Chapter Text
The two arrived in Westeros while summer was still glaring down from the sky. Sunlight melted the Northern snow as fast as it could fall, watering the ground until it was green, and bursting, and fresh.
Phil and Techno fell out of a tree, of all things.
They fell through the dark, and the cold, the void between the worlds pinching them down into nothing but a sliver of starlight small enough to slip between the borders. Phil could sense Technoblade near him— he could have heard him bellowing his head off, if there was any air, or sound to carry a voice. But there wasn’t any sound, and there wasn’t any friction of air to slow them, or any wings to catch him.
Just their consciousness, falling, and the feeling of large careful hands cupping and slowing them and keeping them safe. Their code didn’t unravel, it solidified, and twisted enough that it hurt—
And then they were falling out of the tree.
Honestly, Phil isn’t even sure how Technoblade fit— the tree was thick around as probably two piglin brutes together, but the crack in the wood that he tore his stumbling way out of certainly was not.
Himself, he rolled out with wings flapping, undignified and robes tangled. He hit the snow and soaked his feathers, red leaves sticking to damp skin and the mud sucking at his limbs when he tried to bring himself clear of where he landed. Experience and deep seated instinct told him one, to get off of the ground where something could catch him he had to be up and in the air—
And two, Techno was about to fall on top of him.
He didn’t quite manage it fast enough, and Technoblade rolled out and about killed him when he landed on top. Normally the experience of being crushed to the ground by a very large piglin brute was at least interesting, if not fun— but not so much when they were both fully geared, wet, cold, and still catching their breath from what felt like a year long fall through the matter-less void.
“Get off,” Philza managed to grit out into the snow, left arm crushed underneath him, and wings strained to snapping at the awkward angle they’d been pinned. Techno grunted a low sort of apology, rolling off of him, letting Philza’s lungs reinflate and the blood rush back to his head. Spots swam in front of him for only a moment before he managed to get a gulp of air, cold snapping down into his lungs.
The forest was completely silent around them— the kind of silent muffled by snow and leaves, heavy drips of water trickling somewhere in the underbrush. He and Techno lay there breathing a moment, Philza shifting only enough to get his wing out from under him, and turn over onto his back, chest heaving. As they lay there Philza heard the hesitant return of birds in the distance, singing cautious unfamiliar songs of warning and greeting.
“So,” Techno panted out, the air clouding above him with the force of his breaths. His eyes didn’t move from the sun slanting down between snow covered branches, glittering off of dripping icicles and evergreen needles. “Kristin got a job for us?”
“Yeah,” Phil panted back. “Yeah mate, she does.”
Philza thanked Prime that he and Techno were geared for cold weather, because although the place they found themselves in was green and lush, it was also cool and shaded, with snow piled against the trees where the sun couldn’t reach it to melt. They took their time getting their bearings in the clearing, brushing the worst of the snow and mud off of their clothes, and rubbing the blood back into prickling limbs. The mud couldn’t be helped without water, and Philza didn’t fancy taking a dunk when the temperature was so cool. It wasn’t freezing, since there was water dripping around their heads and burbling away over tree roots in the forest around them— but it was cold enough where he’d rather just wait for the cold mud to dry, and get chipped away.
Techno ran careful fingers through Philza’s feathers, tsking when he found a bent and broken one and soothing the irritated skin around it with his thumb. Nothing to do for it but wait for it to fall out. Luckily it was on his bad wing, so Philza was already used to the discomfort— mostly when he over exerted the weaker muscles. The feathers never grew in quite as thick where the L’Manberg explosion had caught him, and there were one or two flight feathers that had never grown back at all.
The other wing was nearly as bruised, he surmised after a quick inspection, and Philza folded it gingerly back against his back while Technoblade put himself into order. A much shorter process— mostly he just checked to make sure his potions hadn’t burst, and his axe cover was still clipped to the blade.
“… Phil, you got your Enderchest on you?” Technoblade asked after a long moment of silence, as Philza finished his quick preen and started looking up at the trees with an evaluative air.
“Yeah, why?” He asked, moving forward to put one palm flat against the trunk of a tree. It was the one they had rolled out of. It was pale, a silvery sort of birch color with deep red leaves, the fissure they had come from gaping open and empty like a toothless mouth. There was nothing inside but powdered wood chewed by insects, and soft pale green moss blanketing down in a moist cascade. If Phil hadn’t been positive this was the tree they’d come out of, he would have had trouble even finding it.
