kyeugh
onion witch
- Pronoun
- she/her
Chapter One
Achilles opened his eyes and groaned. He found himself caught in the same situation he did every year on this day- that is, captured while asleep and locked in this little cell reserved specially for him, just to keep him out of trouble for this special day.
What day was it? Well, firstly, it was the Harvest Bazaar. People from all over would cross borders and oceans to make it to Pierre’s internationally popular festival. Some would come to shop here, and others to sell, but it was a widely anticipated day for merchant and customer alike. A hectic one, as well.
Ah, but it was also Achilles’ birthday! Only a very few knew this, though, and those who did paid a miniscule amount of attention to the poor street rat. He was an orphan, who never knew his parents, or any of his relatives. And no one would take him in, so he was forced to live on his own, dwelling in the trees for shelter and stealing what he needed. It was a forced fate from the people, but still they hated him for it. A paradoxical life Achilles lived!
The cell was simple one, but the safety measures had nonetheless increased from last year. The windows he had previously escaped from now had steel bars on them, so he could not leave that way again. And now a few ogres keenly guarded the door as well.
Achilles had never seen an ogre so focused before, actually. They were not an uncommon sight, for they did the grunt work in Pierre, but usually they were significantly absentminded. Some kind of enchantment must be on them, then, to make their attention-span like that of a human, temporarily. Either that, or they simply were incredibly intelligent ogres, taught to be like a human.
The tendency of magic was interesting and troubling, but deep thought about it not only was ineffective, but was also known to drive people mad. Magic worked in its own ways, shunning common sense—or any sense, for that matter. Contemplating it was more than futile.
Achilles decided to test the actual nature of these mysteriously attentive ogres. “Hey, bone cruncher!” Achilles called. Both of the ogres turned their heads, one slightly delayed, probably in reaction to the word bone. The delayed one grunted in approval at Achilles’ term of endearment. It was to an ogre, anyway—they were entirely unaware that such a name was a dehumanizing insult. Well, at least these were stupid ogres. Even a slightly cunning ogre could have been a reasonable issue.
“Are you two oafs hungry?” Of course, Achilles knew they were. Ogres were renowned for their incredibly insatiable appetite, but still the pair of ogres stood there blankly. “Well, are you, or aren’t you?” One slowly nodded, although it was likely still processing what Achilles said the first time. “Well, I have a job for you,” Achilles reported. He noticed the ogre’s facial expressions perk a little. They loved to be busy—just standing here and pretending to be intelligent was probably the cruelest form of torture for them.
“Open my cage,” Achilles ordered. They both grunted negatively. Perhaps they were issued a previous job of not opening the cage. “Ah, well, I have a hearty serving of meat for you if you can!” Achilles offered. The ogres smiled broadly, flashing their nasty, sharp teeth. They without hesitance opened the gate, waiting for their reward. “Meat,” one managed. “Oh, you’re capable of basic speech now! Very good!” Achilles praised sarcastically. The ogres did not understand the dryness and grinned in acknowledgement. “Well, here’s the deal,” Achilles said. “You are meat. So you can eat each other, did you know?”
The ogres’ eyes lit up with a look of realization, and they peered at each other. One roared monstrously, and the other snarled horrifically. This would truly be an interesting battle.
One palmed the other violently on the face, but the other responded by planting a solid strike into the opponent’s gut, knocking his wind from him. Then he had an advantage, and pushed the breathless ogre on his back. Quickly, he used his sharp nails to dig into the poor thing alive and eat it raw. Achilles turned around with out further ado, because the ogre would be distracted for quite some time now.
Then, he realized the third and final modification to his cell. Previously, it had been placed somewhere on the outskirts of his home Pierre, but now they were somewhere alien.
Rather than the tall buildings that Achilles had grown accustomed to, brail trees without leaves stretched their jagged fingers into the air. The sky was white and overcast, and an ugly fog surrounded him. There was no living vegetation but the bare trees and the thorn shrubs that dotted the land. It was humid, but the air was room temperature.
Achilles had heard of this infamous place before, where only cold-hearted beasts with savage motives could thrive—Salin. Maybe the plan this time was to get rid of Achilles once and for all! No, that could not be. As much of a nuisance as Achilles was, no one disliked him to that degree. He was just a bother.
