Monster Party Book 6: Only mortal trust or faerie dust.
Chapter Eight: Why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends?
The six adventurers traveled onwards into the Shadow Rift along that nameless road which would hopefully take them first to the South Ford and then the Malachite Palace.
The more time they spent there, the more the group grew accustomed to their surroundings, no matter how bizarre they might be. The six had traveled across many strange lands after all, and even if this was unquestionably one of the strangest, it was only by matters of degree rather than something truly unexpected.
Spotting a mossy rock perched more less directly in the middle of the road, Alexander shifted his pace slightly. He gave the rock a quick nudge from his foot to make sure that neither he nor any of the other ended up tripping over it.
"Ooph!" Cried out a rather high pitched voice.
A small head, arms, legs, and tail poked out from beneath the stone, or shell as it suddenly proved to be. The turtle he'd just kicked looked up at him reproachfully. Its glare was made was frostier still by a pair of tiny spectacles perched on the end of its nose.
"I'm sorry…?" Alexander awkwardly apologized to the "turtle" he'd just kicked.
Seeking to mend fences as quickly as possible, he twisted his wrist and flashed Maeve's black stone ring towards the "reptile" that he suspected to be some manner of Arak.
The turtle rocked itself back and forth and slowly managed to rise up onto its two back legs.
"Apology accepted." It replied a touch gruffly.
Then it broke into something approximating a bow, almost falling over in the process.
"Cradoc, a portune of high attainment and unimpeachable reputation. Always a pleasure to meet a servant of the Princess!" Cradoc introduced himself.
"Portune? You look more like a turtle to me." James Firecat couldn't help but point out, as he got down on all fours to take a better look their newest acquaintance.
"I suppose I do." The portune admitted, seemingly completely unruffled by the young lycanthropes comments.
"The turtle you see is a shape quite uniquely suited for the prospect of study. My normal form is a bit too flighty, too easily shifted around by winds or other disturbances. A turtle's shape though is perhaps the best one imaginable for the prospect of slow and unbroken study, which should be the goal of any scholar." Cradoc explained.
"Scholar of what?" Callan Wright inquired kneeling down before the portune as well.
"I've spent the last five centuries cataloging all the mosses of the Shadow Rift, including lichen! I'm only working on them of course because I've already studied ferns, fungi, and water-plants. Not that I've completely eschewed the physicality of animals." Cradoc explained to them.
Then his eyes didn't quite blink, but his neck extended a little bit further out as he looked at James.
"I say, you're mortal, aren't you?" The Arak inquired in considerable consternation.
"Mortal enough." The werecat answered having taken no offense.
"Would you be willing to do me a considerable favor and place me upon your head?" The portune asked, as if this was perfectly ordinary request.
James calmly reached out, took the portune, and rested him atop his head.
There the turtle shaped Arak began to gently poke and prod at his ears.
"This, this, isn't correct all! For a start, these should be several inches lower, I'm quite certain of that." He announced.
Then twisting his head around he gave the others a cursory glance to make sure that indeed no one else had ears growing from the top of their head.
"As I thought. While hair growing from the top of the head is quite traditional, ears shouldn't be here, and they shouldn't look anything like this! I believe..." The portune reached out with its paws and began to poke and prod his the werecat's ears, making them flap down or rotate slightly.
"Yes, a much greater degree of mobility than is traditional in such things. I suppose their peculiar shape would allow for effective triangulation of sound though. An interesting adaptation for the purpose of survival. Are there a lot of them like you up on the surface now?" Cradoc pressed on.
"Not really… they're a defect." James admitted blushingly slightly.
"Defect? Since when are improvements defects? With thinking that muddled I'm amazed you lee-due don't one day accidentally go out for a walk and fall up into the sky!" The portune blustered.
"Well I'm a werecat, but my mother has always had perfect shape control and I've never been able to alter my ears..." James explained, clearly embarrassed by the fact.
"A what now?" Cradoc coughed, clearly not familiar with the term.
Rather than tell James decided to show.
He concentrated and his entire body began to shift and transform. He shrunk down into the shape of a somewhat larger than average red furred housecat, causing Cradoc to fall to the ground.
The portune was anything but upset by this turn of events though, it awkwardly rose onto its back two legs and hopped about in the most energetic manner its turtle body could manage.
"Fascinating! Are you sure you don't have any Arak blood in you?" He pondered.
James reverted back to his human form (taking a moment to recollect the rats that had momentarily fallen to the ground when his belt ceased to exist) before answering, since he doubted his conversation partner would be able to speak 'cat' whatever other languages he might have mastered.
"Pretty sure. Through my mother I can trace my lineage back to the mighty Jalal Pawe, while my father's side of the family has been in Richemulot for as long as anyone remembers." He explained calmly.
"Interesting. Clearly what we're seeing here is some sort of occult form of evolution! I mean you don't need to be a scholar of my years to know that the standard mortal body is inefficient when compared to any breed Arak.
