~o0o~

Quaraun was an Elf who was not an Elf.

Quaraun was a Thullid, living in the reanimated carcass of a long deceased Elf.

Thullids change their hosts every few years to avoid becoming physically attached to the host. If they occupy in the cadaver for too long, their tentacles fuse with the host’s nerves, brains, and spinal column. It becomes impossible to detach from the host’s body.

But Quaraun was a vain little JellyFish. She lusted for the beauty of this male Moon Elf’s body. And so, decades passed and now the parasitic sea creature was powerless to leave his body. The little pink JellyFish lived safe and protected, snugly nestled inside the Moon Elf’s skull. So she didn’t consider the repercussions of not leaving his body and changing hosts.

While residing with the fiercely protective Di’Jinn, they made certain the Elf’s body met with no damage. But now, the Di’Jinn are dead. And on his own, trekking across the world, Quaraun had no one to protect him.

No one to look after him.

No one to accompany him.

No one to cheer up his depressed mind.

No one to sooth his fears.

No one to silence his paranoias.

No one to dry his drench body.

No one to care for him.

No one to cook for him.

No one to temper his morbidity.

No one to instruct him.

No one to warm him on cold nights.

No one to guide him.

No one to advise him on how to do the simple, basic, reasonable common sense things he often forgot to do: like to put a coat on during a snowstorm. Or not trudging through the blizzard at all and waiting for the snowfall to cease.

Quaraun listened to the sound of the snow as it fell steadily around him. Flakes stuck to his lashes, clumped him into his hair, soaked his clothes, and froze his skin. The blanket of snow insulated the sounds of the world, blocking them out. Save for the high-pitched whistling wind.

The smell of the snow was strange, new, different, yet old and familiar. It was clean and wet, a smell of cleanness that he could not describe, but found that he greatly enjoyed.

After leaving the Di’Jinn desert, he had roamed from town to town, port to port, village to village, city to city, aimlessly going from one country to the next. Searching. For what, he did not know. A place where he belonged. A place where he fit in. A place to call home. And finding none, he decided to return to the place of his birth.

A wild, cold place, deep in the north, buried under snow. It had taken him several years to reach Ivujivik, and now he was only a few days away from the settlement where he had been born. The cold, clean fragrance of the brisk, snow-filled air stirred his childhood memories with happy thoughts of his beloved mother. He missed her. He missed the snow. It was good to be back after so many years away.

But the snow was piling up all around him. Howling winds and bitter frost stung his long, thin, rabbit like pointed ears.

A sensible Elf would have pitched a tent along a snow drift and waited out the storm.

Quaraun was not a sensible Elf.

The Di’Jinn had tried to teach Quaraun how to be sensible. But intelligence was not Quaraun’s strong point and nothing he learned remained long in his empty, brainless skull.

Quaraun’s skull had long ago been hollowed out, to make room for the tiny pink Thullid who lived inside.

Since Quaraun was a Thullid, Quaraun was also a Psion.

Quaraun was a Psion able to hypnotize an entire city into being his thralls. And thus able to take control of every mind if he wanted.

But he didn’t want that. Quaraun despised politics, authority, science, calculations, prestige, wealth, gluttony, legislation, education, influence, finance, government, maths, power, money, greed, law, capital, avarice... In fact, Quaraun hated most everything that drove men to seek becoming a mage.

Quaraun was peaceful, mellow, tranquil and possessed no lust for power, no desire to control others. No glut for gold. There is no need for power, there is no need to control others, there is no need for gold. Though the Di’Jinn called her an Elder Brain, one of the Elder God’s, the little pink JellyFish was just a brain sucking jellyfish.

A very old jellyfish. Tens of thousands of years old. Who despised the thirst for power or the desire to dominate others.

Quaraun’s ambitions were as simple as his simple mind. He preferred to sit and weave silk. Sit and embroider silk. And sell his embroidered and beaded pink silk scarves at the market.