Still, putting him in Salin was a tad harsh. The chances of surviving here were roughly half. Although Achilles’ wit and handiness could higher that a little. Still, it was a low number.
It did not rain here, either—so if he stayed here too long, he might die of thirst. He began walking.
It was an uneventful journey, at first. The land did not change much, and it was hard to see past the fog. Achilles was surprised, actually, that he had not encountered any of Salin’s infamous monsters!
Then he noticed something strange on the ground. There was a trail of white grains, which lead into the fog so Achilles could not see. He was not sure if he were headed toward Pierre, anyway, so he decided to follow the trail.
He remembered a time from long ago when he heard an explorer speaking publicly. “I was following a peculiar path,” he had remarked. “I kept following it and following it—I looked behind me, and saw that it went back miles, into the horizon!” Achilles looked, but the fog was out, and he could hardly see that far. “Anyway, I kept following it, and then it happened! Some big brute came from under, so suddenly that I couldn’t respond, and tore my leg straight off!” He banged his wooden prosthetic as he said this. “The adrenaline let me keep going for a while, but before I reached home, the pain was intense.”
Achilles nearly turned around, but he reached the end of the trail before that happened. It lead straight into… a hole! It was an enormous, gaping hole, that lead so deep into the ground that Achilles could not see the bottom, and fog crept slowly into it. It was extremely dry, though.
Achilles leaned over the hole, careful to keep his balance. What was it? Well, it was best not to be curious—he did not cherish having the fate of the amputated adventurer. He liked his leg, as a matter of fact!
He turned from the hole and headed onward in what felt like the same direction as he was before. It probably wasn’t, but it was as good a chance of being toward Pierre as the previous way was.
He kept wandering for a little while without problem. He began to think about that adventurer, and his words. What had happened? He said nothing about a hole. Was it there before? Probably not, or he would have mentioned it.
Then something disturbing followed. He found himself tripping and falling, and he was flat on his stomach. He picked himself up, slightly rattled by the collision, but fine. He turned to see what had caused him to fall, and it was… oh! It was a human bone! And now that he looked, there were a few of them, enough probably to make an entire skeleton, scattered around, but within radius of each other.
Achilles shuddered. Right here, before him, was the remnants of another man or woman, who had their own family, their own dreams and goals, and their life had been ceased here in an instant. It was a gruesome and depressing sight, so he did not plague himself and kept walking.
Yet he could not help but wonder what had killed the person. Was it related to the hole in any way? No, Achilles thought. Surely not. The hole and the remains were just coincidentally placed nearby. Nothing to fret over. Yet his curious mind wandered, and he could not help but to believe that whatever had dug the hole was the one who had claimed the man’s soul.
He kept walking, though, but he found himself growing weary. There was no water or source of food to be found. A scrub wandered about, continuing moving and not halting for a thing in the world.
Scrubs were interesting creatures with unknown motivations. Perhaps the best word to describe them was mysterious. They resembled scruffy balls of mangy fur that rolled about. It was not doubted that they were alive, but they didn’t drink nor eat nor stop moving. People had picked them up before, but they would wriggle about and their greasy hair would allow them to slip right from their holder’s grasp.
Also, scientists had failed to get any positive research from scrubs. On more than one occasion, they had taken one into a lab and tried to shave it to its core to conduct further tests—but all they received after all the hair was shaven was… well, they had a pile of hair, and that was it.
So they were mysterious creatures with not much known about them, but Achilles reckoned they were enchanted heap of hair that just rolled about with no real purpose.
Night was falling, and Achilles found that his legs were aching. It was chill and clammy, but he found that he was sweating anyway. The two moons illuminated from behind the clouds, but the sky was still thick with haze. He eyed one of the bare trees. He slept in trees at home, because he had no house, but they had foliage. It would be awfully strange to sleep in a tree which was naked such as this one, but it would have to do.
Achilles expertly climbed the brittle trunk and fell asleep in the leafless arms.
It was a strange dream that he had. There were two glowing eyes, which buoyed up and down just slightly, as if the entity they rested on was breathing. And it was just like that, for a long time, until Achilles awoke.