Yet it would seem that I hadn't quite given them enough credit. Their almost absurdly frequent reproductive habits clearly exist for more than simply sustaining their numbers in a world for which they are ill-equipped for, but also must allow for new breeds to arise at a far greater rater than we produce them.
If those new breeds offer such noticeable improvements and continue to reproduce frequently then over time I'd imagine they'd be bound to supplant the older less efficient ones. I saw the exact same thing happen in the Black Marsh because of this truly fascinating I strain of plant I discovered there and decided to name kuzu.
The stuff grew prodigiously, so prodigiously that there were times when I'll admit it required some effort for my current form to keep ahead of its spread… at least if I allowed myself a nap or two at the wrong time." The portune reflected.
"We don't really want to replace anyone, we're just here to help a little." James insisted.
The portune curled its webbed hand into as much of a fist as a turtle could manage and smacked them as firmly against the lycanthropes head as a turtle could manage.
"Pure folderol and poppycock! What you 'want' doesn't enter into it! Those who are best suited for survival win in the end. Unless of course some unexpected external factor acts in favor of the less suited breeds.
My alven cousins for example insist that 'prettiness' is desirable trait in flowers and do what they can to direct their groves along those lines. Now, it goes without it saying that 'beauty' an insubstantial and ill-defined term is no suitable goal for a species, but try telling them that. Besides, it is the goal of a true scholar to observe without affecting, thus making it possible for others to observe in turn. What an ill-spent century of my life that was…." The Arak grumbled to himself.
Seeing that Cradoc had mostly completed his studies, James gently plucked the portune from his head and placed it back on the ground.
"Well it was… interesting talking to you…?" The werecat eventually settled on, not quite sure what else could be said.
The portune abruptly broke into another of his awkward bows.
"The pleasure was all mine. I doubt I'll run across such an intriguing band of mortals again for another millenia..." He replied before sinking back down onto all fours like a proper turtle and starting to shamble away at a less than impress pace.
The group continued the way they had been heading, and eventually Cal Wright spoke up.
"They sure make em strange down here." He couldn't help but admit.
"You think they don't make em strange back in the Core proper?" Devi countered, sending him a patronizing look.
"They don't make quite so many of em quite so strange." The alchemist offered by way of a compromise.
XXX XXX XXX
The next strange thing the group encountered was flowers…
As they crested a hill they found a rolling landscape stretching for miles before them, every inch of it covered with flowers of countless types. Bees and butterflies busily buzzed and flapped among the blossoms, and some of those butterflies must be a full foot across!
"Florence is it okay if we go forward, or do we need to go around?" Alexander asked, always careful not to needlessly extinguish floral life around the dryad.
Before she had a chance to answer however, one of the large butterflies flapped over and alighted upon the Alexander's extended finger.
"What do you think they are?" Pipped up a high pitched voice in strangely accented Balook.
"Not sure, never seen transcended quite like them, look at his hair!" Answered another oversized butterfly in Forfarian as it positioned itself on top of the silver strands in question.
"It was speaking on its own a moment ago, they don't normally do that!" Declared a third one that plopped down on his shoulder, this one using Mordentish.
Clearly the groups' well traveled was paying dividends, as these strange oversized talking butterflies saw no need to confine themselves to a single tongue.
"They sometimes do, they just don't mean anything by it, they're like brightly colored parrots that way." A fourth butterfly insisted (in Falkovnian) as it perched upon Florence's right shoulder.
"He's certainly 'brightly colored' enough, beautiful plumage." Yet another declared (in Lamordian) as it took up position on the dryad's other shoulder.
"Beg pardon?" Alexander coughed.
"It speaks again!" Declared all the overlarge butterflies at once in joy (and various different languages).
"We're also not transcended." Cal clarified to them.
Though this was perhaps saying too much, though considering all the horrible things the six had faced down, none of them had much to fear from slightly larger than normal insects. Well, slightly larger than normal insects of the Rhopalocera suborder, which were not known for their stingers, jaws or aggressive poisons.
"Well, if you're not transcended, what are you doing here?" Yet another butterfly asked eagerly as it landed on Cal's head.
"It is a very long, and very boring story." Alexander explained, taking a moment to subtly flash Maeve's ring in the direction of the strange creatures.
Instantly another squeal of delight went up amongst them.
"Oh no it isn't!" Hissed the very first of the creatures which was now flapping over towards the ring.
"There can't be anything boring about Princess Maeve, she throws the best parties." Gushed another bizarre butterfly.
"She always makes sure to have the amazing flower arrangements." Another agreed quite decisively.
"Princess Maeve wants us to go somewhere and retrieve something for her." Alexander admitted.
Though the Arak ruler in exile had insisted that only her servants would know the meaning of the ring, he still felt it best not to be completely open about the task they'd been given.
"So, who are you exactly?" James asked butterflies.
An "enormous" (in the sense of being slightly larger than a human thumb) bee began to buzz in the werecat's direction.
This for the lycanthrope was a horse of a different color than the butterflies, and he fell back raising a gloved hand to defend himself.
