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When he’s with others, it’s easy for Sneeg to set his shoulders and face troubles head-on.
The snails, mischevious as they are, are easy to wave off. The Keepers, enshrouded in their mysterious power, are easy to yell at and make fun of.
The moon, purple and glowing and watching above them, is easy to ignore.
Alone, now, he stares upwards, focused on the slim line of a pupil trained on him in turn.
It’d been a long day. Hell, it’d been a long week, and it wasn’t even Thursday yet.
Sneeg had woken up Monday afternoon to new quests and a splintering faction. Hours and hours later, questioning and reassuring and comforting where he can, he’d led Ros back home shoulder-to-shoulder with Clown. He’d landed a killing blow on Owen, watched Ros cut him down again, and turned briskly on his heel to get back to work.
Someone had to do it, after all.
Tuesday, the King had returned overnight, and after hours of agonizing anticipation, another retelling of events, there was finally a conclusion.
Relief set in upon seeing the Jester’s base magic dye purple, but the spark of reproach in his chest hadn’t cooled in the slightest.
Of course, because the Realm itself moves at ungodly speeds, Sneeg had no time to contemplate. Foolish wanted help with dismantling bridges, and Ros still had that far-off, uncomfortable look to her. She left with a group— the gossips who’d taken it upon themselves to witness the King’s decision— so Sneeg pivoted to demolition.
Or, rather, he’d wanted to, but setting foot on Bridge #4 had sent a shock of cold down his arms. One moment Sneeg had been bantering with Foolish, and the next, he was on a bench with Aimsey and Beky standing over him asking questions.
He’d waved them off, stumbled back into his mangrove cave for the night, but the blackout- apparently half a minute or so long where he’d been staring up at the sky with empty eyes– worried him a bit.
The problem didn’t go away the next morning. If anything it got worse, though Sneeg was hesitant to admit something was entirely wrong.
More little gaps began to pop up, blips of time where Ros or Phil were talking about something and suddenly jumped forward in the conversation, inadvertently leaving Sneeg behind in the process.
Both of his friends had their own headaches, though, and seemed too wrapped up in chatting and their own tasks to be too concerned.
(And wasn’t it awesome to have two trusted friends who got along? Wasn’t it great that Phil wasn’t grumpy and self-isolating, and that Ros was cracking jokes and laughing?)
He and Ros finished the Kingdom’s tasks, Phil and him chatted shit for a few more hours, and Sneeg played games with Crinkle until his eyes began to shut on their own.
His head hadn’t hit the pillow. In fact, he hadn’t even laid down yet.
Nonetheless, Sneeg had sat on his bed out on Phil’s island, looked up briefly to the purple mass on the horizon, and a blink later he found himself on his feet, staring straight up at the new moon.
And so, he stares, the same chill of wrong traveling through him again.
He blinks. The eye-moon does not move further in the sky. It simply stares back.
Sneeg reaches out to his base magic, looking away from the sky and towards the scroll of communication he’d summoned with a flick of his wrist. According to the age of the ink, Bad had been the last to use the linked scroll, wishing the rest of the sleeping realm a good night before cutting off his connection. That had been hours ago.
A cursory message— ‘anyone awake’— yields no immediate results, and reaching out further, Sneeg could feel that he was the only one still tethered to the global magic loop.
(Reaching out even further, he could feel Phil’s even breaths, deep in sleep— fur, and the sound of trees outside of Ros’ window— the heightened drum of Clown’s heart as he dreamt of murder— the hard throne under Foolish, dozing on— and he smiles.)
No one. No Keepers, no snails. Just Sneeg and his hyperactive mind.
And the Eye, he reminds himself. His smile shifts to a grimace.
‘you’re all nerds’, he scrawls, before shutting the scroll and tucking it into his belt. Eyes drifting to the fields of mycelium, he pulls his trident into his left hand, and snags some wheat from a chest.
The mooshrooms, being the only native creatures to the island, migrated about in loose herds. Their constant movement is driven by grazing, munching on nearly mature brown and red mushrooms. Those same shrooms then grew off their backs, dying them their trademark red colour.
Now that Sneeg had started feeding them, wandering out among the giant mushrooms, he could see where some of them were losing colouration. The herd that tended to hang around him and Phil’s little campsite seemed to recognize him, now, and waddled over to meet him, snuffling for food.
“Hiya, gents,” he greets, tossing a few bunches in front of him. Most of the herd would eat from his hand willingly, but ten or twelve full-sized mushroom-cows crowding him for food at once had gotten overwhelming quickly. The cows don’t seem to mind, though.
Towards the rear of the herd, four adults and a calf hang back, apprehensive and anxious. These five are different from the rest of the herd: instead of red mushrooms and red fur, they’re brown.