“Could you take it out? Your chest, I mean,” Techno asked, voice oddly stiff. Philza knew he was angling to figure something out, but went to search his inventory anyway.
He failed to search his inventory.
The wind was brisk enough around them where Philza could hear distant creaks of complaining branches, and the clatter and whisper of leaves brushing. Distant squirrels and birds chattered now that Techno and Philza had quieted from their initial entry, scolding and singing and swooping between the branches, shaking loose more snow to plummet down in periodic displaced thumps.
Philza looked up at Technoblade, who was watching him with a steady calm that didn’t reflect the way his tail was lashing, his ears laid back against the flat of his skull. “Mate?” He asked, stomach dropping.
“No inventory?” Technoblade confirmed, sighing.
“I mean,” Philza frowned, hands seeking deeper into his pockets. He swung his bag around, frowning, his hand reaching the bottom unreasonably fast. He found ender pearls, cool and smooth in their velvet pouch, as well as golden apples. Not as many as he’d had, but about a dozen or so rolling at the bottom of his satchel. He had none of his potions, no blaze powder, no shulkers even—
He at least had some of his tools, although all the backups were in his inaccessible Enderchest, neatly sorted into shulkers based on wear and tear. His bow was on the side not occupied by his satchel, and between the narrow span of back not taken up by his wings he had his quiver full of arrows. He reached back and felt along the fletching with clawed fingertips, frowning at how few arrows there were. Perhaps twenty, or thirty.
“...Who stole all our shit?” Philza asked Techno after a long moment of silence, indignant. The birds in the trees didn’t seem to care, and Philza could hear some landing above them, singing sweetly and sending pitter-patters of snow down about the clearing.
“Your wife,” Techno complained, also sorting through the meager remains of his inventory. “We hopped servers and she stiffed us.”
“Less hopping, more thrown wildly,” Philza said with a grimace, wildly understating the sheer momentum of Kristin plucking them from the End, and flinging them towards this world with all the speed of a collapsing star. He didn’t jump to her defense quite yet, because for all he loved his wife she could be… a bit of a butterfingers sometimes, by her own admission.
They’d been End-hopping, of course. It was the easiest place for Kristin to contact them, where she existed just around the corner of reality.
Philza enjoyed End-busting. It soothed his instincts— he was an elytrian scout, after all. Circling above his flock with the insensate wind of the void combing through his primaries, and dragging cool fingers through his coverts was what he was made for.
He could sense her nearby, the same way he was sure she could sense him— her presence was a vast blanket over his senses, warm and pressing. His, a pinprick of light in the dark, flying through the Void as swift and erratic as a bead of water on glass.
They did not meet often, outside of dreams. But when they did it was…
It was hard to describe. There was nothing that could shed the weight of hardcore from him like the feeling of her hands cupping him as safely as a butterfly in a jar, her eyes mirrors to the starry void, and the sound of a thousand voices all singing a chorus just for them. Chat was a bare sliver of the souls she had as her escort and entourage both, and they were always happy to rejoin their flock for the brief visits.
This time though, had been different. When he’d felt the pull of her divinity dragging him and Techno both down through the End-stone like it was nothing but an errant glitch, he’d thought for a brief moment she was finally calling him home for good. He didn’t have time to think if he was ready, didn’t have time even to warn Techno, or to hold his hand.
All of his kids were on their own now. It wasn’t that they didn’t need him, but perhaps Kristin thought his business was done?... But that didn’t seem right. Not as long as Wilbur was out there, she wouldn’t leave their son alone—
And that was what had kept his heart beating as calmly as if he was simply taking a stroll to the kitchen for a glass of water— not being dragged down into the void, until his very self was pinched into nothing. The two of them became small enough to slip between the stars, and then large enough again to come back out, with the whisper of her voice still echoing in his ears.
He didn’t quite remember what she said. Not yet. Sometimes it was like that— like a dream. The meaning would come later, when he had the time to look.
“Sun’s still got some time, if we have a normal orbit,” Techno said, squinting up at the sky and putting his fingers up to measure the distance. “Are we sticking around, or…” Techno trailed off, looking around the trees as if a direction to travel would present itself.
