Ash 75th
In the trenches of the northern marches, a most woesome pair did cross brook and stream, and muddy ditch. Alphonse was a mess. They'd stopped to wash her cloak, but without soaps it was stained a dirty brown along its hems. Alphonse was pretty sure her chain maille which she'd lugged cross-country had a bit of rust to it by now. She needed to oil it every couple of days, and she definitely hadn't been doing that. Her sword? The Enkindled flame it possessed made it seemingly rust-proof, or so she thought--she couldn't quite tell.
Vesta stopped to fill the waterskin Alphonse had yielded to her the prior day. The woman was worse for wear, and Alphonse was growing concerned, for once. "You seem winded, you old bag. Do we need to stop and rest?" asked Alphonse.
Vesta gave an exasperated chuff of denial. "Haaah, I've had worse, pup. I may be old, but these ancient bones have plenty of muscle to get me there. I'd have preferred a carriage, but alas, we left Nivenhain on account of your shortcomings, dear." Tilting for a sarcastic bow, the woman fluttered her hand across the air in a show of noble posturing; the display of fake, exaggerated etiquette tugged a sneer across Alphonse' lips.
Tightening the grip on the scabbard she'd never make use of with someone who was practically family by now, she kicked the wall of a muddy embankment rising up towards the trees. Thud. Her toes wiggled in the dirt, raking free the dark chunks which rolled out in a fresh patch above the sloshing mud. Her tail puffed up, and she stuck her chest out before leaning forward to deliver a jagged finger at the woman. "Feck you and your shyte. I'm only out here 'cos you were bein' a dirty old manipulative rag and you know it, s'wit!" Her fist tightened, talons digging into her palm.
"You think you're so tough, all those muscles, hm? I could kill you where you stand. Fall in line, pup," hissed Vesta. Her eyes had the fires of some damned place burning in them, and it stayed Alphonse's rage just enough to get her to quiet.
Alphonse grimaced, showing teeth from one side of her mouth. She felt like raw garbage. Her mind was in disarray, her instincts on the fritz from all that had transpired in the last few weeks of time. Vesta was an immobile wall she couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard she pushed. The woman was stuck to her like glue. It was frustrating. Uttering the most haughty of huffs, the woman blew her hot air and stood up straight, crossing her arms. "I need to blow off some steam. Let's take a break. I'll feckin' train or some shyke, I guess."
"Best idea you've had all week, brat," said Vesta, waving around a stick at her. "I hope you learn some manners in your private time out. Maybe you'll even learn to Mold, and I can be done with you." The woman limped off in a slump, stumbling through the mud which was more than ankle deep. Alphonse couldn't help but feel guilt for how she treated Vesta, but then she was a loner anyway. What did it matter?
...Vesta was Kin, now.
That guilt clung to her as she turned tail, too coarse and brazen to admit her wrong. Reaching up and taking hold of a tree, she heaved herself up and clambered off the trail. Doesn't matter if I don't see her again. Hope I never do.
I don't wanna feel better.
I just wish I wasn't such a shitty person.
Wandering the woods, Alphonse settled on a stump deep in the cold, icy woods, her feet caked in mud. Letting her bag down, it slumped with a thud to the forest floor, and she set her scabbard against a tree. Hands on her knees, she shut her eyes and let her eyes rest a bit, silently meditating.
Maybe I should just become that damn ferret-thing and run off 'n get eaten by a huge spider or somethin'. I don't know. Am I even ready for that?
A sigh left Alphonse's lips, and she rubbed over herself, hands eventually seizing her clothes. The woman crossed her arms and pulled it all free, tossing it to the forest floor. A warm breath left her lips, a cloud of fog rising from where she stood. Rolling her shoulders, she pressed her big ol' mitts together and muttered silently profanities to herself. This was going to feel weird, if she could achieve what she had planned here.
Vesta imagined everything about the ermine template she'd grown somewhat fond of, from the way it moved to the way it bent and how its spine seemed so flexible. Its little paws, it's beady black button eyes, and its white, thick coat of fur. First she began by immersing herself, imagining her mind behind its eyes, and then she tried to draw herself inward towards that perceived reality.
Alphonse felt a hot, jabbing pain all over her body as she concentrated, her skin bubbling and swelling beneath the hide before folding in on itself. The air in her lungs rushed out as lungs collapsed and organs popped. "Frrrgh!" heaved Alphonse with what little air she had, collapsing to the forest floor. She clawed at the earth, only to feel her paws contort and shift, becoming narrow and thin, arms rapidly shrinking as her whole body popped and snapped in painful waves of the transformative process.
