Satyr Oc - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
Yumi in that one denim Y2K fit.
Yumi in that one denim Y2K fit.
Yumi in that one denim Y2K fit.
Yumi in that one denim Y2K fit.
~Taking in the sun~
My dnd character Nestor!! Once again trying around with shading and colors!!
Hi! Another of one of my characters, her name is Lenóra! She's a transgirl satyr
aRT-DuMP FiLe 101
SuBJeCT: BiLToN THe (HaPPY) SaTYR
MooD: SoOoOoOoO GaY. 🤣 (i MeaNT HaPPY)
aRTiST(?): Me!! (Rowney)
MeSSaGe To THe VieWeR(S): i KNoW i HaVeN'T DRaWN BiL/BiLToN a LoT LaST YeaR. (2019) 😓 So HeRe'S SoMeTHiNG To FaN-SeRViCe aLL HiS FaNS. 😄 a SHoWCaSe oF BiLToN'S SiGNaTuRe (KiLLeR) SMiLe!! 😉
aRT-DuMP FiLe 101
SuBJeCT: RaSTuS oF THe FLoWeRS
MooD: PRoDuCTiVe 😗
aRTiST(?): Me. (Rowney)
MeSSaGe To THe VieWeR(S): i ReCaLL HaViNG a PRoMiSe To DRaW oNe oF "SoMeoNe i KNeW" 'S aDoPTeD oRiGiNaL CHaRaCTeR THaT SHe GoT FRoM... (WeLL, i CaN'T TaG THe aRTiST FoR.. SoMe ReaSoN.) 🤔
So? HeRe He iS! oNe oF MY uNFiNiSHeD PRoJeCT LaST YeaR THaT i'Ve DeCiDeD To FiNiSH. 🙂 (HoPe THiS iS FiNe) 🙃
P.S.
WHaT'S WiTH Me aDDiNG a LiL eFFoRT oN BG aND STuFF?! 😅
aRT-DuMP FiLe 101
SuBJeCT: JeTHRo oF THe MouNTaiN
MooD: DoPeY 😩
aRTiST(?): Me?! (Rowney)
MeSSaGe To THe VieWeR(S): THe 3RD aND LaST oF "SoMeoNe WHo KNoWS Me oNCe" 'S aDoPTeD oRiGiNaL CHaRaCTeR THaT SHe GoT FRoM... a SaTYR/FauN eNTHuSiaST. 😋
FeaTuRiNG, a MouNTaiN SaTYR NaMeD "JeTHRo" 🏔️🐐
aRT-DuMP FiLe(S) 101
SuBJeCT: i SuMMoNeD a SaTYR - FaSTFoRWaRD
MooD: JoiYee (JoY) 😁
aRTiST(?): Me! (Rowney)
https://www.scribd.com/document/470742312/I-Summoned-a-Satyr-Fstfrwd
MeSSaGe To THe VieWeR(S): GoNNa Go FaST!! FaST PHaSe SToRY TeLLiNG oF MY oWN WRiTiNG: "i SuMMoNeD a SaTYR" So SeaT BacK, DoN'T ReLaX, aND GeT CRaSHeD BY MY eXTRaNeouS uSe oF VoCaBuLaRY. 😅
HaPPY 5TH aNNiVeRSaRY 🎉🎈 To MY "i SuMMoNeD a SaTYR" CaST(S) 😄 (MaiNLY THe B.R.B (BiL, Rowney & Bie) GaNG) 🤣
ToDaYS SPeCiaLTY 😎 iS a ReDRaW VeRSioN oF THiS oLD PoRTRaiT (WHiCH iS a BiT DiFFeReNT FRoM THe oRiGiNaL Due To MY PeRSoNaL VieW oF THeM oN THeiR uPDaTeD STaTuS... Ya GeT D'DRiLL. 😒 "BiLeY" WiNS & Bie... SuPPoRTS.) PLuS!! a SPeCiaL "ReaDeR'S DiGeST" 🤓 eRRR. i MeaN WRiTiNG! oF "i SuMMoNeD a SaTYR" 🐐 SToRY... oR So(?) JuST Go CHeCK/See THe LiNK BeLoW:
P.S.