He was clammy and soaked in his own. Everything looked exactly the same, namely the sky, so Achilles had no idea how long he had slept. He felt like it had been long enough, but there was no way to tell. He felt energized, anyway, so he got down and continued trekking on.
He did not grow tired quickly, so he walked for a long time. Then there was a small tremor.
Reactively, Achilles jumped a bit, and stared at the shaking ground. What in the world? Then there was a reptilian screech, muffled, and it seemed to come from the very spot in the ground that he was staring at.
The tremor grew stronger, and the roar louder and less muffled. Achilles was not sure what it was, but whatever it was, it was coming from the ground, and up quickly.
The sound of the roar was almost pristine now, and the tremor’s force rivaled that of an earthquake. Achilles leaped out of the way, and not a moment too soon, for the thing—which seemed to be a big white mass—came shooting from the ground, its cry ear-piercing.
It shot about ten feet into the air and then slammed down, the rock-hard ground cracking like glass under its mighty weight.
Achilles got a good look at it, and he quickly identified it as an earthbound dragon. That is, a species of dragon that cannot, unlike most varieties, fly. Instead, they have digging skills and rarely breach the surface. Maybe it had smelled Achilles and had come up for a snack.
It was a dark white and textured, as if it consisted of tiny grains assembled to form a creature. It had a short snout with teeth poking out from under the upper lip, and its build was like that of a bear.
It roared, and its cool breath came over Achilles. He shuddered, hoping that he would not be inside that pointy mouth.
“Do you plan to make a meal out of me?” Achilles said with a grin. The dragon bared its teeth. “I’ll take that as a yes. And I must bravely take my fate head on!” Achilles reached for the blade that was tied to his hip... oh, it wasn't. Drat! He had talked down to the dragon only to find he lacked a weapon to put his money where his mouth was. Surely his fate would be untimely now.
“Give me your all, beast of the earth!” And the dragon did just that—it charged at him with full power, which made it easy for Achilles to just sidestep, and it was not able to change direction. It turned around, disgruntled and spraying steam from its scaly nostrils. It growled, kicked up dirt behind him, and charged head on again.
Achilles tried to sidestep again, but the dragon had grown smart to this. It veered the direction Achilles had moved, and slammed him square in the chest, and...
Achilles opened his eyes and groaned. He found himself caught in the same situation he did every year on this day- that is, captured while asleep and locked in this little cell reserved specially for him, just to keep him out of trouble for this special day.
What day was it? Well, firstly, it was the Harvest Bazaar. People from all over would cross borders and oceans to make it to Pierre’s internationally popular festival. Some would come to shop here, and others to sell, but it was a widely anticipated day for merchant and customer alike. A hectic one, as well.
Ah, but it was also Achilles’ birthday! Only a very few knew this, though, and those who did paid a miniscule amount of attention to the poor street rat. He was an orphan, who never knew his parents, or any of his relatives. And no one would take him in, so he was forced to live on his own, dwelling in the trees for shelter and stealing what he needed. It was a forced fate from the people, but still they hated him for it. A paradoxical life Achilles lived!
The cell was simple one, but the safety measures had nonetheless increased from last year. The windows he had previously escaped from now had steel bars on them, so he could not leave that way again. And now a few ogres keenly guarded the door as well.
Achilles had never seen an ogre so focused before, actually. They were not an uncommon sight, for they did the grunt work in Pierre, but usually they were significantly absentminded. Some kind of enchantment must be on them, then, to make their attention-span like that of a human, temporarily. Either that, or they simply were incredibly intelligent ogres, taught to be like a human.
The tendency of magic was interesting and troubling, but deep thought about it not only was ineffective, but was also known to drive people mad. Magic worked in its own ways, shunning common sense—or any sense, for that matter. Contemplating it was more than futile.
Achilles decided to test the actual nature of these mysteriously attentive ogres. “Hey, bone cruncher!” Achilles called. Both of the ogres turned their heads, one slightly delayed, probably in reaction to the word bone. The delayed one grunted in approval at Achilles’ term of endearment. It was to an ogre, anyway—they were entirely unaware that such a name was a dehumanizing insult. Well, at least these were stupid ogres. Even a slightly cunning ogre could have been a reasonable issue.