It hurts!
Is this how I feckin' die!?
Her thoughts were pushed to the wayside as a spike of pain ran up her chest, followed by a cool, tingling numbness. She was gritting her teeth so tightly she was sure they'd shatter, but her muzzle began to pop and shift, her eyesight retreating downward until she shut her eyelids to shield her mind to shield it from the rampant chaos beginning to ensue across her body. Her body compressed; her chest felt tight, far too tight as the world rose up around her. The swollen, bulbous and alien creature representing the midway point was closer to the true size, and Alphonse had alredy burnt much of her Aether reserves getting to this point.
Minutes rolled on as she focused on enforcing that identity in her mind upon the transformation, configuring it to match the Template. At last, everything stopped hurting save for lingering psychic pangs, and her eyes trembled behind closed eyelids. She felt different. Far too different. Those eyes slowly opened, and she pushed herself up on tingly, numb and stubby little forelegs. Turning her head, she saw the enormous size of her pack looming against her, the trees beyond almost titanic in comparison. It was enough to make her dizzy all over again.
Twisting over, Alphonse felt a sharp disconnect between how this body moved, and her last. Stretching and moving, she worked to established Synchrony with the ermine and its form, bucking the icy tendrils of unfamiliarity as she stumbled through the leaves like a newborn pup exploring for the first time. She was slow, her mind in shock, but she made progress over time.
Before long, Alphonse felt a certain phobia creeping in. She tried to speak, but her voice was muted by a wickering noise. Alphonse solved this by reaching within towards her identity of self and Integrating a voice for herself. "Hmnph," she uttered as her vocal chords adjusted with a pinching flare-up. She shuddered out a "feck" before deciding it was time to try and make it back to her old form.
"Alright, Alphonse," she told herself. "You can do this."
"Hrrk!"
She drew in the idea of self, but it seemed to grow more distant by the moment as she strove for it. After a few seconds of trying, she started to panic. "No!" she barked. Her frame shivered, and a sense of dread overcame her. I can't shift back.
I'm stuck like this!
"Vesta!" she shouted to the trees, but her small voice could only carry so far. She felt so vulnerable and scared like this. There was no way she could wield her sword. What if something as simple as a forest cat stumbled by? She'd be eaten up!
"I need to fly--yes, I need to fly. The raven!" She had one more template up her sleeve. One that could help her rise above this treacherous forest. Shutting her eyes, she curled up and felt around in her mind for the Template, imagining herself behind its eyes and drawing forth the shape and form. The size was more comparable, but it felt no less strange as her body began to warp, swell, and pop. It felt stuffy and cloistered as her nose reformed to a more inelegant beak, feathers spreading out from her body. This time, she imagined the tail feathers, fanning them out and spreading out her shifting wings as she rose upon talons. After a few minutes, a Raven stood upon the forest floor, and Alphonse's mind was swimming with all manner of instinctual fear.
Flapping her wings, she got a feel for the air. She could 'scoop' at it to pull herself up into the air, so she focused on doing just that. If I'm stuck like this, I know better than to leave my sword Enkindled. I... might never see it again. Wait. Flapping up to her scabbard, she sunk her talons into the grooves and kept beating her wings until the scabbard shifted, sending her massive blade clattering down to the forest floor. Alphonse fluttered down, pressing her talons between the grooves. Shutting her beady little eyes, the former Rathor-turned-raven focused on the blade, drawing away the cinders up inside herself in the coming minutes.
Having removed the Enkindling from Foolsbane, her sword, she dug through the pockets of her pack next with her beak, having a frustrating time of things until she managed to grasp a weighty metal eating knife within her beak. Meditating with it clasped within her talons, she drew cinders from her Beacon and Enkindled it, creating a new, properly sized font for her powers. Alphonse coughed, spitting up blood upon the forest floor. Her wings were cindered at the edges by the end of it, but they could still grasp the air. That was all that mattered.
Hefting the blade from the forest floor, the instincts wading at the back of her mind took over. All she knew was the importance of the shiny she now carried with her, the primal nature of her Mold doing the flying for her while she mentally receded into a state of atavism. For the next few days at least, she'd be stuck this way, learning to fly and living as a raven with a hot blade to protect.
