A Story About Decisions

In life, we face diversity. We face it in the people we meet, the places we go, and the ways we are treated by others. And as a result of experiences in diversity, we can transform ourselves into entirely different people from who we once were.

If we choose to.

There are people out there that push away change; they hold it away from themselves with an eleven-foot pole. And when they do, they automatically avoid diversity. Whether or not change is good or bad is not to be decided by any one person. Avoiding change, however is always neutral because nothing changes: nothing good or bad happens.

Here is a story of diversity, wherein there are some who accept change, and others who do not. This is a story, as is every story, of the consequences of our decisions.

---

In the southeast corner of Alnules, there is a small village centered around a temple of the New Gods where young men are trained as priests to spread the word of the Mother, and as paladins to defend the word of the Mother. The moon glows bright, shining down on the village of Annultin from between the thickly lain leaves of the Mother’s Forest, a short distance away. At the edge of the small establishment stands an ancient monastery.

Behind the cracked and crumbling walls of the monastery, in its hidden basement, four men gathered. Clad in simple, dark robes, more discreet than their usual flamboyant priests’ robes, they huddled together. They whisper discreetly, as if the heavy layers of stone and wood between themselves and the rest of the monastery wasn’t enough to keep their words away from unwanted ears - perhaps, because it was not.

“He does not claim to be a prophet, therefore why should we assume otherwise?” One man hissed to the rest, his anguished eyes lit up by a meager flame atop a candle.

Another man stepped forward. “He does not have to claim to be so! He speaks the words of the Mother. Is that not proof enough?”

“And how can we know he even speaks the truth? It doesn’t take a prophet to claim to speak the Mother’s words.”

“You’ve all seen the trance he enters when he speaks Her words-”

“Nothing but acting!”

“Speak! He hardly speaks a thing. He sings everything he says!”

“I’ve peered into his eyes during his trances… The light of the gods appears when he speaks for the Mother.”

“How can any of us ever know for sure? We must find a way to test him!”

A deafening silence filled the room as a single idea filtered silently through their minds.

Tentatively, one of the men spoke. “It is said… that a prophet cannot be killed.”

---

Much farther north, the light of the moon reflected brightly off the snow powdering the stone walls of the human capital of Bafrilius. Oil lanterns lit the surfaces of the castle interior and garden, illuminating nearly everything in sight. A warm light played along the surfaces of pristine architecture, and brightened the polished steel of the castle guards’ armor.

Outside of the castle and in the slums of Bafrilius, no such light shone. Only the white shine of the moon gave way to the image of a young girl, creeping along a dank alley. Her nose twitched at the smell of freshly baked bread. She clawed her way down the filthy cobblestone, her tail twitching behind her, and her feline ears flattened to her skull.
She travelled on her two feet and one of her hands, the other one occupied by clutching a purple plush to herself. The bells attached to its appendages jingled quietly.

“Don’t worry, Hidgar,” the young girl muttered, stopping and crouching behind a trash can to catch her breath. “I promise we’ll eat tonight.” She squeezed the plush tightly to her chest, eyes glued to a fresh loaf of bread cooling off on an open window sill across the alley. “You’ll be safer here,” she whispered, storing Hidgar behind the trash can.

Turning around, the little girl squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on shifting her bones. Shortly after, she opened her eyes to find the world around her a little bigger than it had been. Now in the form of a small cat, the little girl skittered across the alley, hopping up to the window with ease. She leaned down to pick the bread up with her mouth, saliva dripping from her maw as the smell of the bread infiltrated her nostrils.

She was suddenly struck with a blunt pain in her side, and then in her back a moment later as she hit the opposite wall of the alley. Her body back to her human form, the girl fell onto the trash can and toppled it over.

“A werecat!” A man exclaimed by the open window, from where he had struck the girl. “Get out of this city, you fleabag!”

Tears leaked from the girl’s eyes as she curled up in pain, turning away from the man at the window.

“Is that your doll on the ground?,” the man called mockingly. “I said, ‘get’!”

