PART V - SOMETHING BLUE
The knock on the door was polite and very light, almost as if it was hesitating. Lena took a deep breath and opened it. Standing before everyone was the blue-haired Pixie from earlier, holding her own sundries basket similar to what the rest had taken from the showers. In the basket was what looked like some small pieces of jewelry, a few glass vials of some milky-colored liquid, and her Symbiote box. The box top was painted in the same fashion as the others, but this one with a large blue circle and a small brown one.
The Pixie herself stood approximately seventy-five centimeters tall, about a head shorter than Callie and wore the same white robes the rest of the recruits wore as well. You couldn’t see her wings as they were folded against her body with the robe covering them, but a lump on her back betrayed their presence under the cloth. Her sky-blue hair was haphazardly cut in, ironically, a simple, mussed pixie cut.
“Hello,” Lena said, beaming a happy smile.
“H-h-hello,” the Pixie answered, not moving.
After an awkward moment, Lena finally said, “Please, come in, and welcome.” She stood aside and allowed the small Fae to pass.
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Pixylataweneecina shuffled through the door, feeling all the eyes in the huge house staring at her. The Elf that opened the door was all smiles and seemed a little over-eager to have her here. Inside were four others. A Lizardkin with a sour expression on her face watched her intently. Behind her, a male Elf was standing, seeming to be evaluating her every movement. He looked down his nose at her, probably thinking her less than him in the typical Elf fashion.
Behind the Elf, sitting on the edge of his bed, was the Ogre. Pixylataweneecina vaguely remembered him from the intake line. She remembered him stomping toward her in a Berserker rage and finally being stopped by the Elf officer before he could hurt someone. She remembered him growling at the Dwarf that had pushed her and then throwing him across the field. The Ogre scared her, and she knew he could crush her if she was caught unawares. Thankfully, his bunk was on the opposite side of the room from the remaining unused bed. She just hoped he didn’t want to hurt her.
Last, a pink-haired Gnome sat on the edge of her bed, big wide eyes and a friendly smile on her face. She remembered when the Commandant had given their opening remarks that the Gnome had been with the Ogre, so it wasn’t really surprising to see her here. She had entirely too large a fake smile on her face.
“Hi!” the Gnome said to her, waving her hand excitedly. Why was she trying to be so friendly?
“H-H-Hello,” Pixylataweneecina said again, not sure what else to add.
“This bed is for you,” the female Elf said.
“Th-th-thanks.”
Pixylataweneecina set her basket on her bunk. While it was too tall to easily climb into, she could try to jump into it with some telekinetic help if she had to. However, that would need such a tiny amount, she was worried about using too much to only get a tiny amount of height. Damn! She didn’t want to ask for help. Maybe someone in the camp could make her steps?
She also knew her specific instructions were to put her Symbiote into her footlocker. It was so big, though. She lifted the lid on the Footlocker and realized she was too short to set it on its floor.
“Can I help you with your worm?” the Elf asked, gesturing from the colored box in Pixylataweneecina’s hand.
“I couldn't reach the bottom of it myself,” the Gnome added. “I don't think they made them with short people in mind.”
“Oh,” Pixylataweneecina said. The she-Elf took the tiny, precious wood box from her hand and set it inside the footlocker.
“When we need it later, I’ll take it out for you,” the Elf said.
The Pixie nodded in return and looked down at her feet, unsure what to do or say next. It seemed the Elf was trying to be friendly, but she couldn't understand why. She was just staying here because it was the only house without Dwarves, so it wasn’t like she even had a choice to be here at all. She wasn’t here to make friends, and Pixylataweneecina was sure that once they knew her better and realized she couldn’t speak and what a freak she was, they’d want nothing to do with her. It was like all the others that had come into her life. That was fine. She didn’t need them. Or even want them.
“Hi there. I’ll introduce myself. My name is Lena,” the Elf said, pointing to herself. She continued around the room. “And this is Xin, Vanis, Tazrok and Callie.”
Pixylataweneecina followed the introductions around the room, trying to read everyone’s faces. The two Elves were looking at her with what was likely pity. The Lizardkin was impossible to read, and the Ogre just had a big grin on his face. He was probably imagining all the ways to cook and eat her, assuming he would even bother with cooking. The Gnome continued that stupid, fake grin, trying far too hard to be friendly.
“H-H-Hello,” was all Pixylataweneecina could muster in return. She looked up at her bed again, still wondering how she was going to get into it.
“What’s your name?” the Gnome asked. Callie was her name, right?
Pixylataweneecina hated this part. She had been cursed by her parents with the worst name ever, and it was impossible for her to say without tripping over her own stupid, broken tongue, no matter how many times she practiced. She looked at the Gnome and sighed. She pointed to herself and then held her hands apart.
