Sparrow's Flight

Witchcraft SMP Member-Inspired Dances

I've already made a post on genres of music I thought the witches would listen to. What about dances they invented themed around their magic???

Shubble - Storm Shuffle. Literally. Just Shelbie doing a small little shuffle left and right in the middle of a storm.

Tiff - Floral Flamenco. For whenever Tiff is trying to tend to gardens or work with her botania books, she can do this dance to relax.

Pris - Hydro Hand-jive. Just a small dance Pris came up with after the date. She does it a lot when she's in a panic, and probably would've done it a small while after the incident with that demon on the ship.

Lauren - Sandy Salsa. Salsa is a kind of sauce/topping. Lauren's character is part-sandwich (i think???)

Eloise - Illusionary Ikariotikos. It's something she'd do after a particularly difficult illusion or just as a stress-reliever. I feel like she could've done this after her date with Pris went wrong.

Joey - Flaming Foxtrot and Frosty Flamenco. Joey just dancing in the middle of a bonfire seems funny to me. And then Joey starting a dance in a tundra while everyone else is just freezing.

Scott - Widow's Waltz. It fits his character, and does have some connection to death via mourning. Scott would have performed this with "him" before "he" died, and Scott now does it alone in "his" memory.

Cleo - Time Tango. Cleo would do a tango alone as time changes around her. Or maybe she tangoes with the embodiment of time. Maybe a time god? Or a time spirit? Something like that.

What do you think? Again, you can use this for Dancer AUs or whatever you want!

Siren Song

The Mean Gills were thriving. Martyn focussed on building his hourglass whilst Scott had built them a house. And now that it was done, and Scott was out gathering materials, he took the time to get used to the storage system. It was odd, to say the least. He couldn't make sense of it. Although he did have to admit that the chests were at least somewhat organised. Martyn would never admit that it took him a solid ten minutes to get used to the storage system. In hindsight that didn't seem like a long time, but since everyone had twenty-four hours to live, it was kind of humiliating. It was like having fifty days to live and spending one of them trying to make sense of something simple.

He'd just put some stuff away when he heard it. In the distance, a tad bit muffled, he could hear something. Singing?

"Drown me underwater, watch as I flounder~" the song was low and quiet, but it's hypnotic melody caused Martyn to drop the wood he'd been holding. Curiosity held him in a vice-like grip and it refused to let go. "I'll gasp for air, for your touch, for your lips and your hair~," The song continued, slowly building in volume. The voice singing was clearly used to it, as each note was perfect and rich.

"H-hello? Anyone there?" Martyn called out. Nothing. No response. But the song kept playing upon his ears and his ears alone.

"As you pull me up and kiss me, water fills my lungs, is this something you'd miss?" The voice was closer now. Or maybe Martyn had subconsciously gotten closer to it. But he felt compelled to find the source. He barely even noticed as he gradually lost land to tread on and began to dip his feet into the water...

"Who's there?" He asked aloud. But before he could hear an answer, Martyn realised that he'd fallen into the water. The warm water was comforting. It warmed his bones and enveloped him in its embrace. He didn't want to leave. Even though his clothes were soaked and he'd lost his sandals despite not having moved, even though the water was filling his lungs-

"And when you release me and hold me down, the water floods my body, flowing down, down, down~," He was closer now. Martyn ignored the rational part of his mind telling him to swim back up and abandon his quest. But he was determined. And that voice was far too tantalising to ignore. "Down into my lungs and I forget how to breathe, but I see your smiling face and I forget how to leave, you keep me here~" And so he swam. Martyn swam down further and further. He was close to the coral. In fact, he was just skimming the sand at the seabed. Still no sign of the voice.

Actually, maybe he was wrong. Martyn saw a faint silhouette of someone not too far from him. He swam towards them. His movements were sluggish, and more and more water filled his lungs. If he didn't resurface he would die soon.