A ceramic cup shattered next to the girl’s head. She jumped slightly, but otherwise remained motionless. This time a plate hit the girl, smashing on impact, and she cried out in a mix of fear and pain.

“Hidgar! Help me!”

The girl on the ground braced her body as she waited for the next dish to hit her. When it never came, she slowly began to unfurl her body, looking to the man at the window. He had been turned to stone. Not daring to make a sound, she gazed around the alley, stopping when her eyes caught the image of a figure looming over her.

“Hidgar?”

---

High above the land of Alnules, sat the Valkyrie’s floating village of Albetor. It was dotted with small homes, no more than ten on the small island in the sky, and a little pond of water floated overhead, suspended by the magic studied by werecats and valkyries. At the highest point of Albetor, sat a tower that went higher still, its only entrance a window fifty feet off the ground.

Inside this tower flew in two owls, a hawk, a vulture, two ravens, and a crow. As each bird flew in, it transformed into a winged humanoid - a valkyrie. They’re ears were pointed and their eyes were slitted, and they all held themselves with the grace found in creatures that looked down on others, despite their short stature. They regarded each other and everything around with cold, unfeeling eyes.

For a long time, a pregnant silence grew between the valkyrie. Then one final bird flew in, a dove, before transforming into its humanoid form. He spoke immediately. “We are here because there is one among our people who is not pure of blood. What do you all propose we do?”

A woman stepped forward. “I propose we kill her.”

Nothing was said at first. Then another of the men said, “I second this motion.”

“All in favor?” the dove questioned.

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

The voices of all of the valkyrie were heard aside from one, who shifted nervously. Just like her bird form, she had a round face, and wide eyes. Her hesitance did not go unnoticed.

“Is something the matter, Dyokrai? Do you not agree that we should kill the filthy half-ling? Do you have some kind of allegiance to her?” The dove questioned.

She immediately hardened her features. “Of course not. We live by a creed that demands that every valkyrie be independent from birth. Therefore I have no allegiance to anyone.”

The rest of the valkyrie, undeterred by the owl and dove’s conversation, began to mutter amongst themselves. How should they do it? Who should do it? When should it be done?

“Silence!” hissed the dove valkyrie. “There will be no room left for mistakes. I’m doing it myself.”

---

Directly below this happening rested the only minotaur camp of Alnules. It was dotted with rock hovels, three times as large as the average human home. Each was filled to the brim with minotaurs, young and old alike, curled and cuddled together in their sleep. Among these gigantic resting bodies lay a minotaur like any other, set apart from the other only in that it was the night before her coming of age celebration, and she could not keep her eyes shut long enough to fall into sleep.

As her head filled with the images of bright decorations across the camp, stacks of freshly hunted meat, and offers of betrothals, a burst of light filled the window of the hovel she was resting in. Now fully awake, her eyes widened, and she sat up, accidentally shoving one of her home-mates. “Sorry,” she whispered, as the larger minotaur she was resting on grunted in discomfort.

Then suddenly her head snapped back to the window as she caught a glimpse of a silhouette of a human fell from the sky, landing in the camp’s lake with a splash. The young minotaur was immediately on her feet, kicking and pawing at her nest-mates to get out of the hovel and to the lake.

She reached the body  water out of breath, peering into the opaque water for a the fallen human. Once spotted, she dove into the water, quickly hauling the small woman in her arms out. “Healer Simmo,” she cried, loud enough to wake half the camp. “Healer Simmo!”
Several of the camp’s elders and their healer were the first to arrive, gradually being followed by the rest of the camp. The healer approached the young minotaur.

“What is it, child? What is that in your arms?”

One of the elders pulled a small glass orb from his trousers, smashing it in his hand and causing a small blue flame to form on his palm. He held his gigantic palm near the woman’s face. All of the minotaurs close enough to see gasped or cried in horror.

“Hand her here, child, and I shall see what I can do,” the healer whispered. The woman was lain on the ground, and as everyone quieted in anticipation, a very faint breath could be heard.