The Most Human Color V

"[THREAD TITLE]" is a [SEASON NUMBER] thread written on [IRL DATE].
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The months following Milae’s desertion were the longest he had ever encountered–and the longest he had ever traveled at one time, especially by himself. He had no tent, and no team to hunt with to gather food each night. He had only what little he had learned from home and from the squadron, and in the few villages he encountered on his way west, he managed to trade for a shortbow and a few small knives. Two months into his journey, he found his way into a valley river port, a tiny little forested thing bracing for the first snows of the season that were starting to weigh heavily on the territory Milae was fording. In exchange for some labor, Milae had a warm place to sleep for a few nights. It was a no-nonsense, stern-looking doglike half-breed with wiry hair and tough eyes, who had several grandchildren running amok up and down the river.Thus, she really only went by Gran. She reminded Milae of his captain, but he tried not to think too much about it. On the last night Milae decided to stay, for fear of drawing troops that would come looking for him, he told Gran his story. She looked grave.
“I don’t know how you made it out of that alive, boy.”
“What do you mean?” His cheek was full of coarse tubers as he glanced up at her, and she twitched her wiry moustache and turned her head to the side, pointing with a claw at a scar that was difficult to see through her fur, but obviously deep and, once upon a time, life-threatening. 
“High Central gave you armor and weapons? They gave me this. They give other half-breeds worse. They want us dead.”
“Dead.” His food no longer tasted like anything.
“Aye, boy, dead. Don’t tell me y’don’t know the meaning.”
“I do.”
“Then you’d best get a move on. Find King Haddock.”
Finally, a name. “What do I tell him?”
“Don’t have to tell him much. He’s a bleedin’ heart for justice and violence. He’ll protect you.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank Odin, not me. He brought you out of High Central.”
Milae looked down at his empty plate, thinking of the winged woman he had seen on the bloody city streets in his vision. “Of course,” he said hesitantly.
Early the morning he left, Gran gave him a thick swath of fabric, crude but obviously well-made, and there was plenty to work with. It was a dull navy color, and it reminded him of the night sky. “I can’t take this,” he said in disbelief, keeping his head down as he stared in awe at the gift. “You should use it for your family.”
She bent down to his level and used her strong paws to shove it back into his arms, securing her fingers over his hoof. “There’s somethin’ about what you’re doing. It’s something I never got the chance to do. I’ve got a good feeling about you, boy. The sheep will grow back their coats next winter. You won’t.” Milae nodded silently, and she straightened, satisfied. “Teach yourself how to sew. It’ll do you good.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
***
The supernatural urge to move forward through the dropping temperatures and rising snowfall stayed steady, but the news about his apparent destination kept changing. 
“King Haddock? He was captured, by Central!”
Milae’s heart jumped into his throat and he nearly dropped the sack of dried carrots that was being handed to him. “W-what?”
“Oh, don’t worry, lad. He’s been in worse jams b’fore. He’ll get out!”
“Sure…thank you, anyways.”
The news got better.
“The Grounded Dungeon’s blown wide open.”
“I saw it myself!”
“Did not.” Milae loosened the hood of his cloak to hear the conversation as he passed by the shipping crew. 
“Did too! There were dragons and fire and explosions and now there’s a bunch o’ ice there!”
“Shut the Hel up and load this, Barnes.”
The news got worse, too.
“I don’t believe in demons.” The intimidating half-moose slid a drink across the bar in front of Milae to the man to his far left and he caught it up and downed it. 
“You should. She’s a devil, alright. A cold-blooded killer.”
“Any human can kill.”
“Not like her.”
The scene continued to shift, to swing back and forth between fortune and misery. 
“That camp is cursed. A valkyrie? You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“I just can’t believe he’s dead. He’s really gone.”