Luckily before he actually struck, the bee transformed. It became a humanoid figure, though still of roughly insect like stature, being only about a foot or so tall. It was a tiny woman with pale skin, brightly speckled butterfly wings, and a tuft of hair that was an even brighter shade of red than James' own.
"We are alven." The Arak answered.
"How do you serve Maeve?" Devi inquired.
One by one, the butterflies began to transform into their true shape, not that said shape was so truly different.
"Isn't it obvious?" Giggled one which alighted amidst the elf's blue hair.
"We tend the gardens that feed our brothers and sisters. We grow the flowers that still bring delight to those who have lived for thousands of years!" The alven insisted proudly.
Florence Bastien very slowly held out one of her hands and extended her index finger, silently inviting one of the Alven to land upon it.
Her offer was accepted and she gazed deeply into a pair of small blue eyes below a head of bright crimson hair.
"Even in this eternal darkness, you still manage to grow beautiful flowers." She admitted solemnly.
The alven flapped its wings happily as its nodded in agreement.
"The very best of flowers that can grow without light! We've scoured the entire world beyond the rift for them! That batch over there, I found them in a castle Barovia. The poor things were were nearly being choked by weeds, but someone must have cared for them quite deeply once..." The Arak explained in Balook.
"We have no desire to trample something so beautiful, but we must get to the Malachite Palace." Florence explained to the alven.
"Why would you want to go there? It is dreadfully dull, all cold metal and stone, nothing grows there. Princess Maeve used to keep some flowers around to lighten the place up and make us feel more at home, but her brother sees no need to make us welcome." The small Arak harrumphed.
"What we need for the Princess is being kept there." Florence admitted.
Even as she had this conversation, she could still feel a powerful taint of "dark essence" coming from their new acquaintances. If there was less of it in them than in the muryan or the redcap,s it was only because they were the smallest Arak the group had encountered so far.
"Well good luck, if you want get there all you have to do is fly eckward til you first sniff Logan's oak, then bear andwards to just before you whiff the willows, ride the thermals up and go windwards to the clover..." The Arak began to explain, blithely ignoring why said explanation would obviously do the group no good.
Even as she spoke, the alven began to flap her wings, clearly tempted to take to the air again. Florence could feel a rising desire to grab the small creature in her fist and ring more sensible directions from it.
She could feel that desire rising up from her stomach, and she strove to fight it back down to the soles of her feet and out of her body.
"We can't fly." She announced slowly, without anger or accusation in her voice.
The alven slowed its wing flaps, and turned to face her once again.
"Not even a little? Hmm… that will be a problem for you." It admitted casually.
Since the little Arak would not come to the obvious conclusion Florence decided he'd have to prompt it.
"You could come with us." The dryad suggested.
Straight away the alven began to start flapping its wings again shaking her head all the while.
"Come with you? Please! The Malachite Palace is far too dull to go there." It insisted once again.
"If you come with us… I will tell you tales of every single daylight blooming flower I have laid eyes upon." Florence offered.
Those tiny wings went abruptly still, and the alven began to crawl along Florence's arm so that it could look her more closely in the eye.
"Really?" The Arak half whispered.
"Yes, I promise. What is your name?" Florence reassured it while finally asking the obvious question.
"Leilani..." Answered the alven cheerfully.
"I'm Florence, Florence Bastien." Florence likewise introduced herself.
"We still can't fly, and we still don't want to crush your flowers." Devi abruptly pointed, out, bringing the conversation back to the most obvious matter at hand.
"You say that, but if you can't fly how do you plan to avoid doing it?" Another alven spat back.
"What do you do when the transcended need to pass this way?" Alexander inquired, figuring that there had to be a way across the huge flower field without doing too much damage to it.
"We could give them the air step?" Leilani offered.
"Do you really have to go this way?" An as yet introduced alven pouted.
"Of course they need to come this way, they're on a mission from Princess Maeve! So we'd best give them the air step or they'd crush the flowers!" Leilani insisted, now that Florence had managed to convince her to accompany them, the alven was filled with considerable zeal on the subject.
A chorus of high pitched voices rose in response to Leilani's determination.
For the first time, they all spoke in the same language, chanting in sylvan a spell that Florence was quite familiar with. Different alven enchanted different members of the group, but the spell was the same from all of them.
Alexander took a slow careful step forward, and sure enough he was able to plant it firmly upon thin air six inches above the ground. He did the same with his other, and soon he was standing a few inches above the flowers. With the aid of the airwalk spell all six of them could cross the flower fields without actually stepping on them.
"Now then, where to begin..." Florence pondered searching her mind for all the plants she knew.
"Lamiaceae Nepta..." James eagerly began to suggest before Florence (who was able to guess how that particular sentence was going to go) cut him off.
"I suppose that is as good as any flower." She reflected.
"Better than most!" The werecat insisted.
"It is a white flower..." The dryad began.
End Chapter.
AN: You can guess what Flower James is interested in, you really should be able to guess.