Mutant

The archivist was greeted with a written statement today, a far more common occurrence and his preferred method of handling such affairs. What he hadn’t expected was for the relatively clean envelope to contain pages covered in stains, most of them blood. A note accompanied the papers, writing identical to the envelope containing it. Sighing, he pulled the stuck pages apart to allow for ease of reading, finding the author of these to be different from who sent him the statement.

Locking the door to his office, he took a seat at his desk, pulling down the microphone emerging from the device behind him. With a flick of a switch, it whirred to life, ready to record what he was about to read. A brief glimpse over the document gave him a name and a general idea of the topic. A quick sip of tea and he began, “Statement of Pyria Cordial regarding a group located within the Scarred Wasteland. Statement Begins.”

First, I must apologize for the quality of my writing. I am aware of my injuries and how they negatively affect both of us. However, I want to recall my experience as best I can, and it’s best I do it now before the pain medication and passing of time reduce it all to a blur. The pain is excruciating, but you and your institute are the only ones who may be of help.

My story begins with a visit to my brother Kel. I am not a Plague-born dragon, and neither is he. However, his love of the macabre naturally gravitated him to the territory, where he would inevitably find a home. Expectantly, our family didn’t take well to such a transition, and most cut off all contact with him. I reluctantly kept my arms open for my brother, as his hobbies did little to change him. We were siblings, and that was enough for me.

So it came as no surprise when I was invited in celebration of him acquiring a mate. I had grown to know Kel’s adoration and love of one of the clan’s warriors through personal letters. He was nervous to approach with his relatively passive role in the clan versus their far more active one in protecting others. In the end, his knack for removing and cleaning the bones used for decoration were enough to garner equal adoration from his crush, and the two began plans to be formally bonded.

To skip irrelevancies, the trip there was uneventful, the clan as expected, and the celebrations as unsettling as most would picture them to be. I found enjoyment seeing my brother happy with his lover, eagerly pointing out what contributions he had made to their ghastly armor. This is not where my odd, and eventually brutal, encounter occurred. However, I believe this clan is tied into what happened to me. Whether they are directly responsible or only remotely involved I am unsure of.

This is where things get a bit shaky in my memory already. I remember departing with another of the clan as an escort. I also recall an argument we had about a route we took that wasn’t ideal for my return home. My escort caved eventually, mumbling something about, “They don’t need us today,” and, “Today they don’t come” before agreeing to continue. Once at the edge of their controlled territory, I was left to make the rest of the trip alone.

I ran into the bizarre trio not long after. All three appeared to be Tundras, wearing garb I had grown used to since arriving in the Wasteland. I thought nothing of the three at first, save for the largest, who was nearly twice the size of the others. Maybe if I paid closer attention I would have caught on sooner. Instead, I greeted them as I passed and expected the encounter to end there.

Then pain erupted at the base of my tail.

I whipped around to face my attacker, locking my eyes with the many of the furred assailants. The one with Arcane eyes was the source of my injuries as he dug his sharpened claws into my skin. Paws soaked in my blood, he gave it a cursory glance before thrusting it in front of the largest’s maw. After breathing in my scent, they tasted it. I don’t know if that or the pleasing grin filled with too many teeth that followed was what caused me to scream.

I was quickly pinned down by the largest, who made quick work of disorienting me with a flurry of attacks. I hazily watched as their jaws practically unhinged and prepared to bite into me, spared only by the third letting out an unintelligible sequence of growls. A moment later I heard draconic from them, “You let our Tailor do his job. Then we do ours.”

Before I had recovered I was struck with more blinding pain as something burrowed into my flesh. Then, commentary, “Her flesh is supple,” I saw a warped claw retract from where it had found its way into my arm. It contorted as if broken as many eyes pored over my prone body, “A pleasant change from previous offerings. Perhaps they caught their mistake with the last one.” There was a shifting of their claws once again, grin widening, “I’ll procure a sample for you Mutant. This one’s certainly exquisite.”

After the claw burrowed its way into my arm came the white hot burning of my body as flesh was meticulously peeled away. Skin set aside for the one they called Freezer to fold and stretch. Fat raked away and cast aside into a messy pile as these stretched. Angular claws reaching from within to peel away layer after layer of muscle tissue. All while nerves and blood vessels were separated and yanked away, nibbled on by the impatient monster of a Tundra behind my ‘surgeon’. The terror was only matched by my disgusted awe at the efficiency of this Tailor figure tearing apart my limb, exposing bone into the open air in mere minutes.

I passed out. I couldn’t fight off unconsciousness through the building pain. All I know is when I came to, I was alone and in immense pain. My arm that I had watched be torn apart had been stitched back together, but it was, and still is, not the same. I’ve lost a claw and gained an extra joint. My skin is tougher and covered in a course fur. Spurs and spikes emerge in random places. Surgical scars remain from being placed back together. That’s only my arm. My entire body became a plaything to whoever those three were.

There’s also a note from my brother. I found it under a Fae skull, and will bring it alongside this statement for you to examine. I know he’s dead. There were too many apologies among his nonsense to suggest otherwise. He sacrificed himself to spare me. I don’t like to think about what horrible acts that entails considering my own encounter. Those weren’t Tundras. They were monsters wearing the faces of Tundras.

I’m recovering back at home now. A kind Guardian rescued and later escorted me home. The clan doctors will be attempting to reverse the damage caused to me after I’ve written this. I’ve concluded my situation can’t possibly get worse. So, I’m humbly asking you to believe me in what I’ve written here. I don’t believe whatever this is stops at that trio. There is some larger group at play and they have at least one clan in their grip.

Please, if not for me, do it for the others who have been sacrificed.

“Statement Ends.” The archivist held back an annoyed growl until after he turned off the recording equipment. Another report of the trio and their vicious ways. Perhaps the names provided would be of slight help since a clan could be pinpointed. And maybe this time his assistants would succeed in digging up a lead of some kind.

He eyed the uneven stack of papers that had piled on his desk. One down, many, many more to go.