But he made it. Somehow Martyn had managed to reach them. A figure with a human body, but fins on their arms and legs and one ginormous one on their back, along with webbed fingers and toes and gills in their neck. The mop of cyan hair was familiar. So were the patches of colourful coral that clung to their skin. The jacket that had been torn and was loosely tied around their waist. Shimmering teal scales decorated the merfolk's body. They glinted like gemstones in the warped light illuminating the sea. The figure continued to sing, and slowly Martyn began to recognise more and more things. The way they sang sounded familiar. So were the figure's gestures. And when they turned around, Martyn recognised them in an instant.

"Scott?" His own voice was garbled, and water flooded in through his mouth. but he couldn't help but ask. Martyn suddenly felt light-headed. The lack of oxygen was finally catching up to him.

---

Martyn woke up later. He was in his bed with Scott kneeling down besides him, fretting over his still but newly conscious body.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit! Goddamnit, Scott, why did you do that? If you hadn't opened your stupid mouth to sing then he'd be fine!" Scott cursed himself. Martyn groaned, and Scott's attention snapped over to him in an instant. "Martyn! Are you okay? Can you breathe? Oh my god I'm so happy you're alright-" Scott cut himself off by tightly hugging Martyn.

"Whoa, whoa, sl-slow down. G-gimme a sec..." Martyn sat up and rubbed the side of his head. Scott had put on some clothes, but now that he'd seen the gills and the fins, Martyn couldn't un-see it.

"I'm so sorry about that. It was dumb and I should've thought and-"

"Calm down, Scott. It's fine," He grunted mildly in pain and coughed. Water flew out and splattered onto his clothes. "Wh-when were you gonna tell me you were a..." He struggled to find the right word.

"Siren? Merfolk? I was going to tell you later today, but I guess you beat me to it. A-and I am really sorry about this."

"Don't worry. And besides," He paused and locked eyes with Scott, taking on a grin. "You have a nice voice. And the fins really suit you."

"O-oh." Scott's face was bright red with embarrassment. "And I'll warn you if I sing again. I don't want you trying to drown yourself a second time around."

"Sounds good to me."

Scott's Last Breath

There was no time. He was swimming, swimming, swimming, swimming for salvation, swimming to get away, swimming to live. Jimmy and Martyn were both there. He remembered Jimmy had given him time to hide. To hide before Jimmy set out to kill him and gain an extra hour. Scott was a target now. People were getting desperate.

Water began to fill his lungs. Scott was grateful he was a small part fish so that water would let him live, but now that he was approaching Yellow Life, even his fish anatomy was letting up and the water would kill him soon. Each panicked inhalation of water sent him closer to death.

"Martyn!" Scott cried out. His voice was muffled, but the look on Martyn's face spoke volumes. His friend nodded. He needed Martyn to kill him instead of Jimmy. Martyn was his ally. If Scott was going to die, then he wanted Martyn to be the one to take the extra hour. Not Jimmy.

"Scott, come to me!" Jimmy yelled through the water. Scott wouldn't. He couldn't.

His mind brought back memories filled with his husband in the flower fields, the flower crowns they wore and the small rings of twine as their wedding rings. He remembered standing in front of a grave with a poppy dropped at its base. He remembered dying and seeing his flower husband again.

Scott felt the searing pain of two blades piercing his body. Blood flowed out and into the water, staining it red in a gruesome pool of blood and pain.

He wanted it to end. He wished he could just die and avoid being constantly hunted down as the one on the server with the most lives.

Scott saw the wounds. He saw the wide gaping injuries littering his sides, chest, arms and legs. Locking eyes with Martyn, a final unspoken message was sent.

He was about to die. He was so low on health. Scott prayed in his mind that Martyn would deliver the blow. He hoped that, when he respawned, he'd be held by his fellow member of the Mean Gills, his ally, the only person he could really trust.

Scott's vision went black.

He felt his heart stop.

His body went cold.

The final damning message in the world, horrific words spelled out in the minds of every single player.

Smajor was slain by InTheLittleWood

At least his ally would get to live a little longer.