Philza clicked his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully, staring up at the trees. They were close together— not quite enough room for take off. He might be able to manage and wrestle himself off of the ground, but it would be painful and more likely to end in him hurting himself on an errant branch. “Let’s get some ground, and I’ll take a look from above,” he said, sighing. “See if there’s any bases, or settlements nearby.”
It took longer than he thought it would for them to find a gap in the trees. Technoblade led the way, cloak pulled tight and hooves sure-footed through the clinging brush and errant patches of snow. Philza could only be grateful that they had been previously inhabiting a winter server, their clothes warm enough for the brisk air. Their three story manse in the spruce-studded tundra was as good a place to retreat as any, as they waited— waited for the next call from a friend, the next competition for Techno, the next time Philza left for his Hardcore world, and the careful balance of the Gods there-in.
Though, it wasn’t truly cold here like home. Not yet. Not the dark deep cold of an arctic winter, or even the thin piercing cold of the mountains. The air was fragrant with earth and grass and moss as they walked, and when Philza put a hand up to catch himself on a tree his hand came away damp and dirty with bark. The reddish hue of the plants and the way the trees had yet to drop any leaves, made Philza think they were in whatever passed for a north in this server. Either the tail end of summer, or towards autumn. Seasonal snows weren’t uncommon, and the way the white hadn’t stuck to the ground made him think they had arrived after a flurry of unseasonable snow.
The sun had made noticeable progress through the sky by the time the trees began to thin, and the ground leveled out to a gentle flatness uncut by streams or tree root. A meadow, Philza thought as the light brightened between the trunks, and a wild riot of flowers and tall grass met them.
Whatever snow had fallen hadn’t even been enough to bend or bruise the grass, and the waist-high flowers and greenery rippled with the warming wind blowing from the south. Snow melt from the surrounding mountains and forest around them meant a small creek made temporary home in the center, the trickle of water invisible from the height of the grass and the dip of the ground. But they could hear it’s progress south to that part of the forest they had yet to travel, as well as the buzz of insects, and the faint sucking noise of their feet as they met the edge of the meadow where the water gathered. No doubt it shed towards a river of some sort, which Philza hoped they’d be able to follow to—
Well. To somewhere.
“Be careful,” Techno grunted, touching Philza’s sleeve in that idle way he did in lieu of overt affection. “If you see anything weird, come right back. Last thing we need is you getting’ grounded again,”
“’Course mate,” Philza stretched his wings out, giving them a few testing flaps. A twinge in the bad one, but there was nothing but the prickle of a bruise in the right. Paler, almost invisible markings dotted the outer edge of his wing— almost invisible to a normal players eye, but to an Enderman’s eye it shone infrared bright and accusing. A false pattern, to ensure that if an elytrian drew any ire, they could spread their wings and keep the Endermen away. Philza also thought they looked quite dashing, and it was a shame that the scarring on his left wing had removed two of the eye spots. “Be right back.”
Ten steps and four good heaving flaps got him in the air, the long grass dragging at his toes as he pulled clear, and the air cold and solid beneath his wings. Cold air made it easier to turn, to bank, to fly— the wind was almost a solid thing, and with the sun warming the ground below Philza felt the uplift that sent him bounding up with barely any effort.
Generous skies, he thought, grinning into the wind.
The forest stretched around them for miles, a deep green blanket dotted with a bloody colored red that Philza suspected had nothing to do with autumn, and everything to do with the same kind of tree the two of them had fallen out of. Mountains rose to the North— low, sloped, doming things rather than the harsh jagged peaks of a newer mountain range. These were old, ground down like old teeth by glaciers and snow and wind. Still massive, however, as they ate up the entire skyline in hazy gray and white as Philza looked north.
Philza kept climbing.
The trees kept going, the land creased and pinched and unforgiving, studded with outcroppings of rock and deep flat wetland where it wasn’t choked thick with trees. There was no trace of smoke in the air, nor any buildings.
He spent some time circling, eyes squinted against the wind and second eyelids closing with that familiar, blurry wet feeling. It helped him see even with the wind pressing against his face like a living, burning thing. Eventually his wings started to graze the clouds when he raised them to flap, cool fingers of moisture pressing against his scalp under his hat and tucking close to his skin beneath the winter wool of his robes. He saw no smoke, and no evidence of significant roads.