“Huh?” the Gnome said. “Oh, right. Yes, your name.”
Pixylataweneecina shook her head and then tried again. She pointed to herself and then held her hands far apart. She did it a second time.
“You … big? You … long?” the Gnome puzzled out. “Oh! You have a long name?”
Pixylataweneecina nodded.
“Take your time,” Vanis, the Elf said.
Pixylataweneecina groaned inwardly to herself. This is where it always fell apart. Damn her tongue. “P-pi-pi–pi-pixel aytawan-n-n-n…” She was so nervous that she had to stop, squeezed her eyes shut, and punched her thigh three times in anger. She tried to order her mouth to work. She saw the others in the room look at each other with that same pitying look they always had.
“Would it be easier to do it in smaller chunks?” the Gnome asked.
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Pixylataweneecina nodded in return.
“Great. Sound it out one piece at a time. How many syllables?”
Pixylataweneecina thought for a moment and held up eight fingers.
“That is a long name. It sounded like the first two syllables were ‘pixel”, is that right?”
“C-C-Close. Pix-eh,” she said phonetically.
“Okay, what’s next?”
“Layt-t-t-ta.” Pixylataweneecina frowned and took a deep breath, clenching her tiny fists hard enough to feel her nails digging into her palms. “Layta” she managed to spit out this time.
“Pixelata…” the Gnome said. “What is next?”
“Wen-nee” Pixylataweneecina got out with minor difficulty. “Ch-ch-ch-ch…” Curse her parents for this name! Once again, she punched her thigh in frustration. She was so damn nervous around these new strangers that nothing would work. “Chee-na” she finally pushed out.
“Pixi-layta-weneech-eena” The Gnome said, slowly sounding out the name slowly. It was close enough. Pixylataweneecina nodded.
“That’s a lovely name,” the she-Elf said condescendingly.
“Lovely? That’s more than just lovely!” the little Gnome exclaimed. “That is an absolutely amazing name!” the Gnome said excitedly. Wait, was she serious or just pandering?
“Th-th-thanks?” was all the little Pixie could say in return.
“They are both right,” the Lizardkin said, speaking for the first time. “That is a truly good name, even if long and hard for you to say.”
“Xin!” Callie said. “Be nice!”
“I was!”
Pixylataweneecina held up her hand to stop the argument before it started. It was a long and hard to say name, the Lizardkin, had been right about that. She appreciated her candor. “It is very l-l-long,” she said.
“Is there something else you’d rather we call you? Or a shorter version of your name that would make it easier for you?” Callie asked, with a look of genuine care on her face.
“W-W-Whatever you want,” the Pixie responded with an uncaring shrug.
The little Gnome seemed to think for a moment. “Would Pixyl work?”
Would it work? It still had that hard sound to make sometimes, but it wasn’t a big long word like her real name. Her over-controlling mother had never let her have a shorter nickname, always insisting on the whole thing, after all. It was another form of daily cruelty and a scar that would forever be hard to live with. Thankfully, that part of her life was gone and the evil woman Fae could rot for all Pixylataweneecina cared. As for the name, the Pits had always just called her The Blue Haired Pixie, or The Blue Queen or sometimes just Blue, because there was no way she could teach anyone to say it right. But here was a chance at a new name, something shorter, but still a little like her real name.. “Yes. J-J-Just Pixyl will work,” she said with a tiny nod.
Pixyl. She liked it. It was still her, but now a little bit better and a lot easier to say.
“Then Pixyl it is,” the male Elf said. Vanis was the name, right? She vaguely remembered hearing someone in the medical tent whispering about a Vanis, but wasn’t able to make out what it was about. It must be this Elf.
“Healer Tasi came by,” Lena said, “to let us know you would need some help while you finish healing. So please, just ask if you need anything.”
“No! I don’t n-n-need any help,” Pixyl said curtly.
“Sure, of course,” Lena said with a worried tone, taking a step back. “But if you do, just ask.”
Pixyl … yes that was a good nickname … wasn’t going to ask for help. She’d been without help all her life, in one form or another, especially the last four years without any of her family. She’d been thought stupid and useless all her life, and somehow she’d managed to make a living by being a spectacle, finding enough in her to keep going.
But dammit, she was strong. She’d learned how to be a Bladeweaver by herself. She’d learned to fight by herself. She’d survived the other children, her family, the town, the people, the Pits, by herself! No wingnob Dwarf was going to keep her down! She just wished her wing didn’t hurt so much. She just wished she hadn’t been so foolish as to trip over her own two feet. She had been warned not to fly around, and it didn’t even occur to her. She just wished she wasn’t so afraid to get her Symbiote. She just wished she wasn’t afraid to be around these people. Because she couldn’t show fear. Not to these people in this room. Not to anyone!