The blizzards grew worse the further into the Wilderwest he trudged. He could feel his fur getting a little thicker and coarser, bulking up for the winter weather. He made himself a shoddy walking stick to help his thin hooves through the building powder. The trees grew thinner and taller the further he traveled, and his visions grew frequent enough to where he was almost constantly looking at things with a faint shimmer and sometimes it strengthened to the point where he had to sit and stare at the white snow at his feet until he stopped feeling light-headed. He made sure that the now-wordless voice at his heels and his path to the King were one and the same. They were. But it didn’t quell his nerves in the slightest.
“His outpost is in ruins.”
“It’s on lockdown. All of it. They can’t leave.”
“He’s alive? How on earth–?”
“It’s impossible.”
Eventually, once he left the last village in the woods–a small fishing community on the banks of a small river–he reached a treeline. The pines grew sparse, and the forest brush rolled out into a wide, flat bank of snow that stretched for miles in every direction. It was broken up only by snowdrifts, short outcroppings of stone and clusters of shrunken, extremely tough brush. He spent the night in the shelter of the last few trees before setting out the next day.
It was bitingly cold, and Milae’s long velvet nose went numb after only the first few hours. The tundra was wracked with sharp winds that tore at his clothes, and along with the thick snow slowing his progress, the howling wind kept him back. His ears stung. His feet began to slowly burn with cold, but he refused to stop. He didn’t know how long it would take to walk out to…whatever he was looking for. He was mildly worried he might freeze to death. But he had nothing else to try, nowhere else to go. The sun slid its way to its apex, which was beginning to approach the true center of the sky as the summer slowly approached again, but even with the onset of spring, the snow he was hiking through was obviously fresh with several layers of varying age. 
His eyes felt like they were growing duller, and often he had to squint so the whiteness wouldn’t blind him, but suddenly he blinked as though the sun was in his eyes, even though his head was hanging on his neck. Milae shook his head slightly and peered at the horizon, seeing another flash of painful light that he had to raise a hoof to block. He stopped in his tracks. 
Oddly enough, that was the point when a vision would have normally kicked in. The little goat waited for something to flash across his sight. But there was nothing. 
“Is this it?” he wondered aloud, and nothing but the thundering wind answered him. Shaking his head a little, Milae tugged his stick out of the snow and began heading for the shimmering structure on the horizon. 
The huge splinters of ice looked large, of course, but their size couldn’t be understated the closer he got. It looked absolutely unreal. There were dragons wheeling about overhead, and he saw that they were loaded with supplies–weapons and baskets and bundles alike. There seemed to be a wide wall surrounding the base of the camp, obviously ramshackle but very sturdy.
He was here. Finally.
Milae nervously, but determinedly approached the stout, broad gateway into the fortress, craning his neck up at the guard towers. They seemed empty, oddly enough. “Hello!?”
A helmeted head and a grizzled beard poked through the broad opening, peering down at him. “Eh! A visitor, huh? We don’t get many o’ those here!”
Another head emerged from the tower opposite him, a woman with curly black hair that barely seemed to be contained in her helmet. “Oi, you’re right! What are you here for, mister?”
“I’m, uh…” Milae was taken aback and yet amused at the informal greetings. “I’m Milae,” he called up to them. “Yun Milae. I, um…I wanted to get inside, I have important duties here.” I think.
The man squinted at him and the woman shrugged. “We’re keepin’ an eye on you, no funny business.” She strode to the other side of her post and disappeared; Milae heard a clattering of small rocks against something metal, as though they’d been thrown. “Hey! Crack her open!”
A moment passed, and then the gates grated open, pulled by two similarly-dressed guards. They all had leather-and-steel armor and colorful garb, golds and auburns and mahoganies clashing together cheerfully. He hurried inside, nodding to the guards, and one of them waved cheerfully and they both went back to their post, below the guard towers on the inside of the wall. 