Quaraun ignored his psionic abilities. Quaraun did not want his powers. Powers he didn’t need, and so didn’t use. He just wanted to live a traditional lifestyle, like an ordinary commoner, and forget he possessed tremendous powers of mind control. And all of this infuriated the Di’Jinn. For the Di’Jinn planned for their Elder Brain to reign supreme over all life. They desired to conquer the planet. They craved to rule the world.

The Di’Jinn did not truly care about Quaraun. They were full of greed and lust of power. Quaraun was a tool. A tool they could use. Only ZooLock had truly cared for Quaraun. The rest of the Thullids only wanted to exploit the Elder Brain to subjugate the world and enslave all races as their thralls. But Quaraun just preferred to be a merchant.

Quaraun wanted to forget magic. Forget his psychic abilities. Forget the Di’Jinn.

And right now, he wanted a warm, dry bed to sleep in.

And The Elf Eater.

Quaraun sat shivering in the snow, reflecting on the glories of being The Elf Eater’s lover.

To feel the warmth of The Elf Eater’s body. To smell his flesh. To touch The Elf Eater’s hair.

Quaraun tried to remember the hot Persian sun over the desert of the Di’Jinn. He hoped that visualizing warm thoughts would warm his freezing body. But this did nothing to drive away the chill, so now he turned to warm thoughts of The Elf Eater instead.

It had not occurred to Quaraun to put on a coat or a cloak or a cape or a shawl. Nor did Quaraun consider the inefficiency of silk at keeping you warm, unless you are bundled up in many layers of it.

No, warming himself by putting on a coat was not where his brain defaulted. His brain defaulted instead to speculating about warming himself in the Elf Eater’s bed.

Quaraun could easily have dealt with the issue of his trembling hands by putting on gloves. Warming up his frozen feet by removing his wet satin brocade slippers and putting on fur-lined boots were thoughts too big for the tiny JellyFish living in Quaraun’s brain. He had gloves and boots in his bag. But Quaraun tended to not think logically, especially about fashion. The practicality of his clothes always took a back seat to fashion.

And right now, he wanted a warm, dry bed to sleep in.

And The Elf Eater.

And so, Quaraun remained shivering in the snowbank, contemplating on how wonderful it would be to be The Elf Eater’s lover.

To know the passion of The Elf Eater’s soul. To smell his flesh. To caress The Elf Eater’s hair.

To feel...

Quaraun shook the daydreams from his head.

Quaraun was a virgin.

He had never had sex with anyone.

Had never desired sex with anyone.

He didn’t know why he desired sex with The Elf Eater.

But he did.

It was a thought that plagued his mind daily, for years now.

A deep, dark secret Quaraun shared with no one, was his deep, dark desires, to share his bed with The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

A fantasy he kept carefully locked away in his heart, where no one would ever find it.

No one must ever know he felt this way.

Quaraun tried to think of something else. But right now, it was difficult to think of anything but the ice. And the snow. And the cold.

The sky grew darker; the clouds grew heavier; the trees grew taller and the army of undead grew greater. Quaraun sat in the snow, shivering.

Cold.

Too cold.

So very cold.

He needed to take his mind off the snow.

Off the cold.

He was freezing to death, sitting in the snow. Trembling. Shivering. Too cold to see the Faeries moving in, closing in, gathering around him.

Quaraun needed to rest. He needed to get warm again. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a lulled, meditative state of just listening to the endless silence of snow.

He tried to think happy thoughts.

No. Not happy thoughts. Warm thoughts.

Yes.

Warm thoughts.

Quaraun’s mind drifted and wandered through lucid thoughts that floated around inside his head.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

A peaceful, contented serenity Quaraun, swept over him, filing his mind with soft, warm, comforting thoughts.

The crisp, clean smell of the fresh, icy snow.

The alpine air, floral of scents of lovely pink orchids and lush evergreens.

The minty fragrance of checker berries and wintergreen leaves.

The warm earthiness of sphagnum moss, peat, and leaf mould.