"Do" MiND ouR CHiBi B.R.B (BiL, Rowney & Bie) GaNG. 😙 THeY'Re TRYiNG To GeT SoMe "SMaLL" aTTeNTioN. 😝 aND YeS.. CoSBie aPPRoVeS oN THe "BiLeY" (BiLToN X Rowney) SHiP 👍 aND HaPPY 5TH aNNiVeRSaRY To "i SuMMoNeD a SaTYR" 🤗
Hello everyone
For the first time in forever I decided to post something original. Meet Rick my oc. He is 65 years old lion-satyr (don't ask me how, It's just special breed of a satyr).
Tell me in the comments what would you do if you would met him or what do you think about him.
Sorry for not posting more but I have to make something to school. Thanks for your patience and love <3
Working on a lil smt. I've been thinking about inscryption non stop (and developed a crush on Leshy the tree peepaw but we don't talk about that) so I decided to make an oc to write some fics.
I don't have much yet but here's Domenique, pronouns they/them. Initially they were a human who lived in PO3's island and worked at the factory, but after volunteering to let PO3 test his game mechanic of turning cards into beasts, the process went horribly wrong and they ended up as a satyr-like creature, half fawn half human. PO3 prioritized building back up the failed machine before helping them so they ran to the others scrybes for help, eventually finding Leshy. Despite the initial dislike and mistrust they felt towards the Scrybe of the beasts and his domain (because lets be honest, PO3 probably brainwashed them hard into hating anything that wasn't robotic or technology), they eventually got used to the forest and organic beings and ended up bonding with Leshy too. Now Nic lives happily in Leshy's domain and plays a blood deck, eventually becoming one of the mini bosses others have to defeat before fighting Leshy.
Some small details I've added are the clover on their head from the mechanic of re rolling cards in certain encounters, a hook from the angler, their top being made out of a golden pelt from the trapper, a few of their earrings being made out of gold from the prospector, and ofc, a moon necklace from Leshy himself
. Starting off very well with the challenge yesterday I completely forgot to share that I'm posting each day in AO3! I also forgot to share yesterday's entry here, so, I'm gonna leave both the link and the entry now:
Day 2: Apple scent
Nic was hungry. Starving, more precisely. They held their stomach tightly, their fingernails digging into their exposed flesh as they stumbled around the forest in a desperate search for something, anything to put into their mouth. PO3 had always fed the now-satyr; as long as they worked in the factory their plates were full and wallets… not as full, but still with enough foils to afford some extra meals here and there if needed. But it wasn't like the machine had done it out of the kindness of its cold, robotic heart, no. Instead, it had been to keep Nic alive, a way to ensure its precious resource didn't expire. A minor inconvenience the scrybe of technology had been willing to stand to assure its biological helper didn't run away so it could keep exploding Nic.
But now? Nic knew there was no coming back to the factory, no pleading with that insensible metal box to take them back. It wasn’t like it would have greeted them with open arms anyway. As they walked, Nic tripped over something, and too weak to react in time, they collapsed on the ground with a thud. Groaning, the satyr sat up, carefully examining their foo- hoove to check for any visible injury. They felt a wave of relief wash over them as both their hooves seemed and felt unharmed, soon overshadowed by a piercing stab of hunger in their belly. Nic curled up, clutching their abdomen and muttering an array of curses.
Regardless, they got up once more. The hunger was stubborn, but so was Nic.
Their eyes scouted the area in search of anything remotely edible, occasionally glancing down at the uneven terrain. “Your legs are skinny and weak. They lack proper muscles. You must eat and walk more”, Leshy had told them not too long ago. At the time, Nic had merely scoffed —as if that old bunch of twigs and leaves knew what he was saying. The problem wasn't their “lack of musculature” or diet; it was that their human legs were gone, replaced by those stupid satyr ones. “Stupid satyr legs, stupid new body, stupid PO3, stupid fore-” their mumbling trailed off as they spotted something. Hidden in between some bushes, the satyr managed to spot a glimpse of a reddish colour in between the foliage. Their ears went up instinctually as if checking their surroundings before hesitantly approaching the bush. Berries. Those were actual berries.
