05-23-2016, 12:41 AM
Gamzee just kinda takes off in a general direction. He’s not quite sure where he’s headed, but he’s definitely headed there.
“Uh...Gamzee? Where are you going?”
The troll’s head whips around as he walks, a pointy-toothed smile flashing in Strazio’s direction.
“Hell if I know. That Rummer guy said something about meds right? Ain’t this your stomping grounds? Dontcha know where to go?”
“Well yeah I think so bu-”
“Exactly! So let’s go!”
And oddly enough, the clown was already skipping his merry little way in the general direction of Mama Godwin’s home without being told where to go.
Welcome to Darkshire.
---
Despite the dismal and decaying nature of this very verse, Darkshire was in no sense of the word dilapidated. Many of the buildings, huts included, were sturdy and without noticeable flaw. There was a fine sinewy wood the constituted the framework of most of these buildings, and it was a common theme throughout the hamlet. The bark was aesthetically eery, almost black in hue.
Mama Godwin’s hut was the exception.
This flowery, springy, downright hippy hut was a...somewhat welcome change in the overall brooding scenery. For Gamzee at least. Strazio Rockwell stared at the monument with mouth agape, unable to decide how best to express his disgust. Gamzee, however, thought it was adorable The wood panels were decorated in overgrowing foliage and flowers, plants and flora. It was probably more plant than wood. What bark was visible was painted bright, pretty, usually pastel colors. The roof was covered in grass and sprouting flowers. Not a single weed was in sight.
The inside of the shack was well lit with a warm and inviting glow. Probably torchlight, right? As soon as the clown chanced a step towards the doorway, a hand snatched an herb from a pot hanging in the window sill. Gamzee stood stock still. Strazio watched, unsure if he should be amused or annoyed. The troll inched his way to the door, baby step by baby step. He’s about to knock, when the door flies open, smacking him in the face.
“Well helloooooo Chi’len. Need ya’ll some medsins? Chit, course ya’ll do.”
Strazio sighs in exasperation. Gamzee giggles in pain.
Mama Godwin is a lithe, petite woman, bordering on scrawny, with skin the color of bronze in the torchlight. Gamzee and Strazio both were several feet taller than the herbalist respectively, who stood at a solid 4’11. Maybe. Sort of.
The woman was short.
Her angled features were framed by impossibly curly, raven hair that hung to her shoulder blades in thick rivulets. The strange woman had high cheek bones, eyes the color of dark honey, and that sort of weathered, worn look that accompanies many of those who dwell in the Moors. Her clothes could only be described as very…’gypsy.’ Her fuchsia shawl and pink and white palette skirt even came with a trademark sheet-like veil of shimmery gold medallions.
“C’mon in, li’l ones. S’nice and comfy inside, Ah promise.”
The never cynical clown needed no further instruction, and followed the diminutive form into the shack. Strazio, who didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter, started after the two, trying not to grumble too loudly.
---
Mama Godwin stares wistfully into a cup of steaming herbal tea. Strazio and Gamzee likewise had their own mugs of brew, the latter of which was running on empty.
“It was full of miracles,” he would later say.
The inside of the hippie shack, the three crowd around a small, wooden table. Mama Godwin had patched the boys up real good, with nary a need for sutures or bindings.
“Drink dis,” the brewstress said to the clown.
Just as the eager subject was tilting a glass flask to his lips, her hands shoot out, snatching the potion from the boy.
“Nonono wait! I dun fogot to add tha potence.”
Thoroughly mystified, Gamzee watches in awe as Godwin grabs a plasteel-ish bottle shaped in that of a very curvy woman. A brilliantly amber liquid was filled to the brim, topped off by a yellow cap. The label has been visibly torn off, and scrawled in place thereof were the words “DA GOOD STUF.” Cautiously so as not to spill a single, rich drop, the witch pours the thick, molasses-like substance into the clear potion. It makes such beautiful swirls and spindles, almost as if it was some abstract work of art. Once it has been pleasantly stirred and shook, she hands the new concoction back to the boy, a look of pride flashing in the dim light.
As the wounded jokester begins to down the potion, she sets to work on crafting another for the angsty ragemage.
During the creation of this second remedy, the two tell their tale of traveling to Darkshire. A shadow passes over her face upon the description of the werewolf attack,She remains silent for the rest of her doctoring.
And then, she makes tea- also in an air of quiet grace.
The three had been sitting there staring and sipping at their tea for a while now. It was a comfortable yet heavy silence, one that obviously had something lying just beneath the surface. The boys’ wounds had all but healed; whatever it was that she gave them left little trace that they had been attacked at all. Any possible contamination was also sterilized, she assured them.
