful enough to steer clear. There were always those that may force the lesser across– or even, still, some poltergeists that may force their chained, just to cause them pain— though the dead in the wetlands, were far fewer than those that roamed the plains of the wastelands.
He’d of thought the materializing figure was a ghost, had he not met it so many times. The figure had the neat clean suit of an old-fashioned door-to-door salesman, and the matching smile that said he had something to sell. Charismatic, funny– Ultimately, it was a trick of the mind, showing him what he wanted to see, to feel at comfort. Yet, he knew, this was a monster unparallel, looking him dead in the eye. Made that perfect white-tooth grin, a little bit scary.
“What are you selling, Harry?” he said easy enough, to what he knew, was a World Consumer come to visit.
“What am I selling?” Harry feigned a wound, “I can’t just come see an old friend?”
“Friends? Really?” nice and easy was the best way to deal with it, truthful as he could, “What are you selling, Harry?”
“Just a warning—” Harry dropped the gimmick of caring, if not the smile, and asked, “You heard about the Queen’s Hunter?”
“I heard the Witch-Queen’s got a new special ‘pet’,” true enough, he also knew she came with him from earth, though was smart enough to leave that off the table.
“Sure, that’s the one.” Harry stated with a finality that he felt in his gut, “She’s coming for you… come, what is it? —oh, On ‘Halloween’.”
“Well, that’s today?”
“I’d say she’s well on her way then,” Harry proclaimed as he collapsed back into nothing.
_ __ _
Fiona Hart strode along the Queen’s vessel with the stride of one who, well obviously, not one who owns the place, there’s a freaking Queen, but clearly as one with the queen’s blessing. The fair-skinned blond did not really get to don her pink dresses anymore. It was a much harsher world she’d come to. She wore a lot more leather- ‘lot more straps and belts. She didn’t really even like any of it. The wardrobe all felt too big- too heavy, like a costume. But it was much better for all the roughhousing and the wear-and-tear that was the norm on Mya. Never knew if you were going to be fighting off monsters- or dodging ghosts or their shades. Fending off a zombie horde or, as was true the most for Fiona, appeasing some evil queen’s latest wish.
Fiona was strong, powerful— something unique in this world, or the next, really. Once the queen knew this, Fiona became her plaything. Her favorite plaything. Fiona lost her freedom. Though parlayed it into, at least, some form of control. She made herself useful, been working for the queen ever after.
This was not a normal vessel, nor even one you may find on earth- no matter how advanced their technology became. This was more like an airship pulled directly from some random fantasy game/story. A wooden ship, floating on air, finely carved and polished. Truly it was a sight, being propelled by sales filled with wind, no balloons, no propellers- just a dark spell. Fiona could only wonder what powered it.
Fiona marched forward, peering over the banister, down to the world below. The ship had just dropped down from cloud cover. She was trying to find the best vantage to take in the area below, hurriedly, moving from stem to stern. Cast an authoritative gaze to any deckhand she passed. All to remind them who was in charge; who was in control.
A sudden updraft sent a whirlwind around her, the wind blew through her hair, sent the collar of her leather jacket smacking her right in the face. Just a bit of a reminder, that she wasn’t really in control of anything, or so she thought with a grimace.
The wetlands below seemed to stretch on for miles upon miles. Rivers cut the land, weaved through canopies of foliage, that, in fact, blocked large portions of said rivers. Long waterways and streams braided together into a much larger mass. Boats filled with ‘River-rats’; entire colonies of people lived throughout this area. ‘Deemed one of the safest on Mya, as long as you knew where the moon was in its cycle.
Never seen such a waterway like this on earth. Though, really, her life there wasn’t truly that much more than her time here. Two years since she tumbled through that backdoor- like, four or five since she pierced the veil; escaped her father and all his machinations.
Easy enough. She was there on the queen’s order. Though it was an order she wasn’t really all that keen to see to its end. Especially as her target would provide quite a bit of information. Information which Fiona could not provide. Information about Earth.
One didn’t go against the Witch-Queen. She was far too powerful.
Fiona did all she could to withhold as much information for as long as she could. It did not stop the Queen. She pried it all from her mind, directly. The only block still standing, was the simple fact, Fiona Hart really didn’t know that much about Earth. She was native to the Earth’s spirit realm, really did not even have proper citizenship to any of its countries.
What Fiona did know, was that she had not crossed over alone. And since she knew it- the Witch-Queen now knew it as well.
The sun went down as she weighed her options– as it did, as the night enveloped the land, the light blue glow returned to her skin- the streak of white in her ghostly hair ebbed the golden-blond locks out of existence. The next sailor that would catch her gaze, backed away as the yellow blaze reminded— she was not human.
Fiona figured she was close enough. She’d find him, or she wouldn’t; she only needed to try. She stripped off that horrible heavy leather jacket, and with one fluid movement, threw her legs up and over the polished wood banister, let herself drop down to the world below.
__ _ __
Well, he wasn’t going to wait trapped on a boat for her. With a word to the captain, he had let the riverboat leave without him. The welcome was extended should he ever find his way clear of his new troubles. He hoped one day to return, though deep down he knew this part of his life was done.
He knew exactly what was after him… knew how strong she was to boot.
You see, once upon a time, he thought he’d broke his ‘weekly’ curse. The curse that dragged him into hell once a week, the one that manipulated his life, to always put him in the path of the nearest, most dangerous, monster. Turned out, the pretty little blonde in the pink dress was just the nearest ‘big-bad’. He never knew it; she appeared human during the day. Every week she’d just appear in his life. He thought it was fate. In fact, he was working up the nerve to ask her out sometime. That is, before he awoke on Mya the night after a full moon. The truth, though, was apparent with the following night- when she became that strange ghost-girl before everyone’s’ eyes. The days were quite a bit shorter on Mya, thus their time at the Goodwin Manor was cut short. There was not anything the young boy, that seemed to know something about her, could do about it; his parents wanted her out and since he arrived with her- he was out as well. Was not long until the two went their separate ways, she was a monster after all.
Now that she was after him, he pondered what was best. Running was his only real option, lest he find himself in front of the Queen. The Witch-Queen wasn’t known for her pleasantness to men. Or to anyone really- it is pure hatred that kept her alive. He had to assume, it was the presence of the World Consumers that cloaked him from even the Witch-Queen; you couldn’t get much bigger or bad-er than the World Consumers.
He planned to keep moving, try to stay under anyone’s radar… maybe become a hermit in the woods, live like a nomad. He only had the one trunk of possessions. He kept such things as possessions low, mostly thanks to having to move around so much before he found his way to the wetlands. But a lot of times, trouble would hit– and he lost all that was his anyway, again and again. That’s what it was to live on the Cursed World.
One thing gave him pause: The World Consumer had come to warn him. How could it be the most dangerous monster around, once you spark a friendship… No sooner had the thought struck him that he may have lost his ‘cloak’, then, suddenly, a form dropped in from above.
A speeding silhouette in the darkness as it met with the packed solid earth… dirt.
It was enough to call his attention.
She landed solidly, on her feet- a little bit of a bounce as she absorbed the momentum. No harm to her person. She turned and looked directly at him.
He recognized her immediately and by the look on her face, she recognized him as well.
“Huh,” she said slightly amazed, “Thought that’d take longer. Things don’t usually go my way.”
“Well you’d be amazed how often this type of thing happens to me,” he said simply.
“Yeah?”
“Once a week,” he stated, honestly.
‘Kind of wished he wasn’t so nice to that World Consumer.
— ___ —
Happy Halloween!
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