Dripp

A child, cursed with godlike powers that sap away his very soul. He’s only a child. Only a child.

He/Him
Cursed with immortality and limitless power that even he is incapable of imagining.
Frequently rampages, only to be calmed by his familiar, Bjorn.
Misses his mother.

A mother's love, not so sweet wrote:
“You think a mother would just leave?” Bloody Betsy sneered, teeth bared in a leer. “No. Something happened to her.”

“You’re wrong,” Dripp growled, though he was shaking all over. He clenched his claws in and out of the dirt, wishing it were Betsy’s throat instead. But that would go poorly. “You’re wrong!”

Bloody Betsy’s eyes flashed. “That something,” she purred, “was you.”

“You’re WRONG!” Dripp roared, ramping up on his back legs, wings flashing out—and though so much smaller than Betsy, a tremendous ferocity leaped from his chest, rushing and slamming into the guardian with the force of a much mightier dragon. Betsy braced herself, but still slid back several feet, her claws tearing shallow furrows in the dirt.

Dripp breathed heavily, eyes wide as he and Bloody Betsy stared at each other. He was still shaking, now from exhaustion and shock rather than rage. He had—what had he—that was—

Betsy lifted her head. Stained teeth showed dully. “Case in point.”

Dripp shuddered. Unable to bear her leer any longer, bear himself, he turned and fled, taking to wing and flying as far from the lair as he could. He wasn’t aware of where he was going, his vision a blur of tears, the scenery flashing by him without comprehension, but when he fell from the sky utterly delirious and disoriented, he ended up exactly where he’d been going all along.

Staggering blindly into the trunk of the tree, Dripp clutched the bark for a few seconds, gulping down great panicked breaths. He blinked, head spinning, until his vision could focus on the tree. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he scrambled down into the gnarled roots, long practice ensuring he could find his way from touch alone. He twisted and burrowed into a tiny gap between dirt and root that was only just large enough for his body, curled up in a tight ball, and wept himself into incomprehension.

He didn’t hear Bjorn’s approach, and didn’t know the sphinx was there until a large wet nose was prodding at his wing, loud snuffling breaking into his anguish.

“Go away,” Dripp growled, shoving the cold wet snout away, then sniffled, wiping angrily at his eyes. “Just leave me alone, Bjorn.”

Bjorn snorted and kept nosing at him, not letting Dripp curl up and wither away in peace. Dripp hissed and whacked its nose, but Bjorn didn’t let up, forcing Dripp to crawl out of the cranny to chase it away. Bjorn led him back up the roots to the trunk of the tree, easily dodging every swipe of Dripp’s claws, and sat back on its haunches at the base of the tree in a snug hollow of long grass. Dripp glared at it, panting and sniveling still. The sphinx tipped its head and lay down, opening a wing in invitation.

Fresh tears streaming, Dripp threw himself at the sphinx and curled up against its side, crying bitterly into Bjorn’s sleek fur.

“It’s not fair,” he wailed. “It’s not fair. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t ask.”

Bjorn stroked the tufted end of its tail down Dripp’s side, then looked up and growled.

Confused, Dripp peered up as well. And squinting, he made out, squatting in the boughs of his tree, a flash of orange-splotched wings. “Who are you?” he gasped, a snarl twisting his words at the end. Bjorn growled again.

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll come down.” The wings twisted and flared, tree branches bouncing and leaves spinning off in every direction, and a fae dressed in greens and yellows dropped down to the grass a short distance from them. The fae titled their crest apologetically. “Hello, Dripp.”

Dripp regarded them coolly. “Who are you.”

They blinked, crest skewing to the side. “You don’t—Dripp, I’ve been with the clan for a while, now.” Dripp just glared at them, and they sighed. “Fine, whatever. I’m Snag? The adventurer? Just sheltering with the clan for a bit, yeah?”

Dripp narrowed his eyes, though the fae did look faintly familiar. Perhaps he had seen her a few times. “How do you know me?”

Snag wiggled their crest in amusement, rubbing their jaw with a claw. “You, uh—it’s hard not to learn of you. The day I arrived, you had that outburst?”

Dripp didn’t remember it. “So?” he demanded. “Why are you here? In my tree? Were you following me?”

Bjorn growled again, tail flicking from side to side, but Dripp silenced it with an impatient look. No scaring them off before he got his answer.

Snag didn’t look very scared. They looked up at the tree, crest waving a little ruefully. “Your tree, huh? Sorry for that, I didn’t know. I was here before you arrived, just having a short nap in the sun. I wouldn’t have bothered you had your familiar not sniffed me out.”

So they’d seen him crying about his mother. Shame burned in his scales, and Dripp turned away from the fae, pressing his face against Bjorn’s flank.

“Er, should I—go . . . ?”

“Don’t speak to anyone of this,” Dripp snapped. “Or I’ll kill you with my power—kill you—like I did—Moooootherrrrrr—!” The word twisted into a howl, and Dripp pushed Bjorn away when the spinx tried to lay a comforting paw over him.

“Leave me alone!” he screeched, scrambling away in a flurry of wings and tail. “Stay away! Stay away or I’ll kill you too—” His back slammed into the trunk of the tree, punching the air from his lungs, and his scream was cut off as Dripp doubled over, sucking down a desperate breath.

Bjorn rumbled a growl, and Dripp peered painfully up, to find Snag crouching before him, their crest folded demurely back.

“Care to tell me about it?” they asked kindly. “I’m a pretty good listener. I won’t say a thing. Just tell me about your mo—”

“Don’t say her name,” Dripp snarled, and Snag subsided. Dripp swallowed, closing his eyes as he struggled to control his emotions. Bloody Betsy’s taunts were too fresh. His anger, his lack of control, they were what had caused her death—

A light pressure on Dripp’s head made his entire body go stiff, eyes flying open in shock. Snag was pressing her claws to his brow with such gentleness, the sensation was utterly foreign to Dripp.

No. Not entirely. Dripp remembered . . .

Oh, he remembered. His mother’s touch! Dripp wailed, and the story came tumbling out as he sobbed into Snag’s shoulder, the fae patting him on the back as they listened to a tale of desperation and cruelty, of a sacrifice to a hungry deity, and the resulting power bestowed upon a too-small body cursed to remain with the memories forever.

Dripp had never told anyone the whole of it before. But then again, no one had ever asked, either. Until now.