Daffodil

Out in the wastes of plague, if you die, then the chance is high that no one will retrieve your body, or even know what happened to you. Now, Daffodil never quite liked that sentiment. Any life, be they endangered trees or dead people, deserved to be remembered. Thus, Daffodil took up the vocation of Undertaker.

She just had a rather strange idea of what was expected of an undertaker.

For one, undertakers don’t trudge through miles upon miles of hot scalding wasteland to find the people she was supposed to bury. She readjusted her hat, squinting into the distance. The horizon was twisting and shifting in the trappings of a heat mirage. Despite this, she could just about see vultures gliding down, and further below, something being tossed and thrown around by a whole flock of them. She picks up her pace, a smile twisting her lips. Her powerful legs kick up a cloud of smoke as she gallops towards the flock who looks just about ready to start tearing into her new charge.

The flock scatters upon her arrival, and to her surprise, it turns out that she was dealing with two bodies as opposed to one. “Aw… Poor souls.” She leans down to inspect the first, sniffing the air. Pearlcatcher, fancy perfume, hoity-toity clothes… “I rescind my opinion,” she says, grimacing. Maybe the other was a manservant she could feel sympathy for. Maybe it was some latent sense she had from being born as a tundra, but she never liked nobility much. In death however, everyone was equal.

Daffodil sits down, shifting into her bipedal form for the moment. For the fact that it was meant to be more compact, she never quite felt as such, being both tall, broad and later, muscular. She digs through her pouch. Eventually, she finds a sprig of ivy, kept green and beautiful by virtue of a favor from her mother. “Okay, that should do.” She lays the sprig on the body before her, and holds her hand out. She begins to whisper an incantation under her breath. It’s archaic, borrowed from a passing nature dragon.
The Ivy begins to grow, fiercely so. Its wandering roots are coaxed through the burnt skin of the dragon before her, intertwining themselves with stiff sinew and porous bone. “Oh, careful there-“ She flicks her fingers, urging the ivy to forego burrowing in the bones. She was good at this, she knew that, she just hated the waiting, much as she could force it. To keep herself busy, she slips on her gloves and sets to massaging the rigor mortis out of the poor dead noble currently growing a new set of green muscles.

Eventually, she feels said muscles flex. The pearlcatcher flexes his claws, and eventually, gets to his feet with a creaky sound. There was no life in its eyes, and the jaw hung open and swung. Still a little unsteady on his feet.
Daffy shrugs. “Well, you’ll walk it off.” She pats the shoulder of the corpse, causing it to sway and groan again. She grins and turns towards the other corpse, hands already reaching for her satchel to find some arrowroot.
To her surprise, she doesn’t find a corpse facing her. Instead she’s staring into the dry red eyes of an imperial. She’s not entirely sure if she should be relieved or disappointed that he’s alive. More so, she can… Feel something. Smell something. Blood, jasmine flowers, family. He was… Family?

The dark-furred imperial lets out a long, terrible groan. When he steps forward, Daffy reaches instead for a burlap satchel in her bag that rattles slightly. “You’re alive,” she says, still unable to bring up any enthusiasm.

The imperial doesn’t answer, not anything intelligible at the least. He simply croaks miserable, muzzle dry and chapped. He stumbles even closer, reaching out for her. She feels the air change, the scent of burnt hair filling her nostrils.

Daffy sighs and quickly pulls out the rattling bag. She scatters the contents onto the cracked ground in front of her. Another sprig of arrowroot and the skeleton of a sizable serpent quickly intertwine in an arrow point burst of magic. The new vine-and-bone amalgam immediately surges forward towards the wayward imperial's neck, knocking him over. “Hey cousin, I don’t think you’re in a position to try and cast spells right now.” No immediate response. She chances getting closer, having commanded her vine snake to simply smack him in the face and remain around his neck.
It looks like she’s just cleanly knocked him out all over again. She scratches the back of her head, her face scrunched up in thought. “… I don’t really like helping family but…”

❦


The first thing that Artemy felt was his blistered skin. Something was uncomfortably rubbing up against a few nasty patches. A hiss escaped him, a sour taste at the back of his throat. Maybe death was just as uncomfortable as being alive, or that noble had been right about the deities punishing those that weren’t perfectly pious. Whatever that meant.

“Oh. You’re awake.” A laid-back, slightly raspy voice reaches his swimming senses. He tightens his claws in the… Bedsheets.

Oh.

Artemy opens a careful, dreadfully dry eye. The woman who had decided to toss a snake at his head sat next to him, her thick arms crossed. Her gaze was narrowed, and her jaw was clenched. “… You?” He felt something tighten around his arm. He could only turn his head so much, but it was enough to see that there was some manner of Liana wound around his arm, and the rest of his body for that matter. It extended out from a singular bud laid on his chest and followed something akin to a being exoskeleton. He gulps. “Are you going to turn me into a plant zombie?”

She let out a laugh, readjusting her head so she could lean it into her calloused hand. “You’re alive, aren’t you? I don’t have to bring you back so I can give you a proper burial.” She tilts her head. In the candlelight, she almost looked like a lightborn dragon. “Can’t help but take precautions though. My bad.”

Artemy shrugs. He regrets it immediately, pain flaring up on his shoulder. His eyes water, which relieves him somewhat since that means the sour taste wasn’t bile, it was just some manner of hydration. “No hard feelings. Lots of us are bad.” He stares at her for a long moment. “… What… Is it exactly that you do?”

She grins. “Well, as a hobby, I cultivate endangered plant species. As my actual job, I’m an undertaker.” She wriggles her hands. “Sometimes people die in the most unfortunate places however, and I have to go out and get them. I used to carry them but it’s much easier if they can walk themselves home, ya know?” Her mouth clamps shut and she flushes a little. She looks at the floor. “Sorry.”

Artemy lightly shakes his head. “It’s fine. No need to apologize.” He considers her for a moment. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you earlier. I just needed to know if you were a threat and the way I do that is um-“ He feels his arm strain against the vines, unable to gesture like he usually does. “I read people’s bonds. I just… Had some trouble. On account of nearly having died, you see.”

She nods slowly. “I could tell. Not that I couldn’t handle an emperor, it just would be kind of a pain.” She languidly stretches out. As her arms reach above her head, she snaps her fingers. The vines ease off, and creep back into the pod resting on Artemy’s chest. “You don’t look very strong anyway. Are you one of the Shade fanatic’s kids?”

Artemy lets out a wheeze. The pod still weighed heavy on his chest, but at least his limbs weren’t being stifled anymore. “No. I am technically Memoria’s child.” He rolls his eyes, and woefully says “it’s a very complicated story, if you wish to hear.”

The woman gets up. “Nah. I’m going to eat something. I’m Daffodil, call me Daffy, I only have beans-“ She stops in the doorway and whips around to lean against the doorway. “You want anything? Please try to keep

Artemy sputters helplessly, feeling almost a little insulted. All he can say as such is “beans are fine.”

Daffodil nods. “Stay here. You’re gonna need the rest.” At that, she turns on her heel to wander into the warehouse beyond the small room she had left Artemy in.