The Spread

It was spreading. His colony was growing every day. Bit by bit, it was expanding out of the corners he had planted them in and moving out into the daylight.

A smile curled at his lips.

He could feel them all even from the comfort of his home. Tiny tendrons snaking forwards. Miniscule mushrooms bursting out of the ground.

Everything was going according to plan.

---

Gem was the first, that he knew of, to notice.

Mushrooms were just...growing! Behind the house she'd made in her first life!

Really, they shouldn't be growing there. It wasn't the right habitat and there were no other patches of them elsewhere nearby.

Someone must have put them there. Surely.

Although, there was a huge amount of them. How had she not seen them before? It wasn't that well hidden. Not when they peeked out into her line of sight rather prominently.

Perhaps she should get rid of them. Or at least build something to keep them contained.

She didn't want them getting any closer.

---

The others had large patches, too.

Jimmy's patch of mushrooms were a stark contrast to the pinks and whites of his area. The dull grey of the mycellium was obvious against the emerald grass surrounding it, and the mushrooms were rather out of place amongst the flowers.

fWhip had a decent amount as well, perhaps the biggest of all of them. He didn't seem to notice them yet. Good. His area was large enough that they'd probably stay hidden for a while longer.

And Sausage? Obviously there were a couple mushrooms there as well! Hopefully, like fWhip, he wouldn't notice them just yet. The mushrooms there had grown considerably. It'd be a shame if he found them and took them down.

---

Of course if any of them did dare hurt them, Scott would retaliate.

Gaia be damned. She'd appreciate it, really. He was helping!

He sat in his home, taking a bite out of a cabbage roll that he didn't need to eat anymore. The taste was bland, nothing like how it had been in his last life as a transporter. Most food had lost its appeal.

The mushrooms outside his house were slowly beginning to creep down towards the rest of his area.

Perfect.

Rebirth

Some people thought that being given a new origin, a new chance at life, was painful. Essentially, their DNA was being rewritten at an impossible speed to comprehend. Blood would boil ferociously like torrential waves in a storm, skin would bubble and burst, bones would crack and pop. Organs would shift proportions and positions to accommodate new things; additional or less organs than before, larger internal power sources.

Others thought it was painless. A pain that would never be felt. Their bodies would go numb to anything except for a faint tingling that ran through them like miniature jolts of electricity.

It was both, and neither.

---

Jimmy knew it well. He knew the cold clutches of the Void, an endless expanse that none could run from. He knew the wandering eyes that spectated everything he did. Knew the ears that pried in on every conversation, every tiny and insignificant sound. Knew the voices that whispered, buzzing with a variety of emotions, mostly excitement.

For once, he could feel the phantom burden of heavy wings on his back. Bright yellow, practically glowing, and fluffy.

Canary wings.

Hands glided across his skin with light and feathery caresses.

The voices all said the same thing: Mine. Mine. You belong to us. You are ours. Our little canary. Your life is ours.

A shiver ran down Jimmy's spine.

Because he was theirs, wasn't he? They moulded him. He was made to be whatever they wanted. They were the gods and he was the human they sculpted out of clay.

So even when their touches hurt, even when they got possessive, he did nothing.

What was a mortal to a god?

---

Sparrow couldn't remember the last fragments of his life as a human. Perhaps that was for the better.

It must have been painful. Right? It didn't seem like a painless process. Even though he couldn't feel much anymore, he could still feel a phantom ache in his chest where is lungs once were. His body was smaller. Colder, due to the copper metal of his skin. Not human at all.

A machine. Just like the ones he used to make.

It was ironic, really. The creator became the created.

The dullness in his body would never leave him. Like a parasite that latched onto him and refused to relinquish its grip. A constant reminder of what he did in order to become one of them.

Because that was all he wanted, wasn't it?

To be one of them.

---

Scott couldn't really comprehend it.

The Void encapsulated him. Accommodated him. It let him teleport to his heart's content, even if everything was the same ever-stretching expanse of darkness.

Sometimes he wished he could still feel the nausea from teleporting. To feel something, anything, other than emptiness.

