taxonomites | [location: Taxon Forest, mainly, but even the Woodsman goes into town for acquiring Stuff]

Once upon a time, there was a man, who was so pained by grief that one day he simply stopped feeling. Not the pain of his own, not that of others; there was nothing that could move him to the point of pangs or aches of any kind. What had once been the most expressive face and bright blue eyes, was no more. Lack luster orbs and too little skin stretched too tight over bone had taken their place.

Some said he was blessed for no matter what hurt or wound might befall him, he couldn't feel a thing. Others said the opposite: that he was cursed never to feel even a knife stabbed into his back. Some said he had once loved so deeply that his heart shattered. Unable to repair it, he could never love again.

For as long as he could remember, he had been a guardian of the woods, the Woodsman, and what ever name he once had, no one could remember. The loss of his name, like so many other things of his past, didn't pain him. It was just a name, after all, and he'd found himself neither lacking nor wanting. 'Woodsman' would do, for that was his nature. The forest was his dwelling and his workplace, and protecting it was his life. Though he had broken too many bones within its borders than he could recall, and though it had paid him in countless scars, all was well. He was alive to tend the woods.

((ooc: No hat for Cain! Rumplestiltsglitch stole it as per the backstory posted in

hamsterball. No one glitched knows that the hat belonged to Cain in real life, but if your character isn't glitched, well... Ask him about it, and you might just get an affirmative. Or not. <3))

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Every once in a while the pixie sorcerer would pay a visit to past business associates. Partly because it amused him, occasionally as a means to ensure they were still satisfied with their gifts, but typically it was to see if another deal could be brokered.

All three applied to the Woodsman, and the pixie conspired to place himself in the man's path. He perched in a tree, the gray hat dangling from the toe of one shoe as he awaited salutation.

The salutation was, as was the Woodsman's wont, curt and dry as kindling. "You tease me, pixie. Nay, you wound me, to display my forfeited hat so carelessly."

"Wound you? Oh, if it is something so small as that--" He kicked his foot upward with effortless grace, and after brief flight the hat settled upon the sorcerer's wild-haired head. "Then I shan't put forth the effort. How fares the woods this morning?"

Once upon a time, the Woodsman might have envied the pixie the innate fluidity of movement he seemed to possess (and flaunt without shame), but it had been a long time indeed since he last cared for such ugly emotions.

"She is slumbering, as ever. Silent and unstirring. You'd best take care not to wake her," he said with a well practiced ease. "Or I shall be ever cross with you."

"Cross! How could I bear it?" He chuckled at his pun, then dropped lightly from his perch. "You overestimate my powers, sir, and my desire to bring trouble. I too much prefer a quiet forest."

The silence was much, much better than hooves and horns and bells. He dismissed the troubling thought and looked to his friend (if any in the land could bear that title it was likely the Woodsman, for he alone did not pass judgement upon the sorcerer's deeds).

"And what of yourself?" Yes he was curious, endlessly curious about the Woodsman's condition. Rare were the effects of his gifts so profound.

And the Woodsman replied solemnly, "One step at a time, friend." Though they rarely met, they went back a long time, and sad a thought though it may be, the pixie was the closest thing he had to a friend. In that, at the very least, they were equal.

What of him, then? Naturally the sorcerer would like to know, in the tradition of ensuring one's business endeavors remain fruitful. The pixie had his hat (what he had believed to be a trinket, and found to be so much more; it was as inherent to him as his eyes or his hands, and still sometimes he found his eyes stinging in summertime, and his hands reaching to tip a brim that was not there). He had his peace of mind.

But of late, he had become to wonder if it was enough. It was a dangerous thought, that he might find himself regretting his trade after so long a time had passed. He bore the scars of the years gone by.

"I feel older than my years, plenty though they are. I make my rounds and by nighttime, I come home to find my boots filled with blood. My joints pop, my bones grind disconcertingly in places, and yet I feel nothing. I think perhaps I ought fear my safety. Her Majesty's gifted me with long life, but if I grind myself to dust unknowingly 'tis a wasted life. Shall I die for not knowing something in me has ruptured?"

The pixie pursed his lips and made the appropriate noises of interest and sympathy as the Woodsman spoke. He was much more fascinated than concerned, but knew mortals - most mortals - appreciated the show.

"It is possible," he replied with a shrug and stepped closer. "Or a wound gone to fester, or perhaps your own ax will be the end of you." And, because every once in a great while he needed to ask: "If you feel your time is wasted then you could barter for more, or perhaps change your circumstances once again."

The great thing was, from a pixie's perspective, that such tokens (mimicked or otherwise) tricked mortals into believing they mattered. Even one such as the Woodsman, who had been ageless for so long he didn't even remember his own name, whose first trade with the pixie had rendered him numb where empathy were concerned.

Nonetheless, it warmed his heart, or so he liked to imagine. "You wouldn't tempt me if I had nothing to trade. Yet, I fail to see what I've left to tempt you."

The smallest smile lit the pixie's face, and he blinked slowly.

"You live and you breathe and you think, you see, hear, smell, touch, taste." He pointed a long, alabaster finger at the center of the Woodsmand's chest. "That heart I let you keep is still thudding away, you've that to surrender. I know of a tinsmith who could fashion you a new form, so you needn't worry about any ailments aside from rust."

All speculation and fancy, of course, not really a true offer but the chance of one.

[location: Taxon Forest, mainly, but even the Woodsman goes into town for acquiring Stuff]

[location] because why not

[location] why not indeed :D

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[location] tralala old timey canon + XTC lyrics XD