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Pinstress had been careless.
It was supposed to be a quick inspection. But the shellwood plank at the pen rotted, snapping in half when she walked across. She tumbled in with a yelp, and soon enough muckmaggots clung to every single part of her body. Great Pharloom, too many, far too many, everywhere. Wriggling. Writhing. Then the slubberlugs. They swarmed her, biting into her shell. She thrashed, kicked, stabbed at the slubberlugs. They were relentless, and their number threatened to overwhelm. Fine then.
She focused (as much as she could there was so much-) her concentration to her pins, and soon felt the power coursing. With a hasty slash, every slubberlugs upon her was cut in two. That did the trick. The slubberlugs who were watching, waiting for their chance clearly thought better and retreated. But the muckmaggots still clung to her. Squirming. Twitching. She swam, and hauled herself out of the water.
She threw off her cloak. She stamped her feet. A few got shaken off. She slammed her back against a wall. A few got squashed to death. Whatever else remained, she ripped them off of her shell and hurled them toward the wall.
She was free of the infestation. But the bites oozed.
No other choice.
They didn’t even need to exchange any words. A soon as Pinstress hobbled into her pinsister’s hut, her pinsister dropped everything and rushed to her side.
Hang on, she told her, as she guided Pinstress into a seat. It’ll be- I’ll be quick. She threw off her own cloak and handed it to Pinstress. Pinstress obliged, and started cleaning slime off of herself.
Her pinsibling rushed, nearly knocking over paraphernalias that sat on her table. She found the crate that contained the reeds and leaves as she wildly grabbed clawfuls. She threw them all into a bowl, and ripped off a stake from her rack. She began mashing the foliage with the stake, grinding it so hard that Pinstress winced.
Her pinsister mashed until the paste looked good enough. She grabbed some cloth and approached Pinstress to bandage her. Her pinsibling found the biggest gashes, the most pressing wounds, and wrapped those. She then spooned some poultice, and put them on top of the bandage.
Soon, Pinstress was bandaged up. If she was in a joking mood, she would have commented that it would have been a pretty pathetic way to go. But as she looked over to her pinsibling, who looked like she had the life drained out of her, she thought better.
Thank you, Pinstress opted instead.
Her pinsister, for a while, stared blankly at Pinstress. After a while, she seemingly gathered her thoughts and spoke.
Sister. The few become ever fewer. I beg of you, please be more careful.
Pinstress managed a weary nod.
Her pinsibling gazed at her for a few seconds, before turning to her desk. She grabbed a scroll and a pin-pen, and began to scribble down something. Once done, her pinsister walked over, and pressed the scroll into Pinstress’s claw.
Recipe for the medicine. Learn it well, sister. Her pinsibling squeezes her claw. Learn it well, so that no matter how vile the infection, you return to us hale.
Pinstress looks down at the scroll, before looking up to meet her pinsibling’s gaze.
I will. I’ll survive, and return, as always.
Pinstress very much enjoys the Blasted Steps.
What was there to dislike? The harsh winds blasting everything with sand, the earth always threatening to crumble, and near absolutely nothing to eat. It’s great! It keeps her from becoming a weakling. Sure, there being very little water around these parts made things difficult, but at least whatever scarce water she could find wasn’t infested.
(And yet. And yet, Pinstress found herself hesitating. Always, she would hesitate. She found herself staring long at water, any water, no matter how shallow. As if she stared hard enough, vile green would suddenly bloom and out of nowhere, a bloated muckmaggot corpse would float up to the surface. Perhaps, no matter how much time passes, she will always hesitate.)
But it sure was boring. With those pilgrim weaklings, there is just no one worthy to stab her pin into. Any respectable Pinstress ought to have a bout once in a while, lest her spirit starts to decay! It almost makes her want to take a stab at those judges. Oh, how magnificent it would be to stab a pin into its face, how cathartic. But she knows better than to draw the Citadels gaze, its ire.
Sigh.