Their existance was the product of another incident that worried him.
After the fact, he’d asked around about the likelihood of a bolt of lightning randomly striking the cows he’d been feeding. It was rare, but not entirely improbable.
What was unsettling was being struck himself a few minutes later. Sure, lightning went wherever the hell it wanted, but natural lightning was supposed to strike the tallest thing nearby, finding the quickest path to the ground. Sneeg had been in the middle of Phil’s dark oak orchard, right next to Edwarto. He was, in no way, the quickest way to the ground.
(Thinking about it again, when the mooshrooms had gotten hit, they’d been beside a pair of brown mushrooms. Their wide fronds were definitely higher than ground level.)
“C’mon, it’s okay,” he coaxes, shaking the bundle out into a fan. “It’s not raining anymore, nothing’s gonna hurt you.” Slowly, the little group approaches, nudging the calf forwards to eat first.
Sneeg doesn’t tend to get all that attached to the mobs he tends to– see: turtles, allays, and striders, all annoying in their own ways– but the baby mooshroom taking as big of a bite of wheat it can manage with its little mouth makes him smile.
(He can’t quite bring himself to gather the local herds up into one pen, yet. They look so much happier just wandering.)
Suddenly, something feels entirely wrong. He can feel the warmth of his hands and face, and the air stilling entirely around him.
The realization comes to him all at once when he looks to his cattle again, because they are unmoving, no breath or twitch of muscles, no panic or fear in their wide, dark eyes. The calf is frozen, halfway chewing, mouth stretched to one side. Whatever change in temperature had been because of the brisk coastal breeze ceasing entirely.
Sneeg looks up to the Eye. His mouth is dry, and his limbs feel locked into place.
The Eye looks back, veins bulging and iris twitching, until– Gods, that looks wrong – it begins to shut.
Sneeg’s well-illuminated field grows darker and darker by the second– and was it even lit before? Why did I never put torches down? – until there is nothing but starlight and a sliver of magenta light in the sky.
I need to see what’s happening , and he tries to reach for his torches, but his arms remain stubbornly by his sides. I need to run , but his legs stay still like his feet are rooted into the ground. I need to MOVE .
Sneeg feels the eye begin to open before he sees it.
(Distantly, it reminds him of being on the end of a fishing line, being tugged about by Phil and Fit, laughing and chatting. It reminds him of the charge-up before a Riptide burst, the pure energy before flying through the water.)
Only a fraction opened, the Eye shines brighter than a full moon.
Move, move, come on, dipshit, his mind races. If he can just place a bucket, or swap to his bow with his inventory magic, maybe he can break line-of-sight.
The pull grows stronger. Half-open, now, the Eye is as bright as the midday sun, bearing down on him intently. Before, it was certain that it was always looking at something , but the focus of its attention is palpable to Sneeg.
His hands twitch uselessly, the rest of the mooshroom’s feed falling to the ground. The magic meant to call his bow to his hands does not respond.
Let me go, he tries to shout, and the barest whimper escapes before his entire body goes numb. He can’t feel anything other than the weight of the Eye’s gaze.
Fully open, the Eye is more brilliant than a beacon.
Sneeg feels the pull grow stronger, and the Eye starts to grow, taking up more of his vision.
Let me go right fucking now, because the Eye is closer than before, and out of his peripheral vision, Sneeg sees the ground start to disappear.
His eyes don’t twitch or unfocus, trained on the Eye entirely. He cannot look down or to the sides, can’t turn his head away or scramble for a pearl. He can’t even breathe.
I can’t breathe.
The Eye takes up most of his sight. His chest doesn’t rise or fall. I need to breathe. I need to breathe, I need to move, let me GO–
A faint hum reaches his ears. Less hum, moreso the drone of some massive creature. The Eye begins to pulse ever-so-slightly, following a simple rhythm.
Sneeg can’t look away.
It’s all purple, now that he looks at it. Really looks at it.
He can’t look away. Let me go, you fuck, let me go–
Even the whites of the Eye aren’t white, really. Just a very light shade of lavender. Everything is purple.
–can’t do this, I won’t let you–
It’s purple like the banners Foolish made, emblazoned with the royal crown.
No, no no no, don’t– you can’t keep me up here.
It’s purple like Clown’s Hexblade magic, an extra glint of enchantment over his greataxe.
It’s not worth it, you– you have to let me go. Please–
It’s purple like Phil’s base magic, a mark of stubbornness that he’d be remiss without.
Please, just let me go.
It’s purple like Ros’ hair, framing the friendliest smile in the whole realm.
Please.
It’s purple, and…
…
It’s beautiful.
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Sneegsnag has completed the challenge [Great View From Up Here]