But that wasn't an option.

He could feel his body being changed. Pointed ears, antlers growing from his skull, gills and fins, a gold eye that saw magic, scars on his arms from an injury he couldn't remember, a long rat's tail, sharpened canines. Blurred flickering memories. Hundreds of weird mutations, an amalgamation of parts.

The strings of each world were wrapped around him in a suffocating embrace.

And then he was reborn.

Morning Sunshine, Evening Moonlight

Scott blinked back at the tears. He couldn't risk it now. He was meant to be one of the strongest witches in the competition! The Necromantic Witch! Every one of his competitors either feared him, was stupid enough to make him an enemy, or was an ally. Most feared him. He had taglocks of everyone. Nobody was safe from a curse. Not even Bertha, the...weird being that Scott didn't quite understand.

Case in point, Scott was meant to be powerful. Crying was a sign of weakness. He couldn't afford to be weak.

That wouldn't bring Milo back.

So he wiped his eyes and continued on. He flicked through the Book of Shadows, analysing every word of every line until he understood the ritual perfectly and could do it blindfolded. The chalk on the ground was right. He had the right ingredients. He even had a sacrifice like the book said!

Taking a deep breath, Scott began the ritual.

---

None of the other witches had heard a peep from Scott in a bit. No curses, no pranks, nothing. He hadn't tried scaring Bertha, he wasn't on some sort of journey to collect ingredients or spells. Nobody knew where he was.

Cleo paced back and forth at Spawn. She gesticulated wildly to Bertha as she ranted on end. Scott had said he'd meet her there ages ago. He hadn't turned up.

"What if something bad happened to him? He's my ally! Not to mention he's not...mentally stable," Cleo shook her head. "No I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he's just resting?"

"Scott doesn't have a bed," Bertha helpfully supplied. "He doesn't sleep anymore after Joey and Pris tried getting his taglock."

"Oh. Right." Cleo mentally screamed. She was no closer to discerning where Scott was than before!

"But we could take a look at his base," Bertha suggested, gesturing at the Waystone in the centre of Spawn. "Maybe he's there?" Cleo frowned, but, seeing no other option, complied.

The two stepped up to the Waystone and teleported to Scott's house.

---

Scott's home was silent. Usually there was at least some small semblance of noise. But not anymore. Instead it was just uncomfortably silent. Suffocatingly so.

Bertha cautiously tread on the decayed ground as if it would catch fire at any second. Cleo's brows furrowed. The decay was pretty bad. It stretched incredibly far, almost halfway to the lake. Had Scott's magic caused this?

As the two of them looked around, a chalk circle caught their eyes. In the centre of it stood a figure hidden behind sinister black, gold and crimson robes. A hood was pulled over their head, but Cleo could easily guess that it was Scott. By the look of it, he was performing some kind of ritual.

"Scott?" She said, slowly approaching the chalk circle. In between the red and purple chalk were thin lines of salt. Odd. Scott stood, unmoving and unattentive. There was a swirl of shadows and darkness at his feet, growing and growing. Shadowy tendrils shot out of the depths, sapping the life out of the world around it. The decay on the ground groaned and spread, edging closer and closer to the lake.

"Scott." Bertha's voice was loud and firm, unlike what cleo had heard before. It sounded more...ethereal. Less human and more like an entity of some sort. "Stop this." But Scott didn't seem to be listening.

"I'm gonna try something, but I think I'll need your help." Cleo held out her hand to Bertha, and they readily took it.

She drew nearer and nearer to the chalk circle. With a sharp breath, Cleo stepped over the lines of chalk and salt, careful not to accidentally disturb them. Breaking the ritual could have dire consequences. She reached out and took hold of Scott's hand. Bertha gasped and uttered something.

Before she could blink, Cleo was no longer at Scott's house.

---

He was home. Home with Milo and Maxwell. Home with his family. No more disasters. No more magic. No more death. Instead, he was sat at the table with Milo, both of them happily eating and talking. In his mind, it was like nothing had ever happened. Perhaps none of it had been real. Maybe he'd just been living a nightmare and only just woke up to his actual reality.