That doesn’t leave much else to do, then. Well, clean up her hut it is. Enough sand has piled up to require a routine shaking off. Pinstress goes to work, shaking her shelf and her desk. With the pins on her rack, she is much more delicate with her shaking. With all the shaking, sand accumulates on her floor. That’s fine, of course. At this point, the sand is basically her bedding. Her pot of dried out coral would have been next for a cleaning, but she hears something. The unmistakable creak of the shellwood platforms outside.
Oho. Finally, someone with some vigor?
Pinstress looks to her threshold, anticipating the newcomer. But the figure that crosses into her hut is one Pinstress already knows.
“Back here again, needle bug? Whatever your goals are, it certainly is a strange one to lead you back to my place!”
Needle bug walks into her hut, looking as daunting as ever. “My mission throughout the kingdom requires that I wind my path.” Needle bug takes a seat on Pinstress’s stool, and begins to maintain her tools. “I shall not overstay my welcome.”
“Well, you’d better not! I’m starting to worry that you’re going to draw unwanted attention from them above! I would-”
Whatever Pinstress was going to say comes to a screeching halt.
“What abomination is that?” Pinstress points a claw.
Needle bug looks up from the tool she held in her claw. “This is an injector band, Pinstress, taken from the Citadel’s ward. It is a cursed device, forcibly injecting silk deep into shells so that the Citadel’s servants may serve eternally. My own unique shell has allowed it to be somewhat repurposed as a tool for quicker recovery.”
The ward.
A row of pins, held together by a brace.
“... Mind handing it over for a moment, needle bug?”
Needle bug, perhaps sensing the change from Pinstress’s usual demeanor, handed it over without comment.
The first thing Pinstress noticed, as she held the… ‘Contraption’ in her claw, was that it is far heavier than it looks. Sharp and dense. In form it was similar. But its weight stated clear its function: pierce deep into shell, and stay there.
“Not enough to take our skills, eh? Not enough to kill us.” Pinstress chuckles darkly. “Ah, the marvel that is our Citadel. Always innovating,” she bit out.
She drew the heaviest pin out of its braces, and began twirling it. Unwieldy little thing. Lacking finesse. But weighing heavy in her claw… Hm. She could imagine it so easily. Those detestable choir with the pins, those clockwork guardians… all of them, every single one of them, bludgeoned. Take the heavy end and smash. Smash into face, until they aren’t recognizable. Smash until nothing but stain remains on the ground. Obliterated! Pay the price. Comeuppance.
Ah, but what did the needle bug say? Used to extend the lives of bugs? The ward?
So this is what medicine is. Up there.
It’s not surprising. She’s not surprised at all. Of course, it's so obvious. Why would medicine be medicine at the Citadel? Expecting actual healing there? A foolish notion. No, there’s nothing up there. Underneath all that gold coating there’s nothing but rot and filth.
All things must be subsumed. Twisted. Nothing is sacred. Kill all her sisters. Take their pins. Take their skills. Stab them in the back. Poison the water.
Make the servants eternal. So that they may serve eternally. Kill eternally, consume eternally.
It makes Pinstress’s shell crawl.
(What if? What if. Surely not. But what if. If? Could there be one of her sisters out there, like this? Puppeteered? Extended? Could there be? What if there was? Kill her sister, then? That would be the right thing to do, but. But...)
Pinstress’s claw tightens around the pin so tight that she shakes.
Needle bug, who was quietly staring, spoke up. “My apologies, Pinstress. I had not realized they would upset. I will put it away for the-”
“NO.” Pinstress stressed. “No, it’s fine, needle bug.” Pinstress slams the pin she was holding back into the brace. She tosses it over. “You say that it helps you in combat?”
Needle bug catches the tool, and quickly stashes it away. “It does, Pinstress.”
“Good. Good. If it helps you kill those Citadel parasites, I ain’t complaining.” Pinstress turns away and grabs pins off of her rack. “But be off now. I’ve no desire to play host right now.”
Needle bug offers a solemn nod. “I will be on my way, Pinstress. Be well.” Pinstress doesn't see, but she does hear needle bug leave.
So its like that, eh.
Pinstress glares down at the pins she is holding.
She won’t maul those judges. She simply cannot afford to. No, no matter how much she wanted to rip them into parts.
The pilgrims will have to do. For now.