Vanir
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Several days ago...
The log was riddled with ants and woodlice.
It had once been a very large tree; an elder of the forest who protected many small rodents and birds that liked to nestle the arms of its canopy. But no titan can stand against thousands of ravenous jaws biting, burrowing, tearing, and eating away it its flesh. Ants had made the trunk of the titan their home, and each summer they would chew deeper into the heartwood, and limbs that were cut off from the warm gush of nutrients crashed to the ground. Each arm fell like a church bell, marking the hour of the once great elder's approaching funeral. One summer, the wealth of dying flesh accumulating at the head of the elder became too great. He breathed his last, and with a prayer, released his knees and fell with an echoing thump.
That was long ago; now the log had become a bustling city. The ants still controlled the territory. They were responsible for the majority of the infrastructure and kept the other denizens safe from centipedes and other predators. The growing population of woodlice had resulted in a few fights over territory, but the intelligence and combined might of the ants kept them quiet. Currently the log was home to one giant member. The young man Worms was doing all he could to stay hidden in the large, hollow log.
He pulled his scarf over his mouth and chin to avoid breathing in any spores from the fungal colonies growing on the inside. “This might be my home for the rest of the evening. I hope you don't mind,” Worms whispered to the many insects crawling around the log. He shifted to a more comfortable position and knocked a few woodlice off of the roof of the log on accident. They fell onto his face, but instead of squealing, Worms sighed. He was comforted by them. The lice told him that their quarrel with the ants would wait until he was safe.
Worms had been hiding in the log to escape a small mob of paranoid farmers that had chased him from their town. Worms had been living there for over a month doing odd jobs and menial tasks, most of which included shovels and animal dung. The community was disgusted with him from the moment they first saw him, but they tolerated him as long as he completed the particularly disgusting or laborious jobs that no one else would do. After a week of sleeping outside, a kind old pig farmer took pity on him and, against the exhortation from his wife, allowed him to stay in his barn with the hogs. Worms lived happily there with the pigs; he could eat all the pig slop his heart desired, and grew proud of working for the old farmer. Problems began to arise when the neighboring planter reported corn sap beetle larvae in his crop. Other farmers reported similar cases of unusually high populations of insect pests. When the pig farmer found that the fences Worms had built were infested with carpenter ants, the people of the town were all too eager to get rid of the black worm, as they began calling him. A swarm of biting flies gave Worms a head start, but the mob was quickly at his feet. Worms can move extremely quickly, but not over a long distance. Aware of his limits, he ran towards a foreboding forest and hid in the large fallen tree.
He heard the mob arrive at the edge of the forest. They shouted into the depths of the wood, “Come on outta there you perverted little worm!”
“What did I tell you? I knew he came from that accursed wood!”
“He's a vampire! I seen him lookin at my daughter with this red eyes uf his!”
“Been hexing us with plaques. I tell ya the frogs are next!”
Eventually, the taunting and conspiring began to die down. Worms heard them shuffle around and regroup, whispering among themselves. He could not hear what they were saying, but he could tell they were too afraid of the woods to search it for him. After about an hour the crowd dispersed and folks went home.
“Why are they so afraid of the forest?” Worms asked the ants around him. He had never been in these woods before. He certainly was not able to talk to the farmers about the geography of the land he was in. For the last several years he had been running from place to place; the locals never allowed him enough time to learn about the world he was living in.
“You guys have it easy. A big community working together for the benefit of everyone under the rule of a beautiful, benevolent queen. That is an ideal government. Everyone has a job, and everyone is provided for. Why can't my people be like you? We kill each other over such trivial things. Which brings up, why'd you'll sell me out? I spent so much energy building those fences for Mr. Donaldson. They weren't for you... I know. I forgot. There is no property in ant society. No, you could learn from my people. You have no restraint, no respect. Those people are right. You are a plague. You'll die soon anyway, but I wish I could torch you myself.”
Worms angrily pulled his crooked body from the log. He stood tall and stretched while muttering, “I can't take this anymore.” Slouching over, he stared into the darkness of the woods ahead of him. The sun had yet to reach its maximum height in the sky, but he did not remember any clouds that morning. Regardless of the weather outside of the forest, a dark haze blanketed his surroundings and the air tasted stale. “They must love this place.”
A drop of water tumbled out of the haze and collapsed onto his shoulder. Worms raised his chin and peered through the tops of the trees. “Rain.”
Present...