“Pixyl,” Vanis said, trying to break the tension, “Once again, welcome and we are happy to have you here.” He gestured towards the rear. “There are two doors for the latrines. The larger one is obviously for Tazrok, while the other is for everyone else.”
“There’s a wooden crate to step on, should you need it,” Callie said. Then added with amusement, “Should either of us, for that matter.”
Pixyl nodded. “Okay.”
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“Did you get all the information you needed for what’s going to happen this evening?” Lena asked.
“Y-y-yes. Trainer Olin t-t-told me,” the Pixie said.
“What class is Trainer Olin teaching?”
This is where they would think she was even more of a terrifying freak than before, but at this point, what did it matter. She’d known her class had been strange ever since she had scraped together enough coin to get scryed after receiving it years ago. When she told her family, they said it was good she at least wasn’t a Healer like her mother, as Pixyl couldn’t speak right and a Healer would be wasted on her. And thus, she had become the strange, outcast class that no Pixie understood or wanted around. But her powers were entertaining to some, and at least she was able to teach herself and make a living with them.
“B-Bladeweaver. I know it…”
Lena interrupted with a gasp. “Bladeweaver? Really? That’s amazing! I’ve never met one before, and didn’t know Pixies could be one. That explains the colors on your worm box. Blue for Wizard and brown for Warrior.”
“P-Pixies c-c-can’t be,” Pixyl said. “I’m the only one.”
“What’s a Bladeweaver?” Callie asked. “Is it anything like being a Bladedancer like you are, Lena?”
“No. Yes. A little,” Lena said, trying to figure out what to say. “A Bladeweaver is like a Wizard that fights with swords, and can create their swords from raw magic, and use magic spells while they fight. I have to have physical swords, and rely on instinctive dodging, parrying and movement skills. We’re a little alike in that we both fight with swords, but Bladeweaver’s do it with so much more … style.”
“Create their own swords?” Callie gasped. “That’s so cool!”
“They are not c-c-cold,” Pixyl said. “They are actually quite hot.”
“Argh! Sorry, ‘cool’ means really interesting or fascinating. I’m always tripping people up using that term.”
“What I think is ‘cool’ is that we have another combination of race and class that apparently shouldn’t be possible,” Lena said.
“That’s right! If Pixies aren’t supposed to be able to be Bladeweavers, we now have three strange combinations in this house?” Callie said.
“It appears we do, in fact,” Vanis said, looking at Tazrok and then Callie. “Curious.”
“Strange?” Pixyl asked. “Another?”
“Am Druid,” Tazrok said, pointing to himself. “Will get to learn shapeshift.”
An Ogre Druid? Is that even possible?
“That’s not all,” Vanis said gesturing at Callie
“Guess what class I am? Go ahead,” Callie giggled.
Pixyl gave it a moment, looking Callie up and down. “Illusionist, m-m-maybe?”
“Nope. I’m a Ranger! We think, at least.”
“A Gnome R-R-Ranger?” Pixyl said in disbelief. “Truly?”
“I know! Wild, isn’t it!” Callie squealed in response.
Could it be? Was she really housing with two other strange, impossible combinations like her? She had always simply been told that she had a useless class and she was just a mistake and thus, she wasn’t a normal Pixie. Once her class was revealed, she’d always been told a Pixie could never be a good Bladeweaver. After all, Pixies were too small and could never fight hand to hand, and thus she was just a waste of an advanced class, even with the powers she had managed to unlock. Of course, she had shown some people otherwise, but that was still the assumption. But here was an Ogre that was apparently a Druid, and a Gnome that was a Ranger. A tiny part of her suddenly felt a little less alone. Were the others strange, too?
“What about the r-rest of y-you?” Pixyl asked. “Is anyone else … s-s-strange?”
“Well Lena has a mysterious past we need to get her drunk to learn about.”
“Callie!” Lena said sharply.
“Well, you do! And we’re going to get you completely hammered at some point!” Callie said. “And Xin was training to be a Spearmaster before she was ordered by the Army to embrace being a Shaman.”
Pixyl looked at both Lena and Xin. They weren’t nearly as strange, but still, they were both interesting, especially if Lena’s story was a good one. And a Shaman with Spearmaster abilities was a potent combination if Xin could master the synergy. Pixyl had once seen a Pit match with a combat-trained Shaman and it was an impressive fight.
“W-W-What about him?” Pixyl asked, gesturing to Vanis.
“Callie, don’t!” Vanis said sternly.