Whatever the case, Scott had missed this.

"I love you," he blurted out. "I-I really love you."

"I should hope so," Milo replied with a gentle laugh. He took Scott's hand. "After all, we are living together. How would Maxwell cope?"

"Shared custody?" Scott joked. The duo grinned in the way they only did for each other and burst out in pure, unadultered laughter.

He could almost believe it was real.

The main giveaway was the decay on his hands. The blackened skin that flickered in and out of existence. A reminder. In the corner of his eye, Scott could see the outlines of two figures reaching out for him and calling his name. He shook his head. This was his moment. This was his time to lose himself and believe that Milo was still alive.

"Scott!" The voices called out. They were incredibly distinct, and he knew them well. Cleo and Bertha. It could be no one else.

"Sunshine? Are you alright?" Milo asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." Scott leaned over and kissed Milo on the forehead. "Just...tired, I think."

"Do you wanna go up to bed now? I can clean up." Milo offered with a smile.

"O-ok. Love you." With a quick kiss on the lips, Scott stood up from the table and left.

"Scott, please," Cleo's voice begged. And Scott could see her now. He could see her hand wrapped around his own. "You need to stop. The decay, i-it's spreading. It's hurting you Scott!"

"But-...I'm finally back! With him!" Scott argued. His voice wavered, and tears pricked his eyes. "I-I can finally be happy again! I can live my life here, with him. I've tried to bring him back for so long. Do you know, Cleo? Do you know how long I've tried? Take a guess! Take a guess goddamnit, and tell me how long you think I've tried! Go on! Please!" Scott felt the tears falling down his cheeks. Cleo's hand wiped them away. Bertha stood beside him, their hand resting on his shoulder.

"Neither of us can imagine. But you need to come back. There's another way. Scott, come back." Bertha's eyes glowed with tender sympathy.

"I can't!" Scott pulled away. "I-I can't live without him."

"Yes you can. Please Scott." Cleo wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.

The world around them fell apart.

---

They were back. Back at Scott's house. Only now, the Necromantic Witch was crying, weeping and wailing, clinging onto Cleo and Bertha for support. They feebly clung onto him, rubbing up and down his back and waiting for him to calm down.

Neither had intended to do this. But they did.

"I'm sorry," Scott hiccuped, his eyes puffy and voice hoarse. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry about it." Bertha responded. "Besides, if it works, I can find a better way to bring back, uhh..."

"Milo."

"Yes, Milo." Bertha snapped their fingers in remembrance when Scott said the name.

"Sure?"

"Incredibly so."

"Okay." Scott smiled at both of them.

Those few seconds with Milo were worth it. Milo may not like what Scott's become, but that wouldn't stop him.

Nothing would.

Gem & The Scotts' First Concert

"You think this'll work?" Impulse asked, nervously peeking around the curtain.

Gem smiled. "I'm sure it's gonna be great."

Scott tapped his fingers repetitively against his arm. He glanced at the guitar laid out for him - cyan, with the green, yellow and red heart symbols running down the frets. This was a gamble; how'd they even know this would work out alright?

"This better not be someone's task," he muttered. Picking up his guitar by the strap and pulling it on, he strummed a few test chords for the umpteenth time that evening.

Impulse's hand twitched at his side, the other releasing its grip on the curtain. He took a deep breath and took a seat at the drum kit, picking up the drumsticks and tapping them against each other as quietly as possible.

Gem stood in that positive, easy-going way of hers, her hand gently gripping the microphone. Her hair cascaded down her back in tumbling ginger waves.

Their make-up had been a minor concern. Back-stage wasn't exactly the coldest, being uncomfortably hot at its best. For the past half-hour or so the trio had been vigorously panicking over whether it would stay or not.

They could only hope.

"And now, introducing..." there was a pause in the voice - Grian's, if he was correct - and the trio nodded at each other. "Gem and the Scotts!"