Worms had been hiding out in Darkwald for several days before finding the town hidden in the center of the thick wood. His first day was very enjoyable. Despite the rain he had an extravagant time exploring the dark forest and meeting all of the local insect life. Once night came, however, the situation turned. Worms usually inhabits night and darkness very comfortably, but this night was different. Strange noises kept Worms awake all night, and the dampness of the air and the earth, although invigorating during the day, seemed to drain away at his energy after nightfall. Worst of all, was that his friends failed to comfort him like they normally do. They whispered among themselves and scuttled out of sight.
The next few days were spent much like the first, meeting new friends and foraging for food. The flies would tell him when a fresh, or stale, carcass was nearby. Worms never bothered to cook his meats; maggots enjoyed them raw, and so could he. However, the situation made him extremely uncomfortable. The flies urged him to cut off a hunk of the meat and quickly run from the area. He had received tips from flies previously, but the cache normally consisted of only scraps that predators had left behind. These bodies, mostly animals, though he did find one man, still bore most of their flesh, but were dreadfully mutilated. Worms dared not think about what may be coming to finish the job and clean up the mess.
The nights were all very similar in their terror, but the last night was the worst. All of the other nights Worms was able to get a few hours of sleep, but not on that night. The horrifying sounds oozing from the darkness climaxed all in one short burst. A terrible, gut wrenching shriek broke the silence. It was as if all of hell's torment descended upon one creature in a split moment. The call invoked a petrifying chill down Worm's sharp spine, echoing within his own twisted nightmares. The darkness repeated the call again and again, growing in wretched anguish with each reverberation, until at last, silence. Worms decided that that would be his last night in the forest, fearing that his own screams might oscillate endlessly through the void of night.
When an eerie squeaking pierced Worms' ears at daybreak, he vocalized many praises for the life giving Sun and all that is innocent and sweet upon the earth. He followed the squeak until it brought him to a road. Afraid that men were looking for him, he had been purposefully avoiding the road, but now it became a stream from the fountain of youth, and a stairway to salvation. The source of the squeak was revealed to be a horse and cart led by, in Worms' opinion, a particularly stylish, dapper man, who he followed to a well defended town.
Worms peered at the large palisade gate from the safety of the shadows cast by the ominous flora of the forest. He watched carefully as the men on guard gleefully ushered the strange, tall man and his cart through the gate. Worms waited in hiding until he was certain the guards would not think that he had been following the squeak and suit all morning.
“Halt there. Who are you?”
Worms began to panic. Stupid! He forgot to come up with some response to tell the guards. He normally avoided any sort of urban settlement, especially one with walls. Who am I?
“I-I...” Worms stuttered quietly, unsure of his direction. “I am-”
“Hold on.” A guard cut him off, not even hearing him. “Hey, get a look at this kid.”
A second guard joined the first and whispered, “Oh. Dark skin.” He then raised his voice to address Worms. “We don't see many a your folk coming through here, forgive us fer being a bit suspicious. Why are ya so far away from home?”
The first guard spoke again, “Let'em in. The poor kid ain't gonna hurt anyone.”
“Nah. 'Member five days ago those men came, farmers I think, said they were looking fer a young southerner. I ain't seen any others have you?”
“Come on, look at him. He looks like he's been crawling around in the mud for a week. Jeez, those gnats love him. He's just another beggar, probably with that guy you let in earlier.”
“Hmph... Yeah. He probably don't even speak. Alright you can come in so long as you don't start no trouble. And don't bring none with you either. Been a lot of strange folk coming in and bringing trouble with 'em. These walls here supposed to keep the trouble out.”
The guards opened the gate and let Worms through, releasing a wave of relief as he crossed the threshold and into the town. He followed the sound of commotion to the center of the borough, where he saw the striped suit. The squeaky cart was now open, and several eye catching items were on display, obviously the tall man was some kind of merchant. Worms, preferring to avoid crowds, slumped against one of the wooden houses adjacent to the little square where the black peddler had set up shop.
His vantage point offered a good view of the larger objects on display as well as the more unusual folk surveying the items. Two of them looked just as much out of place among the muck and grime as the striped suit was. One wore a smooth, metal mask over his face which made Worms and his friends very nervous. The other was a women with startlingly violet hair. His eyes fixated on the violet. It was a deep color, dark and proud. It was brave and strong, but also enigmatic and free. Beautiful.
The gnats circling Worms head finally caught his attention and broke the spell of the blue hair. “These people don't seem... natural.” He muttered.
“Where am I?”
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