Something within them rattled with hesitation, as if warning the brain not to proceed. But hunger overrode caution. They lunged themselves towards the bush in a starving frenzy, rashly yanking the small red globes from the bush and shoving them into their mouth. For a few blissful seconds, relief washed over their body. It seemed too good to be true—and it was. A bitter, vile taste flooded their mouth as soon as they started chewing on the strange berries. Nic’s fur spiked up, their nose scrunched in disgust, their ears pointing downwards. Gagging, the satyr quickly spat out the berries, coughing out any bits that could have gone down their throat. Their stomach growled harsher than before, making Nic bend over in pain. The promise of food and the sudden lack of one had only made matters worse; it felt like the woods were teasing them, mocking them. A few tears threatened to appear in Nic’s eyes, but they refused to let them fall. They would not cry. They would not let that weak, imperfect, organic forest win. Nic was better. Nic would not succumb like all those beasts around them; Nic was NOT one of those beasts!
A maelstrom of emotions filled Nic’s mind—frustration, exhaustion, anger, resentment. They couldn’t bear it any longer, and against their better judgment, they let out a primal yell as they stomped on the damned bush. Hidden spines retaliated, attaching themselves to the satyr’s fur, but this only fueled their anger. It only made them want to destroy every single thing that resided in that forest even more. Their hooves went down with crushing force on the plant, the few remaining berries getting squashed on the ground and leaving sticky, crimson sap on the dirt. They grunted and huffed as they used all their remaining strengths to take revenge on the bush.
Minutes later, Nic stood panting for air, famished, and with those wretched spines still clinging to their legs and lodged in between their hooves. Their breath was ragged, the stinging aftertaste of the berries remaining in the back of their mouth as bile threatened to rise from their painfully empty stomach. It growled again, and Nic clenched their fists in frustration.
“Food”, they reminded themselves, as if the thought had slipped away in their frantic waste of energy “I need food”.
So, without letting their hunger stop them, the famished satyr plucked away the spines from their pelt and forced their legs to stop shaking. They inhaled deeply, getting ready to keep going, when they heard something—a subtle crack , loud enough for their receptive ears to catch. Nic’s right ear twitched, so they turned in that direction, only to find a small squirrel standing next to a rotting tree stump that the satyr had passed earlier. A small, brown squirrel that had a nut in between its tiny hands. Nic stayed still, very still, and observed the animal further. The squirrel was small and probably faster than them. But it was also weak. And Nic was hungry .
Before they realized what was happening, Nic threw themselves at the squirrel. The small rodent let out an alarmed squawk and shoved the nut in its mouth before running away, Nic following closely. The squirrel dashed through the forest ground, agile, almost as if following a hidden path only it could see. All while Nic stumbled over and tried to recover their balance repeatedly; the uneven terrain and sudden turns made it even harder for their legs to work like they wanted, trying to step and run as they were used with their human body. Ragged and uneven breaths tore from their throat, sweat dripping from their forehead and pain shooting up from their hooves and hind legs as they begged for a stop but were forced to keep going. Yet moments later, the pursuit proved to be another failure. The little beast ran up a tree with ease and hid inside a hole in its trunk, far too high for Nic’s exhausted body to reach. The satyr panted for air as they looked upwards, as if hoping the squirrel would come out with its tiny arms full of nuts to share.
Was that all, then? Defeated, time and time again by that realm home of small critters and dangerous beasts, tricky and deceiving, filled with nothing but pain and… sweet smells? Nic’s stomach roared again, the now-familiar pain gnawing at their empty insides. But the satyr was too focused on something else to care. That smell. They sniffed the air, their nose now proving much more useful than it had ever been. It was there—faint, mixed with scents of musk and dirt and other fragrances that made the forest smell as it did. But that smell was different. It belonged, it wasn’t a foreign one like the scent that lingered in their older clothes from the factory, oily and pungent to no end, with hints of smoke from the large pipes that polluted the air and everything around them. No, this scent belonged to the forest. A sweet, rich, apple scent that made the satyr’s stomach growl.