Milae was consumed with wonder, but not because the fortress was impressively built, or because of its population. He was bombarded with the strongest sense of deja vu he’d ever encountered–and for him, that was saying a lot. The massive ice structure he could see over the walls was surrounded by a large, busy cluster of small, utilitarian buildings and tents, all covered in a thick layer of heavy snow. The pathways among them were mazy and disorganized, and the people looked to be even more so. But he was even more surprised to see that everyone looked…happy. Content. Maybe quite tired and battered, but they seemed to enjoy each others’ company. There was a camaraderie quite unlike anything he’d experienced before. 
But most of all…there were half-breeds everywhere. It was incredible.
“Hey, watch out!”
Milae yelped as something big and long scooped him up and pushed him back several feet, and he was incredibly alarmed to see it was a long tail. A shadow fell over him and he peered up to see a hugely tall figure towering over him, blocking out the sun. It was a half-breed, but her proportions were massive, and she appeared to be part-dragon, with a wide frill of white spikes fanning from behind her head and two huge tusks curving from her cheeks, and claws and lots of pale fur around her neck. Her skin was an icy, mottled blue-grey. She was hauling baskets over her shoulders, holding several bunches of them by fistfuls of ropes that were attached to the sides of the woven material and dangled down her back. It was her thick tail that had caught him and moved him out of her way; he had nearly blindly walked into her path. He gasped, clutching on for dear life with his hoofed fingers.
“Oh gods–sorry, you’re–!”
She chuckled and set him back down again. “No worries, just looking out for you!” She set off again, heading towards a group of tents that had racks of hanging fish and meat surrounding them. He watched her curiously before looking around again, trying to get his bearings. Where do I go first? Someone has to know what’s going on with me…
“Hey, you new here?”
Milae briefly braced himself for another sweeping tail when he realized there was a very normal person talking to him. It was a young woman, a cat half-breed with black and orange hair and ears and a twitching tail. She had a few light scars and mismatching pauldrons, and was eyeing him with suspicious interest. He realized she was still waiting for an answer.
“Oh! Uh, yes…Milae, I’m Milae,” he said quickly. She seemed quite bristly and he was worried about setting her off.
“Good. I’m Treepelt.” She didn’t proffer her hand like he was expecting, and Milae hastily reshuffled his arms into something casual as he instinctively made a move to shake what wasn’t there. “What brings you here?”
He looked around nervously, and stepped slightly closer, dropping his voice. “Well, I’ve…ever since I was little…I’ve had dreams of this place. Visions. I’ve never seen it in person until now…”
Her ears flicked to face forward. “You’re some kind of seer?”
“I don’t know,” Milae said honestly. “Whatever I am, whatever’s been given to me…” His eyes fastened on the gleaming spires of ice soaring above them. “I know this place. And I’m meant to be here. I just don’t know why.”
Treepelt considered him for a long moment, and he shifted in place, keeping her gaze. “That’s interesting,” she finally said, almost to herself. “I have someone you should probably meet.”
“Lead the way. I want to help in any way I can.”
***
King Haddock was brusque, and formal, but incredibly helpful. He didn’t have any explanations for Milae’s visions, but he was highly interested in their content and asked if he had any idea what was in store for them. Milae couldn’t summon anything to his mind; his visions had ended here, but he would report in if he saw anything useful.
The camp’s history astounded him. An entire escaped dungeon held captive by a formidable, angry demon. The Treepelt he had talked to had harbored her for months. She’d killed people under her power. A fallen Valkyrie terrorizing them in the same way, through the king’s adopted daughter. The story genuinely scared Milae out of his wits. The camp seemed to be plagued by malicious spirits, but he was so determined to stick to his destiny. He would likely face other horrors in his future. This was only the beginning. He may as well learn to deal with it.
He’d been assigned a small room inside the fortress, a simple affair involving a bed and a table and a chest in which to keep his things, which were few. But it was still more than he had in the infantry. The room was more than half stone, but the rest of the walls were comprised of a super-hard blue-green ice. There was an iron pot full of coals that lent the room an extra warmth, so it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable. 