The curtain was yanked back.

The crowd of fellow Life members applauded and cheered. Gem plastered on that blindingly uplifting smile of hers that Scott could only wish he had.

Impulse tapped the drumsticks together over his head, counting up to four with a loud enthusiasm.

Scott strummed the first few chords. They were the ones he'd worried about most, as messing those ones up threw the whole song off its rhythm.

Gem began to sing. He went over the chords in his head, relying on a dangerous mix of muscle memory and mental effort. Her voice was powerful, stronger than the quaking earth and the rolling waves. She carried herself with an air of confidence, as if she belonged on that stage.

She began stamping her foot; their audience copied the motion. Scott joined in as well.

He leaned forwards into the mic in front of him and harmonised with her like they'd practised. Impulse joined in a few lines after. They sang the chorus in unison, their voices mixing together in the best possible way.

The crowd, by that point, had begun to sing along, having learnt the chorus and deeming their knowledge good enough to join in.

Hearing so many people gleefully singing along almost made him stop playing in shock. He hesitated, not long enough to disrupt the song, but enough for his forehead to start sweating in panic.

Slowly, Gem drew the song to a close.

He dared to look at Impulse, and found him smiling like a fool. Scott must have been as well, if he were being honest.

---

The rest of the evening continued mostly in the same way, only that they became more relaxed as time went on.

By the end, though, they were exhausted.

"I need to nap for three years," Scott said.

"Same." Impulse ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sweating like hell. Why's it so goddamn hot out there?"

Gem chuckled. "It's the lights."

"Damn lights." Impulse said, half-laughing at the end of his sentence.

"Wanna head home? It's pretty late." Scott checked the clock on the wall. Eleven-fifteen.

As soon as he said that, Impulse yawned, stretching his arms behind his head and arching his back. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Besides, we can play again in the morning, just us. No one else is gonna be here."

"Is that just an excuse to go home earlier?" Gem asked, a playful grin on her face.

"Would you blame if it was?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I see where you're coming from." Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Gem beckoned for them to do the same.

Scott put his guitar in its case, closed it then pulled the strap over his shoulder and held onto it with a white-knuckle grip.

Impulse just stood up, grabbing a water bottle and chugging it like he'd been wandering through a desert for days.

"Last one home does the dishes!" Impulse yelled, already bolting for the door.

"Hey!" Gem and Scott yelled simultaneously. Then, with a shared look between them, ran forwards. They shoved each other as they got to the door, squeezed through and sprinted after Impulse.

A Dead Canary In The Garden

Scott stared out of his window in a trance. The shimmering water of the lake was illuminated by the golden rays of light from the sun dipping below the horizon. Trees surrounded this lake in a protective circle in a desperate effort to hide the lake from Scott's clutches. That's what it felt like. But in all fairness, he wasn't exactly the best person to have around. Death and decay clung to him, shackles that he could never remove no matter how hard he tried. Maybe once he could have done it, but not anymore. Not since the one person Scott loved more than life had been taken from him.

Now he was resigned to watching the lake from a distance. He didn't trust himself to go near it. Maybe later. For now, it felt like attempting such a feat would end badly. Particularly with the lake evaporating or bubbling to the point where it would burn anyone who even tried to come near it. Almost like how Scott had tried to hide himself from the other witches. After all, wouldn't he always be the bad guy in their stories? The Necromantic Witch, who brought the undead with him wherever he went, who cursed those he deigned worthy of such burdens, who would actively seek out trouble by attacking his fellow witches or simply messing with them. Thinking back on it, he didn't even know if he was the good guy in his own story. How could he be?

Sighing to himself, Scott left the confines of his house. The walls sought to suffocate him, and that wasn't something Scott could deal with right now. But what if he let it happen? If he let the walls suck the air out of his lungs and finally allow Scott to die? Would he be happy? Would Scott finally see him again? He chuckled to himself. If the Necromantic Witch had died, he had no doubt in his mind that the others would find it amusing. The irony of it pulled another laugh out of his lungs.