The cool late spring breeze wafting down the mountain, chilling the air and awakening the nodding yellow headed daffodils.

The warmth of the sun, melting the muddy slushy golden brown snow of winter.

Melting summer snow.

Filling creeks, brooks, and rivers full of glorious, brown mud, cascading into the ocean estuary. Lush, green reeds, tall slender grass, fluffy brown seed-heads. All nodding and waving to the summer breeze.

To joyfully be at one with the serenity of nature.

To hear the birds chirping cheerfully.

The tadpoles singing.

The warm embrace of mother’s ever loving tentacles.

Warm, slithering, slimy, squishy thoughts of swimming in lovely, green algae filled primordial goo.

Tadpoles, swimming in one mass herd, filling the slimy muck, with endless black wriggling specks, each competing for a host.

The chilled cold of dark caves.

The warmth of bubbling water, heated by underground rivers of lava.

Purple, grape-like clumps of sticky, slime coated soft-shell caviar-like eggs clung to the edges of the goo-filled pool.

The singing larvae.

Desperate.

Devouring.

Fighting.

Struggling.

Killing.

The mindless massacre of mountainous millions.

The fight to survive.

Quaraun opened his eyes.

That wasn’t right.

Where had those slithering, squishy, gooey, slimy thoughts come from?

He hadn’t thought them.

He was certain of it.

Thullid thoughts.

No.

He was an Elf. Not a Thullid.

Elves think Elven thoughts.

Quaraun tried to think Elven thoughts once again, but it was no use. Thullid thoughts kept slithering in, slinking their way around his brain. He’d been away from Elf society for far too long. He’d grown to use to living with Thullids, thinking like a Thullid, talking like a Thullid, acting like a Thullid, dressing like a Thullid.

This would have to stop.

It would do not good to have a Thullid living in an Elf body, in Elf society, if it acted like a Thullid.

Quaraun tried to think of birds and bunnies, flowers and trees, but could only think of jellyfish and squid, plecos and octopi. She longed for her ocean, so far away.

A lifetime ago on another planet.

She’d never swim again.

She was trapped.

Trapped in the body of an Elf.

No more freedom to swim with the singing sea slugs or dance with the whales.

No.

Stuck forever, never again to feel the water on her skin, the waves in her tentacles. She was no longer a beautiful pink jellyfish swimming in the ocean.

She was now a parasite, feeding off the brain of a male Elf. And she needed to learn to think Elven thoughts before she reached Quaraun’s home village.

Flowers. Feathers. Fish.

Fish?

Do Elves think about fish?

No, no, no, no, no!

He had not been thinking Thullid thoughts or warm underground primordial pools.

He had been pondering Elven thoughts.

Thoughts of nature.

Thoughts of spring.

Quaraun was an Elf not a Thullid. He reminded himself that he didn’t live with the Di’Jinn any more. The Di’Jinn were dead. He was on his way to live with the Elves once again. He had to learn to think like an Elf. He must remember to act like an Elf. Talk like an Elf. And think Elf thoughts.

Yes. He was an Elf now. Not a Thullid. No more. Never again. He must think thoughts of trees, not caves, Birds flying in the terrible, brilliant, bright, blinding sunlight, not tadpoles slithering in cool, comforting, dark, delicious watery caverns.

The slithering madness encroached upon his warm, comforting thoughts.

Pure, glorious madness.

He craved it.

He lusted for it.

And the fight to survive against all odds.

The lust for brains.

The sumptuous, juicy goodness, the delicate flavour...

No.

Quaraun stood up suddenly.

His foot long ears alert, high over his head, stiff with fear.

His eyes darting quickly to and fro, glancing around the darkness of night, in search of the source of these thoughts.

Thullids.

There were Thullids in the area.

He felt them in his head.

He heard them in his mind.

No.

It was a hive mind.

He was connected to a Thullid hive mind.

An Elder Brain.