Fighting a shiver, Philza tilted slightly, dipping slowly back down towards the ground, and the lovely sun-soaked clearing he had left Techno in. He grinned when he saw the piglin standing there, almost seven feet tall and just as pretty pink as the surrounding flowers.
Techno was inspecting the plant life as Philza landed with a long loping stumble, careful not to twist an ankle on the soft ground. He was getting old— his knees were already tender from their fall, as well as the long End trip spent bounding from island to island, watching Technoblade laboriously bridge as far as he could before pearling to the next spot.
As he ambled over Techno was sniffing carefully at some of the lower grass, hidden at the roots of the taller. His claws were only slightly blunted, and careful as anything as he raised it up to his snout to give it a quick chew. Philza grinned in a windswept, happy way. “Taste alright?”
“…Taste’s fine,” Techno grunted, tilting his head thoughtfully, and sunk a hand down into the dark mud. He returned it back up after a moment, staring at the thick, silty earth spilling between his fingers to plop down at his hooves. “Can’t pick up blocks. Can’t access inventory, can’t punch trees—”
“Can’t punch trees?!”
“Can’t punch trees,” Techno continued, aggrieved. “I’m going to go ahead and assume it’s a one life world as well, since that would be about right. If we die, do you know if Kristin is going to pull us out?”
Philza frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure— I’d assume so, but I’m not gonna lie, I wouldn’t want to take the chance.”
Techno’s sigh turned into a groan as he got himself to his feet, hooves splayed in the mud to keep himself from sinking any more than he had to. “Alright, fine. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
It wasn’t much.
They spread everything they had on them out on Philza’s cloak, under the dappled shade of the trees overlooking the meadow. They couldn’t access their deeper inventory or their Ender chests (which remained dormant and un-illuminated when Philza took the loaf sized chest out of his satchel, frowning), but they at least had what had been in their bag or on their belt. A good amount of things for two players End-busting, and a wealth for two players just dropped into what was one of the more hardcore worlds Philza had ever encountered.
(They even had thirst in this world he noticed, throat clicking dryly when he swallowed until Techno handed him a waterskin.)
Nothing was stacked correctly, and the textures didn’t look quite right. The end stone Techno had been bridging with and stack of logs they had brought was completely inert, and singularly fist-sized. The bucket of water was just a bucket, that Technoblade abandoned immediately due to the unwieldy shape it would be to carry without inventory. It didn’t seem like they could stop a fall with it anyway— the physics in this world were oddly unforgiving, even more-so than a bedrock server.
But thankfully some things had made the passage cleanly.
Technoblade had fourteen ender pearls, three totems of undying, twenty two golden apples, his pick, his axe, his bow, his book and quill with coordinates they had been tracking as they traveled, as well as spare ink. His armor had made it through, and at least the enchantments still worked even when their Ender chests and inventory didn’t— Philza still felt the prickle of Thorns when he ran his hand over the lacquered and engraved surface, tapping his claws until Technoblade batted him away.
Philza didn’t have full armor, unluckily. He had his netherite boots with the usual enchantments (Feather Falling, Mending, Protection, Unbreaking—), greaves and gloves, and that was about it. If he was flying for a long time armor just slowed and tired him, and slow and tired was not something you wanted to be while flying over the void.
He had his bow (still humming along the string with Piercing and Unbreaking), his pick, his sword, and a severely depleted stack of steak and potatoes wrapped in paper that he had been planning to last them the entire trip. Without stacking mechanics however he was reduced to probably four or five portions, instead of the original sixty two or so. (They’d gotten hungry along the way.)
He also had eighteen golden apples, plus a singular Notch apple that he had found in an End ship along the way. A rare find, but priceless in what Philza was assuming was a singular life world, with hardcore rules.
“You just brought potatoes, didn’t you?” Philza asked without surprise, as Technoblade defensively hunched his shoulders and sorted through the leather pouch he had stored his own provisions in. “Gapples, potatoes, water—”
“Brought potions too,” Techno said, snorting, and retrieved the brilliantly colored vials with their necks caught between his thick fingers for display. “Slow-falling, invis’, some others.”
“Why the fuck did you bring invis’?” Philza asked with a bark of disbelieving laughter, slapping at Techno’s hunched shoulder.