Without much of an alternative, Nic let their body guide them. Their hooves stepped carefully through the undergrowth, their nose being the only guide to tell them where to step next. They took reluctant steps at first—Nic’s mind wasn’t too happy or trusting of this new side of them that acted as a guide, that instinct that fit more the mind of a beast rather than the one of a machine. Yet the hunger lingered and grew, and their muscles were already too exhausted as it were to spend any remaining efforts in any other useless attempts. So for once, they turned off their rational side and just let their senses guide them.
The hesitant movements soon turned into decisive strides—their legs lunged their body forward in small jumps every time their hooves met the ground, impulsing themselves into the air for a fraction of a second before returning to the soft soil and repeating the process all over again. Nic was soon dashing through the forest, the scent growing stronger and stronger as they moved. It wasn’t only their legs that allowed them to move faster, but their whole body working in tandem to reach their destination. Nic’s ears twitched when their head neared a branch or another obstacle, allowing them to duck before that happened; their tail moved along with the direction of their upper body and helped them keep their balance in those tight turns they hadn’t been able to perform earlier. The satyr felt a surge of adrenaline from within, and a vague sense of something they couldn’t quite determine. Despite the sweat, pain, and overall uncomfortableness, a smile tugged at Nic’s lips.
That was, until they reached the origin of that sweet, juicy apple scent. Leshy’s cabin. Nic stopped before the small house, catching their breath as it dawned on them what had happened. Inside the cabin, the elderly scrybe of the beasts carefully sliced what looked like a homemade apple pie, its aroma filling the air and reaching the famished satyr. Nic’s stomach growled once more, impatient, and Leshy turned his head. There was a brief moment where nothing happened, the young satyr staring at the older one as he stared back, knife in hand. Nic was tired, hungry, and now scared as they recalled the way they had parted from Leshy’s care—they had refused their help as soon as they were capable of standing on their hooves again, insulted the scrybe for trying to nurse them as if they were a fawn or a weakling, for bringing them clothes that fit their new body better and keeping them safe and warm inside his cabin as their ankle recovered. Nic wouldn’t have been happy if they had been in Leshy’s position. If they had been in the scrybe’s shoes, they would have raised the knife and run after Nic until they were no longer. The younger satyr’s fur spiked up in horror as they realized they wouldn’t be able to outrun the scrybe of the beasts in his own realm, even if it meant saving their own life.
Leshy held their gaze through the window for a few seconds, then glanced back down to the pie. He brought down the knife and finished slicing a triangular piece, a bit bigger than he had meant to, but no matter. The tree satyr hummed as he set the portion of pie on a plate, only to then repeat the process. He wasn’t oblivious to the way the little fawn’s mouth watered at the sight of the pie Grimora had so kindly baked and gifted him with the apples he had grown for her. And it seemed like the aroma had also caught their attention. Moving slowly, with the experience of one used to dealing with frightened animals, he reached out and extended his arm through the open window, offering the plate with a bigger slice of apple pie to Nic. The hesitation was evident, their ears flattened and their tail hidden in between their legs as he debated whether or not to accept his offer. And then, in the blink of an eye, the slice was gone and the younger satyr was devouring the food with a hunger of a pack of wolves. Leshy would have offered them a spoon or fork if needed, but it seemed they were far too hungry to wait for utensils.
The scrybe of the beasts hid a smile beneath his leafy beard, amused by how quickly the fawn had forgotten their pride in favour of basic needs such as nourishment. A hint of surprise rose above, too; the older satyr hadn't expected the young fawn to last for so long in such unfamiliar lands without added help. He welcomed the surprise, either way, and as the fawn finished the pie and locked eyes with him again, he gestured to the door. There was much they could learn about the forest and its residents, and whether Nic liked it or not, it seemed like that place would serve as their new home. At least, until they figured out a way to change their new body for their old one. But in the meantime, they had plenty of apple pie to share.