Wandering slowly outside, he allowed his feet to carry him. He didn't have a particular destination in mind. As long as he was moving, he'd be fine. Movement meant he was alive. Or maybe he'd been reanimated by a different necromancer. Either way, it meant he was walking, which was good. Most of the time, death meant nothingness for eternity. Or so that's what all those books had taught him.

To his surprise, he found himself in a familiar part of the forest. One he hadn't been to since he received the letter stating he'd be partaking in a competition to become Supreme Witch. Since he had built the home they had dreamt of before-....

He shook his head.

Scott approached the back of the cabin. A small patch of grass lay behind it, distinctly out of place. It was a far brighter patch of grass than the decayed grass surrounding it. A single flower was left there along with a small headstone with lovingly carved words on its surface. Scott remembered carving it. The grief that had wracked his body almost made him mess up. Luckily, he'd managed to carve it correctly without any huge mistakes.

"Hello again Petal," Scott said quietly. He stared down at the flower on the ground. A poppy. Symbolising death and remembrance. "Do you like the flower? I'm sorry I couldn't get you more. Flowers don't seem to like me much anymore." He paused. No answer came from the grave. Only silence. "I love you. And I will get you back. I promise." He knelt down and picked up the poppy. He kissed each one of its many petals and carefully placed it back on the grave.

One way or another, he would bring him back.

The End Has Come

It's all over now.

Scott finally got his happy ending. Shirking his crown, he happily went off with Milo. It worked. The spell worked. Now Scott was able to live out his life with his love. Scott was Milo's moonlight, his little shadow. Losing his magic was a price he was willing to pay if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with Milo. Scott was overjoyed.

Lauren was happy. She made friends! After years of being in the desert, alone, she had people that made her laugh. People that she cared about, and cared about her in return. Lauren liked having friends. It was much better than being alone, that's for sure. But her mind was doubtful. She ran instead of fighting that demon. Would the others forgive her? Lauren wouldn't know.

Pris was going to start her own family in the ocean. Pride welled in her chest as she swam amidst the waves. She could visit her sister. She could live her life. There was no way anyone could ever say she wasn't overjoyed. The water passed over her skin and she relished in the feeling. Pris was happy.

Shelbie was home again. It was awkward, especially after she set off the rain again, but she couldn't complain. Not when she was welcomed with open arms and into a warm hug. She melted into the touch with a smile on her face. Shelbie was grateful.

Eloise had found that crown. Some loser had just left it on the ground! And whilst she didn't know how someone could just leave it there, she didn't question it. Eloise readily picked it up and placed it on her head. She paid no mind to the runes on the ground, nor the circles of chalk. Eloise didn't see the shimmering dark-green glow pass over the crown.

Joey had followed Tiff through that portal. There was nowhere else that she could've gone. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the unsettling crawl of goosebumps on his skin as the portal transported him. He didn't need to return to the mages that tossed him away when his magic was revealed. He didn't need to prove himself to them anymore. Joey just had to find his friend and make sure she was okay.

Tiff couldn't help but grin. This would be a new adventure. A new world. Those voices called to her, beckoning her to come with them, more hypnotic than a siren's song. Tiff wanted to take the plunge. Just like she had done with the competition. Only this time, there was no major incentive to do it. No Mother Nature calling her forth to help protect the plants. Tiff had chosen this.

Cleo marveled at her new body. No more rotted flesh. No more stitches holding her limbs together. No more time spent having to struggle with an undead body she was condemned to be trapped within. Cleo finally had a normal body again. A normal body with a beating heart. With no stitches. With no risk of falling apart if not for her magic keeping her together. Cleo was content.

Bertha had to follow Joey and Tiff. Without them, the two would likely get themselves in trouble within mere minutes. So, albeit somewhat reluctantly, Bertha bade their beloved Mertha goodbye as they ran towards the portal and stepped in. They watched as Mertha's image dissipated slowly. Everything soon was covered in green, green, green. Green everywhere. Just green. Bertha had to help them.