A massive JellyFish that controlled the minds of its purple octopi headed priests. A creature that controlled the hive mind of entire solar systems. Who in turn controlled the will of endless denizens of mindless thralls, enslaved to doing Thullid bidding.

Somewhere nearby was an Elder Brain, and a pod of Thullid priests, and a herd of mindless thralls, enslaved to the Elder Brain. And Quaraun was connected to its hive mind.

Tapped into its thoughts.

And it was nearby. Wait. No. Was it? There couldn’t be a Thullid here in the snow. He was the only one for miles.

Somewhere, in this snow, was a Thullid.

He felt a hive mind connection to this Thullid.

He recognized it at once.

He knew which Thullid he shared a hive mind with.

ZooLock.

The Di’Jinn priest.

ZooLock the Great.

The last Di’Jinn priest.

ZooLock, an ancient Thullid, with violet and purple mottled skin, and big golden Pleco eyes, and sharp toothed lamprey maw surrounded by a dozen long puce pink, slithering tentacles.

“No,” Quaraun whispered under his breath. “It can’t be. The Di’Jinn are dead. I killed them. There can’t be one still alive.”

Quaraun heard none of the undead.

Too deep in his own thoughts.

Too cold to think clearly.

The trees continued to grow thinker.

Quaraun saw none of this.

His mind was focused.

Searching.

ZooLock.

His captor.

His gallor.

His prison guard.

Fear filled Quaraun as his mind flooded with ancient thoughts.

Long forgotten thoughts.

Thoughts he’d deliberately buried.

Thoughts he wanted to forget.

Thoughts of a war fought a thousand years ago.

A war on a distant planet.

A planet in a distant galaxy.

A galaxy in another dimension.

A dimension, far, far away.

A war fought over a tiny pink JellyFish.

An itty, bitty thing, no larger than a thumbnail.

A teeny-tiny-itty-bitty-tensy-weensy little pink JellyFish.

The Sacred Pink JellyFish.

A tiny sea creature, who was the single most powerful, most ancient Elder Brain of them all.

ZooLock, her devoted follower, her loyal priest, who loved The Scared Pink JellyFish above all else, had stolen her.

Kidnapped her.

Scooped her up out of her briny sea and bottled her up in a little glass goldfish bowl.

Scared and confused, the tiny frightened pink jellyfish swam in fear. Not knowing why she was taken. Not knowing where they were going. Not aware of the massive implosion of the planet that was taking place all around her.

The Thullid planet was dying.

The world reduced to chaos.

And the Elder Gods were laid to blame.

The Elder Gods should have seen it coming.

The Elder Gods should have known.

Thus was the battle cry of the outraged denizens of the Thullid planet.

The Thullid Sun was in Super Nova, and the Thullid citizens had blamed their Elder Gods for not knowing ahead of time that the world was ending.

But they didn’t notice.

They hadn’t seen.

For the Elder Brains were not gods.

The Elder Brains were just very intelligent sea creatures, with very powerful psionic abilities.

And the Elder Gods, now revealed for what they truly were, powerful psychics with no go-powers at all.

The populations of enthralled slaves broke free of their mental bonds.

Stormed into the underground caves.

Attacked the slime filled pools. Killed the Elder Brains.

Slaughtered the sea creatures whom had enslaved them.

The Thullid revolt was fruitless, however, for the sun was in super nova and all would die as the planet was sucked into its exploding sun. But all would die free, knowing that moments before the world had ended, they had slaughtered every last Elder Brain.

But one escaped.

One Elder Brain survived.

The Scared Pink JellyFish.

Ripped from her tadpole filled pool.

Sloshing against the sides of the glass bowl she now found herself in, as one terrified priest dared defy the crowd and fled the temple of the Elder Gods, desperate to escape with at least one Thullid Elder Brain still alive.

Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, Thullid masses boarded vast star-ships and left the planet to die, leaving behind millions, billions, who had not prepared for the end, whom had not believed the scientists.

There were not enough ships.

Few survived.

The ships drifted through space.