Another day done!!! Two technically since I fused day 5 and 6—their prompts went hand in hand for me so I preferred doing one fully okay prompt rather than two half-assed ones. So here's some more fun stuff with my OC Nic and the tree peepaw
Day 5/6: Autumnal and Fallen Leaves
At first, it had been subtle. The once vibrant green had darkened with time, the few flowers adorning his beard slowly withering away. Now, the changes were more prominent. A few mushrooms peeked underneath the little foliage he had left, now splashed with ochre tones and shades. Nic found themselves brooming the house every day, fallen leaves making a trail behind the scrybe of the beasts wherever he moved.
The forest had changed, too. Several trees stood semi-naked, if not entirely, and the animals seemed more focused than ever on scavenging some extra food here and there. Nic had followed a squirrel once; it held a small nut of sorts and saw with their own eyes how the animal just stored it inside a tree trunk, not using it or sharing it with others like they usually did.
The young satyr had noticed a temperature change as well. They weren’t used to such harsh cold out of nowhere. One day, they were fine walking around with little more than their top and loincloth, and the next morning, they felt like they were about to freeze to death, cold biting down onto any exposed piece of flesh or fur available. Nic had been forced to track down the trapper and exchange some pelts for foil, putting together a warmer piece of clothing for those days. Back in Botopia, they recalled that there wasn’t much of a temperature difference, even with the passage of time. Around that time of the year, the factory worked harder. Hence, the chimneys and motors radiated more heat and smoke than usual, which Nic had never considered as the reason for the blanket of cosiness and warmth that spread through the town no matter the season. Along with the cold air, mechanically engineered so it travelled through the air conducts in summer, they had grown up used to little to no temperature variation. What they felt now was just plain cruel.
Then again, they had also noticed some changes of their own. Their fur, for one, had turned thicker in a way. It was more of a hassle to dry after washing, but they had to admit it made for a much-needed coat in the colder days. The colour had shifted, too. From a reddish hue, it now looked almost faded grey or brown. Leshy had mentioned it was expected, but Nic wasn’t so sure.
Nic cursed the older satyr as they brought in some more wood for the chimney. While Leshy had been doing scrybes-know-what, they had been working hard, chopping some wood down to have something to keep a fire going. Wasn’t he the master of that whole realm? Why let this annoying season stay, with the biting cold and the sudden rains, when he could just… make it go away? And where was he anyway? Nic had yet to catch a glimpse of him in all day, not at lunch when they came back from Grimora’s, not in the afternoon after visiting the woodcarver, and not now as the sun set and his beloved moon came out.
The fawn frowned without even noticing, their ears dropping and their tail moving restlessly from side to side. They weren’t concerned, of course not. Leshy was powerful. And even then, why would they care if something happened to them? No, they didn’t care. Not at all. They just needed that blasted tree grandpa to show up with food already.
As the cabin door creaked open, Nic turned from the chimney, ready to demand an explanation for the lateness, yet they remained silent as Leshy came inside. The elder satyr dragged his tail and practically his hooves, too, as he walked in, the door closing behind from a gust of wind rather than his own doing. He looked paler, Nic noticed, a darker green shade settling on his skin that was now more visible thanks to the thinning of his once lush foliage. Even now, as he moved, some leaves fell to the ground from his body. Even his fur, supposed to look just like Nic’s, seemed to have lost its robustness. Somehow it looked a bit too thin, fragile even. Nic’s ears flattened as they watched the scrybe of the beast haul a chair in front of the fireplace before slumping down on it with a weary sigh.
“…You’re late”, Nic said in a hard-to-read tone.
“I am. I lost track of time on my way back. Many of my beasts are preparing for winter, and I had to make sure things are proceeding like they are supposed to”, the older satyr explained, his voice laced with exhaustion.
Nic’s ear twitched.
“You didn't bring back food.”
“That I did not. The angler’s catch was sparse today, I'm afraid.”
