Amaia's Reasons

 It had taken the dullahan a brief amount of time to gather their supplies, bringing along a small backpack, and their weapon. When they’d told Millie that they were well-versed in the usage of impractically-large weaponry, that apparently wasn’t an exaggeration. Strapped onto Amaia’s back was what looked like a spine. It was about twice the size as an average adult human backbone, complete with tailbone at the end, with a handle attached at the other. And it was strapped to the dullahan’s hip.

When the four of them got on the move again, Millie had elected to hop on Nibbles’ back. Nibbles was a little confused at first, but when she realized she’d get all the ear scritches she could possibly want, she was more than happy to allow it.

Millie had the lumber she’d picked up strapped to her back for now, and she glanced toward the spine on the dullahan’s hip.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked, head tilted.

“Hm?”

“The spine-looking thing.”

Amaia sighed. “That’s my whip.”

“How does someone go about getting one like that?”

At that point, Amaia went quiet, arm lightly squeezing their head. Their teeth were gritted. “It’s...it’s a touchy subject,” they said, eyes glancing toward their boots.

Three Years Prior, Fae Realm Of Ireland

The countryside was particularly peaceful that evening, the newly-rising moon gently bathing the fields in its light. Amaia sat with a book in their lap, head propped up nearby. For whatever reason, this cheesy romance novel had snagged their attention, and they couldn’t put it down. They’d never known vampires to be like THAT.

“You’re still reading that, hm?” a voice asked, a noticeable chuckle in his tone.

“I swear, it’s like this writer’s never even MET a vampire!” they said. “And the less said about their handling of werewolves, the better.”

“You did get it from the human world. What would you expect?” he replied, settling beside them.

The male dullahan had his head tucked under an arm. He was considerably larger than Amaia. Their big brother, in fact. His own hair was a bit darker, his eyes a solid glowing red. Amaia wasn’t certain if that was something they’d grow into in a couple of centuries or just part of his position as an Emissary of Death.

“I just didn’t expect it to be so...gods, it’s so corny, Amon…”

Amon idly tossed his head up, catching it, then tossing it again. “So, what say you to a bit of training?”

Amaia shrugged. “Not sure I’m really up for it right now,” they said. “It’s not like we’re generally beset by threats around here, especially before lunchtime.”

“Hmph. Lazy. That’s what that is. The epitome of lazy.”

Amaia nearly called him on this, but they noticed the smirk on his face and settled simply for a slap to the arm.

“At least wait until mid-afternoon, yeah?” they asked him, chuckling.

The older dullahan leaned back on his elbows. “I know But see, you need to train to go into the family business.”

Ah, yes, the family business… Generations of their family had worked for the Fae Courts, working as their executioners, with a secondary function of shaking down anyone that owed the Courts a debt. It wasn’t really something Amaia wanted to do, personally. They would have much rather gone into something creative, which didn’t require taking an axe to some deadbeat’s neck.

They shrugged, shutting the book. “I’m still not sure that’s really what I want, though,” they said. “I’ve never really been about violence.”

“It’s less about the violence and more about making sure justice is done,” Amon stated. “Some Unseelie squelcher doesn’t pay up? That can’t stand, Ams. Where would our world be if it did?”

They sighed, unsure how to follow that up.

There was a moment of quiet between the two. The last quiet moment they’d ever have together, as it turned out, as someone began to approach.

The figure wore a long dress that billowed in the cool breeze, her long curls spilling over her shoulders and down her back. The siblings’ eyes narrowed as they both watched her. Was she lost? Did some unlucky lass fall victim to one of the circles again?

Amon stood first, arm tucked under his arm. He held out his other hand, his spine whip appearing.

“Excuse me! Miss?” he called, striding forward.

The woman glanced at him, but neither dullahan got a good look at her face. They were more concerned about the grass beneath her feet. What once was rich and green had yellowed and died the moment she set foot on it.

Amon took a step back. Most Fae, upon touching the ground, caused grass to grow, become more lush. Even those of the darker sort generated growth (albeit of poisonous plants over grass). But this woman—no, this THING—had drained any life right out of the area around her.

Amaia sprang to their feet, picking up their head and watching as Amon rushed the woman with his whip, the spine wrapping around her waist. He yanked the whip, knocking her to the ground, before going to throw the first punch. She made no effort to punch back, rather gripping onto his wrist. Five fingers became six, then four, then five, then seven, the yellowish tint starting to creep up his arm.

In shock, he dropped his head, as it rolled toward Amaia. They instinctively picked it up, and could see Amon’s eyes widen with pain. The older dullahan’s body hit the ground, as Amaia could only watch with horror, holding both heads. Amon’s went still, as the creature started toward Amaia. They were almost tempted to let the creature take them, as well, but no.

No, their brother would want them to survive. To avenge him.

But they had no idea how to go about defeating the creature. The best they could do for the moment was to hide elsewhere and wait for the danger to pass.

It had taken hours for it to leave, as Amaia moved to retrieve Amon’s spine whip. They took it for themselves, took one last look at their brother’s remains, and headed off.

They had fled to Nightshade and had done a bit of couch-hopping for a time, before finally taking control of the local hardware store. In their off time from the store, they began to get acquainted with Amon’s go-to weapon. It was large and awkward for them at the beginning. After months and months of training, the awkwardness began to fade.

Present, Nightshade

It may have been a touchy subject, but Amaia had related their history to the group, anyway. At the end of it, Talia and Millie both looked at them with some degree of sympathy. Losing a brother like that…

“Makes sense,” Millie said after a moment, idly scratching Nibbles behind the ear again. “Ever figure out how to actually fight one of these things?”

“Still working on that,” Amaia admitted. “A weapon that can strike at a distance is a definite asset, though.”

So, Millie was on the right track with that. And wondered if throwing a knife would help, in Talia’s case. She had been able to slice that last opponent’s throat with it, but maybe something with range would put her less at risk. But she wasn’t sure about how Nibbles was able to do some damage. Part of her seriously began to wonder if werewolf saliva would be able to do anything.

“Any idea what you might name your weapon when it’s assembled, by the way?” Amaia asked, wanting to not dwell on their past any longer.

“It needs a name?”

“That tends to make the effects stronger,” Talia said. “Like my dagger’s name: Shade’s Fang. It’s an ancestoral weapon, passed down from my great-great-great-great grandmother. It began as a wedding gift, before becoming an heirloom.”

“And this bad boy’s the ‘Vertiwhip’,” Amaia pointed to their weapon.

Right now, Millie could only really think of her weapon as the lumber she’d snagged to make the thing. Did she feel like giving it a simple name? Or one of those names parents gave their kids to make them sound unique (sometimes to the point of mockery)?

“Hm...OOH! ‘Final Draft’?” she asked.

Talia blinked. “Hmm...it might work…”

“Something involving creation felt right, anyway. If a better name comes up, I’ll go that way, but…”

“Nah, I kinda like it, really,” said Amaia. “As long as you can figure out how to use it, you’re all good.”

That part, Millie wasn’t so sure about. She could conceptualize well enough to hold that graphic design job for twenty years. But anything physical had never been her strong point. She’d somehow managed to just barely pass her gym class way back when she was a student, and that was a pass/fail situation.

The plan for now was to locate a good spot to rest. Talia was ready for that, and Nibbles was ready to find a snack.