Some drift still, now empty, the crew and passengers long ago dead.

Some invaded other worlds, conquering them, destroying them, in massive Thullid take over.

Most ships were lost, to where no one knows.

One ship crashed on Earth.

In the icy cold waters, off the shores of Ivujivik, Quebec.

Most of its crew and passengers drowned in the depths of Earth’s bitterly cold waters.

One priest survived.

Still clutching his precious cargo.

Still clinging to the glass orb, filled with water.

But within the glass globe, she lay dying.

The Scared Pink JellyFish had stopped swimming.

Too weak.

Suffering.

In so much pain.

The endless agony.

As ZooLock sat in the snow, in the rocky cliffs of Ivujivik, watching the last of the Elder Brains die, he looked up to see a young mother and her son coming down the mountain.

Desperate to save his pretty, pink ladyship’s life, ZooLock did what had never been done before: he implanted the Elder Brain in a host.

Elder Brains were never implanted.

Never.

It simply wasn’t done.

But outside of her tadpole filled pool of slime, she simply would not live. At least in a host, she had a chance to survive. Eat the host’s brain.

Absorb its soul.

Connect to its nerves.

And become one with the host until the fully enveloped host existed no more.

The young mother deeply loved her little boy.

She’d never hurt him, no matter what he’d become.

ZooLock sensed this. He perceived immediately what he must do.

And before the woman had a chance to react, ZooLock grabbed the toddler from her grasp, shattered the glass bowl he was carrying, and inserted the tiny parasitic pink jellyfish up his nostril into his brain.

The mother screamed and fought, struggled and shrieked, but one simply can not fight a strong, healthy Thullid Priest.

A monk.

A warrior.

A zealous radical, devoted to his religion.

Devoted to his god.

Wearing neon yellow silks, embroidered with vivid eye popping pink jellyfish.

And armed with a dozen well muscled tentacles, a circle of sharp lamprey teeth, and a psionic mind.

There was no fighting such a beast.

And had it been left to ZooLock, the young mother would have served as his dinner.

But the Sacred Pink JellyFish took hold of his mind and demanded he spare the mother to raise the child.

The agony.

So much agony.

She could not forget the pain.

The terror.

The agony.

The suffering.

The mind-numbing agony.

She had felt everything the boy felt as he died.

The boy died in agony as the weeks passed and the pink jellyfish ate his brain. Its tentacles growing and spreading through his body, fussing with his spinal column and overtaking everything he was.

The JellyFish hated what she had done.

She felt every agony the boy felt.

She suffered with him.

As the boy screamed, she cursed ZooLock for the suffering she had caused to this innocent child whom had hurt no one. He did not deserve to die like this. She’d have done anything to give him back his life and die in his place. But it was too late. The transformation had already begun. The boy was dying, and she was now him.

Her mind becoming one with him as he suffered.

And in her guilt for killing the child, rather than over take him, she became him.

No more the Thullid Elder Brain leading an entire solar system, she became a 3-year-old Moon Elf, who dearly loved his mother.

The Sacred Pink JellyFish sent ZooLock away, telling him to never return. She did not want to him again.

She would never again be a Thullid.

She was now an Elf.

This Elf.

And she remained him forever.

For sake of his grieving mother, she remained the Elf, even these many long years after his mother had died.

Thus the Sacred Pink JellyFish became Quaraun.

And Quaraun would always remain an Elf.

Never evolving to look like other Thullids.

Never becoming the squid headed, tentacle beast everyone recognized a Thullid to be.

ZooLock.

The Last of the Di’Jinn priests.

Quaraun.

The Last of The Elder Brains.

The Di’Jinn were dead.

Dead at the hands of their beloved Jelly who had turned on them, in the body of an Elf, and killed them all, to save the life of a little black unicorn: The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

Quaraun sat shivering in the snow on the road to Ivujivik, thinking dark thoughts of his pre-Elf Thullid past, oblivious to the dark eyes watching him.

~o0o~