They nodded, acknowledging his answer. The younger satyr then hesitated, and against their better judgment, they poured some water they had left to boil with the chimney's heat into a cup. They made their way to the cupboards, where Leshy stored the different herbs and spices he harvested from the forest, and reached for a handful of chamomile. After adding a dollop of honey and making a mental note to replenish their reserve the next day, they returned to where Leshy sat and stood in between him and the fireplace. The scrybe opened one eye, looking up at Nic as if expecting them to say something, a mixture of surprise and curiosity stirring within him. The younger satyr remained quiet and just placed the cup in front of him. Leshy looked at it, then back at Nic, one ear twitching in curiosity.
“Drink”, they urged as they shook the cup again in his face.
Leshy blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected sweet gesture. Nic barely did anything for him, only if it was something of mutual benefit, and even then, they sometimes were a bit too proud and petty and “forgot” to do Leshy’s part. Before the young satyr could take back their offer, he reached for the cup and took a sip, the warmth of the tea seeping into his bones in a gentle embrace. He sighed softly, slumping further on his chair.
The warm cup of tea hadn't been the only surprise of the evening. Despite Leshy failing to bring fresh food back, Nic managed to put together a soup with some mushrooms and vegetables on the verge of spoiling, this time without Leshy even needing to ask. The younger satyr navigated the cabin quietly, their movements only punctuated by the creaking of wood underneath their hooves.
The scrybe of the beasts watched as the little fawn paced around his home, begrudgingly picking up the falling leaves he had left behind earlier, cooking for both, and even tending to the fire. Guilt tugged at Leshy for not being able to help, yet he couldn’t help the growing smile on his face. It seemed that despite PO3’s best attempts, this one was capable of feeling empathy. Nic tried to hide it, of course, and to their credit they had gotten much better at it. The once obvious tells, like their tail and ear movements, had become more subtle, not so much as to cover their actual thoughts, but enough to prove a challenge for the scrybe. Now, it was how their leg bounced anxiously, up and down, even as they merely stood up and stared at the soup while waiting for the food to cook. Their right ear tended to twitch softly here and there, too, as if an invisible fly was bothering the little fawn.
It was endearing in a way, seeing the distant and cold satyr suddenly worried about the creature they had repeatedly claimed to despise. There was a hint of anger underneath it all, maybe mild annoyance given how subtle the signs were, but it was clear they weren’t happy about their own feelings and what they were doing. Leshy had to repress a chuckle, aware that any hint of teasing would only spoil the fragile peace they had finally found.
The soup was surprisingly edible, which, given the young satyr’s inexperience in the kitchen, was more like a miracle. They ate in silence, sitting in their chairs in front of the fireplace as a soft rain started, drops hitting the wooden ceiling softly and wind caressing the leaves outside in unison, making Leshy relax. The sounds of his forest, no matter where they came from, reminded him he was not alone and his efforts were not in vain, lulling him into a sense of calm. Nic, on the other hand, seemed to find the sounds unnerving. Huddled in their seat, their knees pressed against their chest, they took the last spoonfuls of soup with palpable unease. It was only natural, given their unfamiliarity to the rain and storms, not to mention the tales Leshy recited for them of sections of the forest getting burnt to the crisp by lighting probably hadn’t helped either. The scrybe chose not to intervene, far too aware by now that they would just get offended if he tried to be gentle with them or help without them asking.
“Can’t you make it stop?” Nic’s voice broke the tranquil atmosphere inside the cabin, drawing a look from Leshy.
“The rain?”
“The season. Autumn”, they clarified. “It’s making you weak. You’ve been losing leaves and getting cold. You are sluggish. The forest might be yours, but it won’t be kind if you show weakness.”
Leshy couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at his lips, his tail idly swaying behind him.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be worried about me, little fawn.”
“I’m not”, they huffed, their ears flattening in annoyance, “ but a weak scrybe is a dead scrybe. Your domain is falling apart, it’s starting to get too cold for even animals with fur, and your trees are losing their flowers and foliage. Plus, these rains are annoying. How is anyone supposed to do anything when the dirt is muddy, or when water drops from the sky at the worst times possible?”