“Are you two oafs hungry?” Of course, Achilles knew they were. Ogres were renowned for their incredibly insatiable appetite, but still the pair of ogres stood there blankly. “Well, are you, or aren’t you?” One slowly nodded, although it was likely still processing what Achilles said the first time. “Well, I have a job for you,” Achilles reported. He noticed the ogre’s facial expressions perk a little. They loved to be busy—just standing here and pretending to be intelligent was probably the cruelest form of torture for them.
“Open my cage,” Achilles ordered. They both grunted negatively. Perhaps they were issued a previous job of not opening the cage. “Ah, well, I have a hearty serving of meat for you if you can!” Achilles offered. The ogres smiled broadly, flashing their nasty, sharp teeth. They without hesitance opened the gate, waiting for their reward. “Meat,” one managed. “Oh, you’re capable of basic speech now! Very good!” Achilles praised sarcastically. The ogres did not understand the dryness and grinned in acknowledgement. “Well, here’s the deal,” Achilles said. “You are meat. So you can eat each other, did you know?”
The ogres’ eyes lit up with a look of realization, and they peered at each other. One roared monstrously, and the other snarled horrifically. This would truly be an interesting battle.
One palmed the other violently on the face, but the other responded by planting a solid strike into the opponent’s gut, knocking his wind from him. Then he had an advantage, and pushed the breathless ogre on his back. Quickly, he used his sharp nails to dig into the poor thing alive and eat it raw. Achilles turned around with out further ado, because the ogre would be distracted for quite some time now.
Then, he realized the third and final modification to his cell. Previously, it had been placed somewhere on the outskirts of his home Pierre, but now they were somewhere alien.
Rather than the tall buildings that Achilles had grown accustomed to, brail trees without leaves stretched their jagged fingers into the air. The sky was white and overcast, and an ugly fog surrounded him. There was no living vegetation but the bare trees and the thorn shrubs that dotted the land. It was humid, but the air was room temperature.
Achilles had heard of this infamous place before, where only cold-hearted beasts with savage motives could thrive—Salin. Maybe the plan this time was to get rid of Achilles once and for all! No, that could not be. As much of a nuisance as Achilles was, no one disliked him to that degree. He was just a bother.
Still, putting him in Salin was a tad harsh. The chances of surviving here were roughly half. Although Achilles’ wit and handiness could higher that a little. Still, it was a low number.
It did not rain here, either—so if he stayed here too long, he might die of thirst. He began walking.
It was an uneventful journey, at first. The land did not change much, and it was hard to see past the fog. Achilles was surprised, actually, that he had not encountered any of Salin’s infamous monsters!
Then he noticed something strange on the ground. There was a trail of white grains, which lead into the fog so Achilles could not see. He was not sure if he were headed toward Pierre, anyway, so he decided to follow the trail.
He remembered a time from long ago when he heard an explorer speaking publicly. “I was following a peculiar path,” he had remarked. “I kept following it and following it—I looked behind me, and saw that it went back miles, into the horizon!” Achilles looked, but the fog was out, and he could hardly see that far. “Anyway, I kept following it, and then it happened! Some big brute came from under, so suddenly that I couldn’t respond, and tore my leg straight off!” He banged his wooden prosthetic as he said this. “The adrenaline let me keep going for a while, but before I reached home, the pain was intense.”
Achilles nearly turned around, but he reached the end of the trail before that happened. It lead straight into… a hole! It was an enormous, gaping hole, that lead so deep into the ground that Achilles could not see the bottom, and fog crept slowly into it. It was extremely dry, though.
Achilles leaned over the hole, careful to keep his balance. What was it? Well, it was best not to be curious—he did not cherish having the fate of the amputated adventurer. He liked his leg, as a matter of fact!
He turned from the hole and headed onward in what felt like the same direction as he was before. It probably wasn’t, but it was as good a chance of being toward Pierre as the previous way was.
He kept wandering for a little while without problem. He began to think about that adventurer, and his words. What had happened? He said nothing about a hole. Was it there before? Probably not, or he would have mentioned it.
Then something disturbing followed. He found himself tripping and falling, and he was flat on his stomach. He picked himself up, slightly rattled by the collision, but fine. He turned to see what had caused him to fall, and it was… oh! It was a human bone! And now that he looked, there were a few of them, enough probably to make an entire skeleton, scattered around, but within radius of each other.
