Snippets and Stories: (BP) Deceptive

Preposterous as it was, Shols were not quite so harmless as their large, curious, and wonder-filled, bright eyes and adorably diminutive, rotund forms, may suggest.

They were, after all, still feral. And so far out from civilization, those without bite, perished.

There was a reason, after all, that Shols had survived since before the antiquity of recorded history.

Few predators dared to cross a Shol, for though they were many things, tricksters at Heart, wily and wise, playful and full of mischief, an easy meal they were not. However jovial a Shol may appear, most knew better than to try their patience in the scarce instances where they chose to reveal themselves.

Many assumed (wrongly) that it was through their concealment, their camouflaged, that they had survived the ravenous beasts.

When danger presented itself a threat true that endangered a Shol, they seemed a different creature altogether. Gone was the merry laughter and excited barks. Downright ruthless, they fought fierce, and with deadly precision.

All such encounters were dealt with the intention for a swift and decisive finish. A complete reversal from their typical jovial frolicking. Something many failed to realize, and which Zeal could personally attest to.

They were deceptively dangerous game to hunt, for never could one lure a Shol far from their Circle. A small cry, and the unwitting hunter would find themselves at the mercy of the entire Ring.

It was suicide to do so.

If by chance one did manage to come across a lone Shol, one must ware them still, for even alone, they were deadly quarry. Never did they wander far, and so to come upon one, meant to fight on their turf.

The Harvest hadn't been the first attempt to best the flower children.

The efficacy of a Shol's defense were highly variable, with the more intricate qualities predominantly determined by their subspecies.

Common amongst them all, however, and exclusive to their kind, was their use of the symbiotic plants that grew from them. Were a part of them, in fact.

Many Shols were capable of concocting a fatal poison, either exuding it on their surface, or releasing it as pollen.

Then there was the fragrance itself, inducing sleep, paralysis, poisons, some even claimed them to have mind-controlling properties that allowed a Shol to puppeteer their target.

It was most likely superstition. More plausible, however, was that their scent perhaps carried with it some sort of pheromone that induced a frenzied rage. Having then inhaled it, one would then go berserk, doggedly chasing down and tearing into the closest victim, of whom oftentimes meant their companion.

Though they carried extensive and varying magical affinities as well, such magic wasn't often developed until a Shol was at least budding. It is a slow process that can't be hurried, rather than a sudden onset and acquisition of, as was the case when a Shol forsook the Verdance.

Yet even amongst the severed, Hemlockes is a rare case, with elemental affinities in several contrasting branches life, ice, and fire. To the extent of his knowledge, Lockes was of the three. If there were others, Zeal hadn't yet seen a demonstration.

Not that it would come as a surprise even then, what with the reservations the Shol still had about their Reaper companion. There was much that the two--Vye included--were not privy to, and which Lockes kept in the full confidence of themselves.

It truly was odd, however. Elemental affinities were particularly finicky. Most had ones that "carried over" so to speak, if at all. It is difficult to carry and manipulate contrasting aether within oneself, and as such those blessed with multiple affinities often comprised of elements which complemented one another, such as with wind and water.

It wasn't completely far-fetched. Hemlocke had been able to start the fire, but hadn't the strength to animate for more than the first few minutes of their storytelling. Granted, they were battle-worn, but it was clearly an inferior skill.

Point being, the typical Shol was not born with a surge of magic, rather, it cultivated within them, slow but steady.

The exception of the above was, of course their innate ability for organic manipulation, an inherent trait to all Shols and one that came to them instinctively. But that was considered more of a characteristic of their species rather than magic, despite still being a skill of tremendous aetherical manipulation.

Not unwarranted, for even those outside of Shols who chose to hone their skills in manipulation were never able to grasp it with the same instinctual synchronicity and intuition that Shols had.

As if something deeper connected them.

Perhaps their story about the Verdance wasn't so absurd.

Zeal shook his head.

He wasn't going to buy into this ridiculous lore. It was a tale spun and told through their storytelling ways, doubtlessly warped and embellished over countless generations.

There was, within reason, probably some prominent figure in their long history that had done something akin to that of their rumored predecessor that they so revered, the Yggdrasill.

Oh no.

Now even he was giving it the same dramatic flourish.

Shols had the knack for rubbing their quirks off on those they met.

Zeal glanced at the Shols gathered around the warmth of the campfire. Lockes was playing with fire again, and a swift fox of flames swirled through the smoke, chasing the equally nimble, fleet-footed, hare, the two twisting and twirling, dancing in the never ending arm's race between predator and prey.

The night air was filled with smoke and a lively melody that the older Shol blew through their meticulously crafted reed as Vye sat, mesmerized by whatever story it was Lockes spun.

He couldn't deny it any longer.

Truthfully, it hadn't simply been for profit that he had accepted Vye's proposal for this merry chase.

When he found out Vye was a Shol, it had seemed far too coincidental.

Like an unseen hand was guiding him, had given him a push.

Zeal wouldn't believe this farce to be anything more than a waste of Time, though he must have if he'd accepted such a ridiculous venture. The Seeker told himself it was for the money, the precious liquid gold Vye secreted, for he was not so naive as the young Bræmbel Shol.

But he couldn't deny that he'd entertained the notion.

Maybe, and yet he couldn't hope against hopes, just maybe, all wasn't lost.