Leshy hummed in thought, considering his words as he took one last sip of the soup’s mediocre broth. He looked at the fireplace for a few seconds, lost in the flickers of the flames.
“Do you reckon sleep is useless?”
Nic’s ear twitched as they frowned.
“No. If a machine works for too long without rest, it will overheat and break, maybe even shut down completely.”
“That’s… one way to put it” Lehsy remarked, having hoped for a less technology-related response. “Just as we, and machines, I guess, need sleep, the forest needs its rest, too. Spring is when my realm feels in its prime—flowers blossom and seeds flow within the ecosystem to sprout new forms of life, which in turn makes the task of feeding those who rely on plants and weeds much easier, which allows them to reproduce and with that the bigger beasts get more food available as well.”
Nic nodded, following his explanation. Leshy had shared the concept of the food chain with them before: small animals eat plants, bigger ones eat smaller, then they die, and plants eat them in return. Everyone had a place, yada yada yada.
“Yes, I get that. But now things are dying while in spring they flourished. That’s why spring is good, and autumn isn’t. I’d even take summer over this. Why would you willingly end the season in which your domain thrives?”
“Because now is when my forest needs to rest. It worked hard in spring, thriving as you put it. But I can’t freeze time and make it stay like that.”
“You can, though”, Nic pointed out, knowing the scrybes had enough power to carry out impossible tasks like that.
“I could, I suppose. I have the ability to do so,” Leshy agreed hesitantly “ but that doesn’t mean I should. The old has to make way for the new, and autumn and winter are the seasons tasked with this change. Leaves fall, but newer, stronger ones will sprout with time. Some animals don’t make it through the winter, but their offspring will thrive and take their place, hunting, gathering, or whatever their purpose might be. You are used to things remaining, being built and modelled to ignore decay and remain despite it all. But that is unnatural, little fawn. Things change. Life moves on. We are born, we grow, we learn, we live, and we die. We wither and rot, and something or someone else takes our place.”
He paused, his gaze drifting to the wood the fire consumed in the chimney. “If things didn’t change, then we wouldn’t be eating a meal you made from harvested seeds, or getting warmed up by the fire that ignites thanks to a once-before tree. Even in your home realm, you tinkered with rusty pieces and forgotten ‘code’, as you called it, to improve them and make something anew. To change, for the better or for worse, one must accept the decay of oneself.”
Nic stayed quiet, considering his words. They hated that it made sense. The pieces in the factory they used to work with followed a similar rule, as he had pointed out. They had toyed with many, taking away cogs or screws and adding new parts to get them working again or making something entirely new. Even in the temple of eternity, where they rose above organic beings and their needs and prided themselves on their ability to escape nature, the concept of change still haunted them. Change and death came in different ways, but they arrived nonetheless.
The young satyr looked down at the lower half of their body. The deer-like appendages remained there, no matter how many times they had wished and begged and cried for them to go away. The hooves, the tail, the horns. It was all new. It was all change.
“Sometimes change isn’t good”, Nic replied, a hint of bitterness in their voice.
The scrybe shrugged.
“Maybe. Sometimes, change might seem bad, but later, it proves to be a blessing. Sometimes it’s the opposite. Sometimes, change just is. It doesn’t care if you like it or not, and it certainly doesn’t mind whether its implications are seen as “good” or “bad”. The best you can do is play along and do the most out of the current situation.”
The cabin fell into a comfortable silence after that. The crackling of the fire was now accompanied by the crunch of the previously fallen leaves that burnt within the flames, now used as kindling to keep the heat alive. Outside, the rain poured all over the forest, watering the different plants that needed it and flooding some dens of various beasts, some making it to the surface in time and some drowning in the stream of water that filled their house. The scrybe closed his eyes as his body relaxed with the heat, the sounds around him lulling him into a deep slumber. Thinking he was asleep, Nic placed a thick coat of wolf pelt over Leshy’s shoulders and went to bed, leaving Leshy with a comfortable smile.