When Gamzee could finally see the bottom of his mug, Mama Godwin decided to speak.
“Now, when Ah brought Peter into dis worl, I knew he was gon’ haf it rough.”
Strazio leans forward in his chair, a look of somewhat suspicious curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Gamzee stays kicked back, but it is clear that she has his full, undivided attention by the way his eyes focus and freeze on Mama Godwin.
“His daddy, now he was a good’n. Ah was damn proud teh be his wife, and he was damn proud teh haf me. He died, prahtectin’ his home from da beasties dat surrounded it. Darkshire, Ah mean. Peter wan’t born yet, no. But he knew his daddy. Knew him well. Tried fallowing in his footsteps, he did. Signed up for da guard. Fought for his home, fought for me, fought fo’ all of us. Wan’t bad neether, no. Fought like da devil. Got it from his daddy, I reckon. But dis disease? Dis lycanthropy?” She says, spitting the word real slow. It dawns on both warriors around the same time where this is headed.
“Cain’t fight it. Damn sure cain’t fight it alone. But Peter, he dun tried. Tried and- and Ah don’t know what happens next. Da spirits and da potions, dey don’t wanna tell me. Ah tinks dey just don’t wanna hurt mah heart so bad, yaknow? ‘Cause I dunno. I dunno.”
For the first time since the mentioning of the werewolf attack, Mama Godwin dares to meet their gazes. Tears threaten to envelope her eyes, and she struggles to keep her accented voice level.
“Ah don’t really know if dat beastie that attack you tew on ya way here is my boy. I don’t know if mah baby boy is even still wit us. But we dun found a cure, somefin dat clears dat mess right outta ya. Ah dun used some of it in da potions Ah gave ya, just in case. Ah got more, plenty more. Lot of us got it stocked up in our homes. Ya’ll done seen what dese beasties can do. But da thing is, dey not just beasties. Dey’s people too, dey just sick. Mah boy is sick. And I’m asking you dis outta a broken hawt. It’d mean everyting to me if you tew would find my boy and bring him back to his Mama. An if you cain’t, please jus put him and his memory to rest. He wouldn’ want to be trapped in his own body like dat. Wouldn’ sit right wif him or his daddy.”
“Uh...Gamzee? Where are you going?”
The troll’s head whips around as he walks, a pointy-toothed smile flashing in Strazio’s direction.
“Hell if I know. That Rummer guy said something about meds right? Ain’t this your stomping grounds? Dontcha know where to go?”
“Well yeah I think so bu-”
“Exactly! So let’s go!”
And oddly enough, the clown was already skipping his merry little way in the general direction of Mama Godwin’s home without being told where to go.
Welcome to Darkshire.
---
Despite the dismal and decaying nature of this very verse, Darkshire was in no sense of the word dilapidated. Many of the buildings, huts included, were sturdy and without noticeable flaw. There was a fine sinewy wood the constituted the framework of most of these buildings, and it was a common theme throughout the hamlet. The bark was aesthetically eery, almost black in hue.
Mama Godwin’s hut was the exception.
This flowery, springy, downright hippy hut was a...somewhat welcome change in the overall brooding scenery. For Gamzee at least. Strazio Rockwell stared at the monument with mouth agape, unable to decide how best to express his disgust. Gamzee, however, thought it was adorable The wood panels were decorated in overgrowing foliage and flowers, plants and flora. It was probably more plant than wood. What bark was visible was painted bright, pretty, usually pastel colors. The roof was covered in grass and sprouting flowers. Not a single weed was in sight.
The inside of the shack was well lit with a warm and inviting glow. Probably torchlight, right? As soon as the clown chanced a step towards the doorway, a hand snatched an herb from a pot hanging in the window sill. Gamzee stood stock still. Strazio watched, unsure if he should be amused or annoyed. The troll inched his way to the door, baby step by baby step. He’s about to knock, when the door flies open, smacking him in the face.
“Well helloooooo Chi’len. Need ya’ll some medsins? Chit, course ya’ll do.”
Strazio sighs in exasperation. Gamzee giggles in pain.
Mama Godwin is a lithe, petite woman, bordering on scrawny, with skin the color of bronze in the torchlight. Gamzee and Strazio both were several feet taller than the herbalist respectively, who stood at a solid 4’11. Maybe. Sort of.
The woman was short.
Her angled features were framed by impossibly curly, raven hair that hung to her shoulder blades in thick rivulets. The strange woman had high cheek bones, eyes the color of dark honey, and that sort of weathered, worn look that accompanies many of those who dwell in the Moors. Her clothes could only be described as very…’gypsy.’ Her fuchsia shawl and pink and white palette skirt even came with a trademark sheet-like veil of shimmery gold medallions.