“… Was gonna prank you, make you think I fell,” Techno admitted sulkily. “Before your wife yanked us out of the void without asking—“
“Alright alright, easy on the wife comments— what, you’d rather be left behind?” Philza started packing their things away, wordlessly splitting the food between the two of them, as well as the gapples. Techno was bigger, but Phil burned calories like a man three times his size, especially if he’d been flying.
“...No,” Techno said after a pause, frowning. Philza narrowed his eyes at him playfully. “But ya know, I got a lot goin’ on Phil. I coulda been busy. I made time for End bustin’ because I get loot, but I coulda had a, a— thing, goin’ on!”
“Yeah, like what? Killing mobs? Potion brewing?”
“...Maybe. Guess we’ll never know, since I’m here instead,” Techno slung his pack back over his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing the crown, which Phil was thankful for. It was probably with the rest of Techno’s treasure he didn’t want to risk losing in the void if he slipped while bridging, or missed a pearl. At the moment Techno just had his rings, his clasp, his glasses which were tucked safely inside his collar, and his earrings. The one thing he never removed was the singular emerald hanging on a thin gold chain, as well as the multiple studs and bars on his scarred and tattered ears.
Beyond what they had brought from their home server, they had what they had found in the End, that hadn't had time to be stowed away into Ender chests. Brewing stands that thankfully folded enough to not be reduced with the lack of inventory magic, as well as diamonds and iron and gold. The sort of loot you found on end Ships, potions and ancient sputtering blaze powder included.
“So which way?” Techno asked, putting his snout to the air and giving a heavy inhale, as if he could scent the direction they needed to go. “See anything good?”
“Nothin’ but trees, trees, and more fuckin’ trees,” Philza sighed, tipping the brim of his hat back to eye the angle of the sun. “But there’s a mountain range to the north I don’t want to fuck with, and I can’t imagine north would get warmer, so why don’t we head south? Water’s draining that way, we might hit a river.”
“And where there’s a river, there’s probably a town,” Techno started walking without any further argument, Philza trailing behind him in the parted gap made in the tall grass. Neither of them pointed out that it could very well be possible that there weren’t any towns, and they could be the only sapient players on the server. That was something that they would have to handle when it happened.
For now, they walked.
For a while Philza thought that his fears might prove correct, and they’d found themselves on a completely uninhabited server. Six days they spent traveling without seeing a single player— Techno pushing his way easily through the brush and branches, and sniffing out game trails that allowed them to pass in single file. Philza trailed behind, sweating as the sun heated up and every last trace of snow disappeared from the ground.
The water they found in streams and creeks was icy cold however, turning Phil’s fingers red where he dipped them in, and causing his teeth to ache when he drank it from cupped hands. They didn’t have a problem finding game either— the forest was absolutely bursting with life. Rabbits with gray and brown summer coats, reddish deer that were dwarfed by a herd of elk that he and Techno watched pass in peaceable silence, and birds that flew in a burst of warbling noise from underneath sheltering bushes.
They didn’t take anything large because then they’d have to carry it, but it was easy enough to bag a few birds as they walked, and have something hot to eat when they settled for the night.
And the nights— astonishingly safe!
The first night they settled to camp they took shelter against a cliff face. The digging was quicker than it would have been without their enchanted picks, but replacing the… ‘blocks’ after they had been removed wasn’t really an option, and they couldn’t craft a door unless they wanted to take an hour to do so. Instead they gave themselves a very small tunnel to retreat down, eating cold potatoes and steak that had gone dry over the course of the day in lieu of lighting a fire.
But nothing spawned.
No zombies, no spiders, no skeletons. Phil supposed without the stronger ambient magic of a server there wasn’t any reanimation, or engorgement of regular mobs. No creepers was always a good thing, he supposed, but it did mean that when they did run into any kind of mob, it was a more permanent kind.
The forest was silent at night without the chittering and scuttling of spiders, or the shambling of undead things in the underbrush. Occasionally an unfamiliar bird called a lonely song out across the moor, the noise broken by trees and the hush of wind through grass and leaves. At some point something large ambled through the trees, breaking branches and making enough noise that even Phil’s less sensitive hearing picked it up. Techno turned his head attentively off into the gloomy night-time tangle of trees, moonlight stark against his tusks and face in a way that made him look primordial in the dark. Only the glint of jewelry gave him an air of civility, and that was barely.