Achilles shuddered. Right here, before him, was the remnants of another man or woman, who had their own family, their own dreams and goals, and their life had been ceased here in an instant. It was a gruesome and depressing sight, so he did not plague himself and kept walking.
Yet he could not help but wonder what had killed the person. Was it related to the hole in any way? No, Achilles thought. Surely not. The hole and the remains were just coincidentally placed nearby. Nothing to fret over. Yet his curious mind wandered, and he could not help but to believe that whatever had dug the hole was the one who had claimed the man’s soul.
He kept walking, though, but he found himself growing weary. There was no water or source of food to be found. A scrub wandered about, continuing moving and not halting for a thing in the world.
Scrubs were interesting creatures with unknown motivations. Perhaps the best word to describe them was mysterious. They resembled scruffy balls of mangy fur that rolled about. It was not doubted that they were alive, but they didn’t drink nor eat nor stop moving. People had picked them up before, but they would wriggle about and their greasy hair would allow them to slip right from their holder’s grasp.
Also, scientists had failed to get any positive research from scrubs. On more than one occasion, they had taken one into a lab and tried to shave it to its core to conduct further tests—but all they received after all the hair was shaven was… well, they had a pile of hair, and that was it.
So they were mysterious creatures with not much known about them, but Achilles reckoned they were enchanted heap of hair that just rolled about with no real purpose.
Night was falling, and Achilles found that his legs were aching. It was chill and clammy, but he found that he was sweating anyway. The two moons illuminated from behind the clouds, but the sky was still thick with haze. He eyed one of the bare trees. He slept in trees at home, because he had no house, but they had foliage. It would be awfully strange to sleep in a tree which was naked such as this one, but it would have to do.
Achilles expertly climbed the brittle trunk and fell asleep in the leafless arms.
It was a strange dream that he had. There were two glowing eyes, which buoyed up and down just slightly, as if the entity they rested on was breathing. And it was just like that, for a long time, until Achilles awoke.
He was clammy and soaked in his own. Everything looked exactly the same, namely the sky, so Achilles had no idea how long he had slept. He felt like it had been long enough, but there was no way to tell. He felt energized, anyway, so he got down and continued trekking on.
He did not grow tired quickly, so he walked for a long time. Then there was a small tremor.
Reactively, Achilles jumped a bit, and stared at the shaking ground. What in the world? Then there was a reptilian screech, muffled, and it seemed to come from the very spot in the ground that he was staring at.
The tremor grew stronger, and the roar louder and less muffled. Achilles was not sure what it was, but whatever it was, it was coming from the ground, and up quickly.
The sound of the roar was almost pristine now, and the tremor’s force rivaled that of an earthquake. Achilles leaped out of the way, and not a moment too soon, for the thing—which seemed to be a big white mass—came shooting from the ground, its cry ear-piercing.
It shot about ten feet into the air and then slammed down, the rock-hard ground cracking like glass under its mighty weight.
Achilles got a good look at it, and he quickly identified it as an earthbound dragon. That is, a species of dragon that cannot, unlike most varieties, fly. Instead, they have digging skills and rarely breach the surface. Maybe it had smelled Achilles and had come up for a snack.
It was a dark white and textured, as if it consisted of tiny grains assembled to form a creature. It had a short snout with teeth poking out from under the upper lip, and its build was like that of a bear.
It roared, and its cool breath came over Achilles. He shuddered, hoping that he would not be inside that pointy mouth.
“Do you plan to make a meal out of me?” Achilles said with a grin. The dragon bared its teeth. “I’ll take that as a yes. And I must bravely take my fate head on!” Achilles reached for the blade that was tied to his hip... oh, it wasn't. Drat! He had talked down to the dragon only to find he lacked a weapon to put his money where his mouth was. Surely his fate would be untimely now.
“Give me your all, beast of the earth!” And the dragon did just that—it charged at him with full power, which made it easy for Achilles to just sidestep, and it was not able to change direction. It turned around, disgruntled and spraying steam from its scaly nostrils. It growled, kicked up dirt behind him, and charged head on again.
Achilles tried to sidestep again, but the dragon had grown smart to this. It veered the direction Achilles had moved, and slammed him square in the chest, and...
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