Archive of Our Own

Imps

As far as Shandra knew, it started with the imps. Maybe they weren’t the first terrible thing to follow Rhys home, but they were the first she had to deal with and that was quite bad enough, thanks. 

They were more nuisance than outright hazard, spilling beer and buzzing low over the heads of the Flagon’s few patrons but that was about it. Duncan hated them with a vengeance – but no matter what he did to drive them away, they always crept back in sooner or later, and went right back to harassing anyone who tried to sit too close to “the boss.” 

Shandra didn’t care much for them herself, but she did notice how much calmer Rhys seemed with one of the horrible little bastards crouched on the back of his chair, ready to swoop at whoever dared to approach. So she gritted her teeth and tolerated it.

Bishop, she noted, somewhat sourly, was allowed to sit as close as he liked. Figures that an imp would think the ranger good company…

Rhys eventually tired of listening to Duncan’s rants about spilled beer and soiled tables and introduced the flock of them to Wolf’s pack of feral children and that, Shandra felt, was the end of that. Whatever happened after that was none of her business. She was not getting involved.

Gremishka

He comes back to himself in a ring of blood and meat, strewn limbs and offal and scorched earth. His bones are cold and his teeth are too long and he wants nothing more than to keep going, rending, tearing through the pathetic wretches who dared…

But there’s nothing left. No one left. Not even so much as a twitch. He hisses through his teeth, snarls and paces, shaking with the rage still coursing through him

Nothing left. No one left – 

For a moment, panic outweighs the anger and he scrabbles among the remains, checking for familiar things: battered leather armour, a shock of red hair or tarnished gold, a worn dagger. But thanks the gods, they’re not there. They weren’t there, he didn’t –

He’s alone. Alone and cold and covered in blood but oh, the relief. He didn’t do it, not yet. 

Of course that still leaves him alone in the woods, with his companions gods know where and night falling. 

Or… not entirely alone. A scrawny catlike thing is leaning out from under a bush, its eyes fixed on him as it closes its teeth around a blood splattered thumb and drags the attached hand back under the leaves. Crunching sounds ensue.

Rhys blinks at the spot the hand used to be. 

That’s. New.

Okay.

Whatever. It’s not like he had any use for the bits afterwards. The cat thing could have them. 

The cat thing stuck its head out from under the bush a couple of minutes later and wailed at him in the voice of a human child. Rhys tosses it another chunk of unlucky bandit to shut it up and hauls himself to his feet. Time to get moving.

When he finally staggers into camp an hour or so later, he’s trailed by at least seven of the bloody things, all burbling away like a pack of happily blood smeared toddlers. Qara immediately lets out a high pitched shriek and hurls herself to the top of a nearby boulder. Sand’s right behind her, and the noises he’s making aren’t any more dignified. Bishop starts to laugh, even as Karnwyr abruptly ducks behind him.

The cats bare their horrible glistening fangs and start to scream and vibrate. Shimmering lights start to dance over their hairless skin. Rhys takes one look at Shandra’s appalled face and sighs, unhooking the axe from his belt. 

It was going so well for a minute there. 

Abyssal Chicken

Rhys is blaming Sand for this one. It was Sand’s snide remarks about one trick ponies that pushed Qara into experimenting. And yeah, sure, he’d supported her in her fun new endeavour because 1) he was pretty sure that was his job as nominal leader of their collective travelling argument and 2) it meant he got to stand around in a field outside the Keep, a marked improvement on sitting through yet another bloody strategy meeting with Kana glaring daggers into his soul.

But the blame for the Chicken Incident rested squarely on Sand’s narrow shoulders and he’d be damned if either he or Qara were budging from that position.

And how the hell was that thing a chicken anyway? The name made it seem like the least threatening thing that could possibly be summoned from Avernus. How were they to know Abyssal Chickens were more maw than feather? Was there an illustration in that book? No. 

Clearly the fault lay on the moron with the stupid name that penned the blighted thing. Blame that guy.

And Sand, obviously.

Why were they summoning things from Avernus? Well what other Hell was Qara meant to be summoning from? They’d tried some of the others and well. That didn’t go well at all. Maybe stay out of the far eastern field for a bit. Just until things settle down. Please don’t ask any follow up questions on that one. Please.

Maybe try thinking of it as an added layer of defense against the Shadow King. Because they really doubt anything’s getting through there in once piece anytime soon.

And finally, it was absolutely not Rhys’ or Qara’s fault that Shandra’s senile rooster caught sight of the horrible toothy thing wreaking havoc in the lower keep and immediately fell ass over tailfeathers in love with it. How were they to know that terrible, unnatural love would be reciprocated so thoroughly? So… graphically? So very, very violently.

The important thing to note here is that no one actually got physically hurt. By the skin monster with all the teeth anyway. They’re really very sorry about your hand Shandra, but it’s your rooster that did it, not… the other thing.

Please stop yelling.

No, they don’t know what to do with the eggs. No, they didn’t know it was actually impossible for Abyssal Chickens to lay eggs, shut up, Sand, this is all your fault anyway. Are we sure they’re that thing’s eggs then? Totally sure? Maybe something else came in here and laid a bunch of weird glowing skin eggs while you weren’t looking. Did any of you consider that? They didn’t think so.

And where are the eggs now? Well, Neeshka got them away from the rooster, eventually. He kept singeing his tailfeathers trying to brood them and it was kind of tragic to watch. He's still fine though, we swear. Kistrel took them down to the cellar. No, it didn’t eat them, of course not! It wove them a little nest and now it’s hanging over it chittering. They think it’s kind of sweet. The rooster’s down there too - Grobnar’s keeping an eye on them all.

Shandra? You ok there, Shandra? Shandra, we’re very sorry Sand did all this to you. We’re gonna go help Grobnar watch the eggs now. Okay. Talktoyoulaterbyeeee~