“Bear,” Techno grunted after awhile of silent listening and scenting, axe resting across his knees and back pressed to the stone wall. Phil nodded and shuffled back down against his side, in the odd sideways sprawl that kept pressure off his wings and back, one wing drawn over their joined laps like a warm blanket.
The rest of the first night passed uneventfully, and every one after that the same.
It was only on the morning of the sixth day that they heard the sound of horses in the distance, and voices.
They heard fighting, mostly. Someone was sobbing, a constant crying underneath angry shouting and swearing that Phil was relieved to find they understood. It would be just their luck if no one on the server spoke common. A horse screamed, punctuating the yelling, and then there was a meaty thud-like sound that morphed the crying into a short, sharp scream.
“Alright, perhaps we should interrupt,” Phil said with a hint of urgency, increasing his speed even as Techno drew his axe.
“Yeah, maybe we should,” Techno sighed, and the two of them finally broke free of the trees and on to a road.
Phil’s relief at finally seeing a road to walk on was made bitter by the sight of bodies strewn across the rough dirt track, a cart overturned and a dead horse spilling steaming entrails out among the weeds by the side of the road. The humans (because they were humans he saw, not a single wing or hoof or horn in sight), were fighting; what looked like two people dressed in linen, were fending off four armed men from horseback. The crying was coming from a woman laying underneath the cart, the entire thing tipped over onto it’s side and pinning her legs down. Phil couldn’t see how badly she was hurt, but the cart didn’t exactly look light, and there was blood staining the dirt around her in a widening pool. Whether from her, or the dead body laying less than an arms length away from where she was trapped, he didn’t know.
Even while they watched one of the armored men struck down at the only traveler still standing, blood spraying out from the man in a wild arc that became a slow trickle as his hand slapped down over it. The screaming from the woman grew louder as the he fell down, shouting in agony.
Phil drew an arrow from his back, shot— and it sprouted from the neck of the horseman, before he could even could finish drawing his sword back up to swing down at the two travelers.
The man toppled down gurgling, and in the confusion of the rest of the bandits wheeling their horses around to see who was attacking them, Techno put a shoulder down, charged, and knocked one of the horses into a screaming flailing roll that crushed it’s rider beneath it.
“Suggest the rest of you fuck off,” Phil called out cheerfully, drawing another arrow and grinning down the shaft of it at one of the remaining bandits. Techno was walking slowly and calmly at the last one, snorting out an annoyed breath and ignoring the horse righting itself in the ditch behind him. The crushed and dead rider slipped off the saddle and fell with a thump to the ground, his leg stubbornly hanging into the stirrups for only a moment before slipping free at a grotesque angle. The woman (who had gone deathly silent, eyes wide and frightened in her bone white face) whimpered slightly at the noise, shaking, her hands grasping the cart as if she could move it through sheer fear alone.
The bandit Phil was staring down was ghost pale, skin marked with dirt and grease from smoke fire. His leathers were old and mended, and the armor dented and punched back out in places. The only thing in good shape was the horse, and Phil had to assume it was stolen by the way the man was struggling to keep it under control.
There was silence, until Phil raised an eyebrow incredulously. “I said fuck off,” he barked, sending the arrow sailing past the mans ear in a warning shot.
Him and the other last bandit took off at that, wheeling the terrified horses around and taking off up the road north like the devil himself was after them, leaving their dead companions behind. Phil watched them go until he could no longer see the dust, folding his wings down to sling his bow back over his shoulder, and putting his hands on his hips in an amused way.
“This confirms us not having a respawn then,” he called out to Techno, who had put his axe away and was walking over to the man still on the ground, who was bleeding profusely and failing to stop the flow.
With a better look Phil had to guess that they were farmers— the overturned cart had pumpkins of all things spilling out, some smashed open and leaking. Other’s were still in their baskets, simply tumbled on the side among squashes, carrots, onions, and what looked like sacks of grain. It was an impressive amount of yield, and Phil wasn’t surprised it had tempted bandits. The land he and Techno had traveled through was excellent for hunting— but growing seemed a more difficult task, and he imagined it would be even harder in whatever version of winter they had.
