Quirrel

He could not remember his purpose.

The young fae, traveling with another fae, bearing a red cloak and a lethal needle as her weapon, simply could not remember where he was going, or why. He felt undeniable purpose, however, and continued along with his older companion, who prowled onward as though following some invisible trail. When they finally arrived where they were needing to go, Quirrel felt it again.

There was something here, dark, twisted, but... Familiar. It was not hostile, contrary to what he was expecting, even as Hornet, his companion, introduced them to these dark, shifty dragons in their underground den. The whole place was lit with either candles, shimmering Kunzite crystals, or night flames roosted within braziers. It was then when Quirrel saw movement above them, another small Fae. Hornet, seeing the motion too, darted towards it, using her needle like a zip-like. Quirrel hurried after her, and they gave chase to the other fae, who seemed to be leading them somewhere.

Upon emerging, the fae was sitting in a small chamber, waiting patiently for them. Hornet had made it there first, her frills twitching almost menacingly. Quirrel joined her wordlessly, staring the other fae down. Despite the tension in the air, Quirrel felt that this new, dark, black-eyed fae was no enemy.

HollowKnight was their ally, the one they had been seeking for so long.


---

Sometimes, he stares into the lake, and he tries to remember. He tries to remember who he was before Hornet and Hollowknight, where he came from, why he ever trusted them. He loses himself in the gentle rippling of the water, allowing the sound to carry him deeper, to the darker places in his mind.

But he never finds anything. He never understands why he’s so certain of his purpose, or what his purpose is. All he finds in the dark waters is his reflection and the certainty that he has chosen the right path. There is nothing more to be found, and nothing less.

Still, he keeps his nest by the lake, in the hopes that the peace and quiet will draw something out of his soul and into the light again. Clan Dark-Blood rarely disturbs him there, and it’s a welcome retreat when the world above is too overwhelming. When being Quirrel is too stressful. When having Hornet and Hollowknight trail him all around the clan is just too much. He values the underground tranquility, trusts it with his secrets, his confusions, his fears. The subterranean lake is safe.

But still, he must emerge now and again, and unlike Hornet, he does so with a moderate amount of success.

Usually, Quirrel goes to the library. If he cannot understand himself, then he must at least try to understand the prophesied threats he and his fellows face. By the light of candles and kunzite, he makes his way through armies of tomes and scrolls, searching for any hint of the darkness again. Some days are better than others, yielding a wealth of information that he had not known before, even if it is hidden behind layers of riddles and cryptic messages. Riddles can be solved and codes can be broken, much unlike memories that do not wish to resurface just yet, and Quirrel takes comfort in the long hours he spends cracking these apart to see what lies inside.

Of course, some days are less successful, propelling him one step forward before pulling him two steps back again. He hates the days when he leaves the library loaded down with useless trivia about extinct fungi, but with nothing new to help in the mysterious battle he is one day set to fight. He owes it to Hornet and Hollowknight to prepare them, keep them safe, for whatever reason his mind refuses to yield to him. They are his allies more than anyone else, and he must do everything in his power to help them.

This also includes socializing, something they often fail to do. Hollowknight is too quiet and Hornet too cold, which leaves Quirrel to pick up the slack. Every now and again, he emerges from his underground lake to spend time among the members of Clan Dark-Blood rather than hiding in the corners of the library by himself. He does not care for the company of some of the more war-minded dragons, like imperious Shadowblood and some of his children, but he makes sure to curry their favor nonetheless, gathering support wherever he can find it. Better to have too many allies than too few, he reasons.

But other dragons are much more tolerable, and he especially enjoys the company of Absinthe. He admires her ability to glimpse the future in brief snatches, and as far as he understands it, she is also able to catch short bits of the past, though not necessarily of her own will. Perhaps he hopes that she’ll see into his past someday, and while he hates to think of using his friendship with her to his own gain, the longing for days he cannot recall is a powerful thing indeed, powerful enough that Absinthe probably senses it. But she does not give him false hope, something he is forever grateful for. Instead, she has only promised to tell him of anything that may interest him, past, present, or future. She makes no promises for content, for good or bad, only that she will trust him with her knowledge.

And sometimes that trust is enough. After long days of weaving himself into the fabric of Clan Dark-Blood, or long nights spent in the library well after he should have gone to bed, Absinthe’s trust gives him some comfort. He is not alone. He has Hornet and Hollowknight to look after, and he has Absinthe to confide in. And with Absinthe’s support, he can rely on all of Clan Dark-Blood when the time to face the darkness comes. Her word is not law the same way Shadowblood’s is, but she carries a gentle persuasive force that means so much more to Quirrel. That force lets him sleep well at night, knowing he is not alone. He will not be alone. He never wants to be again.

Bio by Tues.



By Shika!

Job: Scout