“C’mon in, li’l ones. S’nice and comfy inside, Ah promise.”
The never cynical clown needed no further instruction, and followed the diminutive form into the shack. Strazio, who didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter, started after the two, trying not to grumble too loudly.
---
Mama Godwin stares wistfully into a cup of steaming herbal tea. Strazio and Gamzee likewise had their own mugs of brew, the latter of which was running on empty.
“It was full of miracles,” he would later say.
The inside of the hippie shack, the three crowd around a small, wooden table. Mama Godwin had patched the boys up real good, with nary a need for sutures or bindings.
“Drink dis,” the brewstress said to the clown.
Just as the eager subject was tilting a glass flask to his lips, her hands shoot out, snatching the potion from the boy.
“Nonono wait! I dun fogot to add tha potence.”
Thoroughly mystified, Gamzee watches in awe as Godwin grabs a plasteel-ish bottle shaped in that of a very curvy woman. A brilliantly amber liquid was filled to the brim, topped off by a yellow cap. The label has been visibly torn off, and scrawled in place thereof were the words “DA GOOD STUF.” Cautiously so as not to spill a single, rich drop, the witch pours the thick, molasses-like substance into the clear potion. It makes such beautiful swirls and spindles, almost as if it was some abstract work of art. Once it has been pleasantly stirred and shook, she hands the new concoction back to the boy, a look of pride flashing in the dim light.
As the wounded jokester begins to down the potion, she sets to work on crafting another for the angsty ragemage.
During the creation of this second remedy, the two tell their tale of traveling to Darkshire. A shadow passes over her face upon the description of the werewolf attack,She remains silent for the rest of her doctoring.
And then, she makes tea- also in an air of quiet grace.
The three had been sitting there staring and sipping at their tea for a while now. It was a comfortable yet heavy silence, one that obviously had something lying just beneath the surface. The boys’ wounds had all but healed; whatever it was that she gave them left little trace that they had been attacked at all. Any possible contamination was also sterilized, she assured them.
When Gamzee could finally see the bottom of his mug, Mama Godwin decided to speak.
“Now, when Ah brought Peter into dis worl, I knew he was gon’ haf it rough.”
Strazio leans forward in his chair, a look of somewhat suspicious curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Gamzee stays kicked back, but it is clear that she has his full, undivided attention by the way his eyes focus and freeze on Mama Godwin.
“His daddy, now he was a good’n. Ah was damn proud teh be his wife, and he was damn proud teh haf me. He died, prahtectin’ his home from da beasties dat surrounded it. Darkshire, Ah mean. Peter wan’t born yet, no. But he knew his daddy. Knew him well. Tried fallowing in his footsteps, he did. Signed up for da guard. Fought for his home, fought for me, fought fo’ all of us. Wan’t bad neether, no. Fought like da devil. Got it from his daddy, I reckon. But dis disease? Dis lycanthropy?” She says, spitting the word real slow. It dawns on both warriors around the same time where this is headed.
“Cain’t fight it. Damn sure cain’t fight it alone. But Peter, he dun tried. Tried and- and Ah don’t know what happens next. Da spirits and da potions, dey don’t wanna tell me. Ah tinks dey just don’t wanna hurt mah heart so bad, yaknow? ‘Cause I dunno. I dunno.”
For the first time since the mentioning of the werewolf attack, Mama Godwin dares to meet their gazes. Tears threaten to envelope her eyes, and she struggles to keep her accented voice level.
“Ah don’t really know if dat beastie that attack you tew on ya way here is my boy. I don’t know if mah baby boy is even still wit us. But we dun found a cure, somefin dat clears dat mess right outta ya. Ah dun used some of it in da potions Ah gave ya, just in case. Ah got more, plenty more. Lot of us got it stocked up in our homes. Ya’ll done seen what dese beasties can do. But da thing is, dey not just beasties. Dey’s people too, dey just sick. Mah boy is sick. And I’m asking you dis outta a broken hawt. It’d mean everyting to me if you tew would find my boy and bring him back to his Mama. An if you cain’t, please jus put him and his memory to rest. He wouldn’ want to be trapped in his own body like dat. Wouldn’ sit right wif him or his daddy.”
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![[Image: dlpaou6b73f.gif]](http://www.auplod.com/u/dlpaou6b73f.gif)
-by Jade Harley
Never Falter in the Face of Infinity.
-Tearan Wover
-by Jade Harley
Never Falter in the Face of Infinity.
-Tearan Wover