Milae crashed onto the bed as soon as he’d taken off his small pack and slept for what felt like an entire day. In reality, it was probably closer to a few hours. His dreams were unusually hazy and feverish, unlike the usual sharp visions he was accustomed to. When he woke, it was to the sound of lots of movement in the hallways, and when he poked his head out, he got several cheerful waves. “Time for supper!” one of them said cheerfully, and he blinked in surprise, nodding quickly and shutting the door behind him as he joined the small flow of people back down to the mess hall. 
There was so…much…food. It wasn’t amazing, but it was cooked with a gusto and a casualness that was lacking in the Squadron. And everyone would talk to him. People and half-breeds alike that he didn’t even know would come up and introduce themselves, and ask curiously about what he was doing here. He would offer a half-baked explanation of being in High Central, and they all seemed to instantly understand, nodding, patting him on the back, expressing their excitement at him coming to Perch Hall. Some warned of a war. To this he nodded solemnly; he was raised a soldier. He was raised to be ready for a fight. 
When Milae had more socialization than he could handle, he retreated outside, where it was still busy, but less so than during the day. As the cold night descended on the camp, he made his way to the wall, where he climbed a ladder, hefted himself atop the barrier and sat on the huge timbers, hugging his cloak around him as he stared up into the stars.
“Don’t like crowds?”
The little half-breed jumped at the sound of Treepelt’s voice, and he craned his neck around to see she had silently climbed the ladder and now stood beside him, leaned up against the ramparts, her tail waving slowly back and forth. 
“U-uh…no, not…not really,” he said awkwardly.
“Well, good. Me neither,” she stated. He peered up at her and she squinted an eye down at him. She still seemed stiff, but she was here. He was glad to see her. “Everyone seems to like you well enough, though.”
Milae shrugged modestly. “I was raised to make soldiers like having me around.”
“Yeah?” Treepelt stared out at the white horizon, already starting to blur with the onset of another snowstorm. “Me, too.”
The pair was quiet for a moment, listening to the ghostly sound of the wind singing through the ice hanging above them, and the tiny creaks and groans that came with the weather. It was a little haunting; Milae would have to quickly get used to it, he would guess. 
“I’m glad we don’t scare you.”
“I’ve seen worse,” he said honestly.
Tree found that funny; she cracked a smirk and ducked her head, her hair hiding her eyes. “I mean,” the goat said hastily, trying to recover, “I am sure you all…are ready for what is to come.”
“Not in the slightest. But we do our best.” Her fingers drummed on the wood, and he noticed the tips of claws hiding in the fur. “I just wanted to let you know I appreciate you coming to find us. Not all of us are here by choice.”
“You mean the dungeon?”
“Yeah, that, and…we’re kind of a conscripted army at the moment.” She looked over at him. “I don’t know a lot about gods, but we’re on Hel’s list, if that means anything to you.” 
He shook his head regretfully, wishing he knew more to be able to sympathize, or help, somehow. “You are saying…Hel is your general? Your leader?”
“As far as I’m concerned, yeah.”
“What about the King?”
Her expression grew dark. “Let’s just say he handed us over, but he didn’t have much of a choice, either.”
Milae looked off at the snowy plains, thinking. “When you say us, does that mean me as well?” he inquired.
Treepelt twisted her nose. “I don’t know. If you want to be, I guess.”
The woman came to his mind again, her battle-dirtied face, her bloodstained wings, and the tug in his gut told him that perhaps he wasn’t meant to pledge his loyalty to this goddess of death. Something about the thought felt very wrong. “I will think about it.”
“Think fast. Ragnarok’s on the way. If you don’t choose, someone else will choose for you.”
And with that, she swung her legs back onto the ladder and left Milae alone with his thoughts on the icy plains of the Wilderwest.
Category:Events
Category:Yun Milae
Category:Treepelt Halfpaw
Category:BOTGD
Category:Season 4