Happy endings never last. Loose strings must always be tied when all is said and done.

The story is not over just yet.

Herons Aren't Lightweights

The Herons base was rowdy at night.

They all gathered together, tankards of beer in hand, drinking like there was no tomorrow. There may as well not have been to them.

Cleo continued brewing up drinks, adding input to the conversations going on around her.

Scott was up on the stage with Christian, asking questions in a hushed tone, yet somehow she could still hear the slur in his voice.

Eloise sat with Water, both singing somewhat poorly to bar songs and the made-up anthem of the Herons. Olive sat beside them, joining in every now and then but mostly just working on tuning their instrument.

Owen sat at one of the tables, head in his hands. He let out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut.

"Guys? I think someone needs to take Owen to bed." Cleo called out.

"Really? Already?" Olive asked. "We've only had...had..." Olive's eyes began to droop. They downed another drink. "We've only had, like, five drinks."

Water shrugged. "I can take him. Be back soon!" Water stood up, staggering a little, then approached Owen. "C'mon, let's go. You've had enough for tonight."

Owen only groaned weakly in protest.

Once Water had carried Owen out of the tavern, Cleo glanced over at Scott. He was still talking to Christian, and was gesticulating madly.

Olive and Eloise seemed distracted enough. They wouldn't mind if the next round of drinks didn't come for a bit.

Cleo carefully walked up to Scott, then paused a little behind him.

"What do I do? I- is there anything I can...do for him? I mean, we've just started talk...talking to each other again!"

Christian merely shrugged in response. "I am not sure. For now, give him some space and a little time. Eventually things between you will get easier."

Scott's ears flushed. "I don't have time to wait that long! What if one of us goes out on an expedition and never comes back? I may never get to see him again in time, and I don't want thing to be tense between us if and when that happens!" His voice rose in pitch and volume.

For a brief second, Eloise and Olive glanced his way. Then the two of them slowly turned back to each other and their drinks.

Cleo set her hand on Scott's shoulder. He spun around and grasped at the handle of his rapier, then let go when he saw it was her. "I think you should sit down now Scott. Give Christian a break."

He nodded meekly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure." Scott allowed Cleo to lead him to a seat at a table, then push him into it.

"Is it about Acho?"

Scott hesitated, then nodded. "I just...I just don't know what to do."

"Think about it in the morning. You're not thinking clearly right now. When you're sober, think about it then. For now, you can either keep drinking and drown your sorrows in alcohol, or you can take a rest like Owen. No shame in either option."

"Alcohol. Strong alcohol." He didn't stutter, and his voice was almost completely free of a slurred tone. Almost as if he hadn't had more drinks than most of the other Herons already.

"Sure?"

"Yes. I want you to give me so much alcohol that I can barely move around tomorrow. No, for the rest of the week."

Cleo sighed. It wasn't a good idea, but they were pirates.

Since when was anything they did a 'good idea'?

Olive let out a startled yelp, then a joyful squeal. "Cruppy! Hello!" Cruppy jumped at Olive's heels, rubbing against them and jumping like a puppy would. Olive bent down and stroked Cruppy, to which the crab-puppy-thing eagerly jumped into their lap for stroking convenience.

Smiling at the sight, Eloise was suddenly motivated to sing even louder and more joyfully than before. Olive joined in with equal vigour and Cruppy nestled in their lap peacefully.

Cleo shook her head with a warm grin, then grabbed the next round of drinks.

"To us!" She declared, holding her tankard tight and pushing it high into the air.

"To us!" The others parroted, with varying levels of volume and enthusiasm. Regardless, the sound could be heard well beyond the Herons' base and echoed through the town.

Water returned, arms free of Owen, and shouted, "To us!" at the top of her lungs. A delayed reaction, but a welcome one.

For the rest of the night, they all chanted the same thing over and over, falling asleep in the tavern.

They all regretted it in the morning.

But Herons weren't lightweights, and for some strange reason, they all wished to prove it.