“Quit screaming,” Techno complained, as the bleeding farmer scrambled backwards. When Techno reached down to help the man aimed a wild kick at him, causing Techno to pull back and frown in disgruntlement. “Are you stupid? You’re bleedin’ out, idiot.”
“Get back!” The farmer yelled, his dark face ashen from blood loss and lips completely white. He looked a moment away from fainting. “You- you’re a demon, a changeling.”
“Rude,” Techno snorted, turning and giving an incredulous look to Phil, tail lashing like an irritated cat. The farmer took advantage of his turned back to start scrambling to his feet. Phil thought it unwise since the man would probably make it two steps before fainting with the blood curtaining down his shoulder, but couldn’t blame the man from trying. “This is a waste of time Phil.”
“No no no, hey! They’re just scared, I’m sure things will be right as rain in a moment— here, get that cart off this young lady, make yourself useful. Whoops,” Phil winced as the farmer (sure enough), went down in a dead faint after about two stumbling steps to get away from Technoblade. Techno gave Phil an arched and pointed look, as if to say 'See?’ “...There he goes. Hey, I’m going to gapple him, yeah? Worth it if they can give us directions.”
Technoblade was already moving over to the cart, and at a fearful whimper from the pinned woman he glared. “Don’t you start too,” he warned, and she clamped her mouth shut, hands clasped over it and tears shining in her eyes. “Oh my— we’re not going to kill you,” Techno growled, reaching down and lifting the entire cart with a faint grunt of effort. “Can you drag yourself clear?”
She could, evidently. She hesitated a moment, where Phil could see she was considering backing out from under the cart the other way, opposite from where Techno was holding the heavy burden up with both hands, and a very cranky glare. She must have decided against it, possibly because that meant she’d have to cross under the cart entirely, and risk Techno dropping it on top of her if she did. She dragged herself clear with a few pained breaths, and Phil turned his attention away as soon as she was clear, back to the man laying in the road.
He had swooned more than fainted, Phil noted, as he crouched down and the man stirred fitfully as if to try and get back up. Phil reached down to pin him down with one hand, drawing his waterskin out with the other and clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Sorry mate, this is gonna hurt.”
Phil poured a steady clear stream of water on the wound, and sure enough the man groaned in pain, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment the wound cleared enough that Phil could make out the ragged edges of it, the bone at the bottom glinting wetly. It definitely hit something important, and they had perhaps minutes even with pressure applied until the man bled to death.
For a moment he considered allowing it— they had the woman still alive. Phil glanced over his shoulder where Techno was crouching and inspecting the woman’s wounded leg. She didn’t look as if she was paying attention, and they should save the golden apples after all…
Phil sighed and dug out a knife, and one of his golden apples. He could feel the energy thrumming in his fingertips from it, all the more noticeable with the lack of magic in the air.
Luckily the man woke enough to chew when Phil gave him a few brisk slaps to the cheek, and he fed him the apple slices slowly. The wound began to knit, but not at a rate he was used to seeing. Not as effective as Phil had hoped, and he reserved half of the apple once the worst of the bleeding had stopped, and the man had some color in his cheeks.
“What’s your name?” Phil asked, sitting back on his heels and allowing the stranger to heave himself up to his elbows, still trembling faintly. Even with an apple, blood loss took a lot out of you.
The man had dark skin the same shade as the woman, ruddy with sun damage and wear, and brown eyes that had ceased to look fearfully at Phil and were now wide with something closer to wonder. His clothing appeared to mainly be wool and cotton, mended and patched and lovingly embroidered with flowers and birds around the edges of the vest that Phil had used to press down on the still slightly bloody wound.
They stared at each other silently, until Phil started to wonder if the man was traumatized beyond speech for some reason. He hadn’t thought he was being that rough, and surely being hand fed apple slices wasn’t some terrible cultural burden here.
The man licked his lips, pushing until he was sitting, and Phil leaned back to give him some space, keeping his face friendly and smiling, and wings held carefully down and harmless. “… Taron, m’lord. Are,” Taron hesitated, looking from him, to Techno, and throat working with nervous swallows. “Are you here to kill us?”
“What?” Phil barked out laughter that had Techno looking over. He had helped the woman to her feet and was carefully having her lean her weight on him, in order to bring her over to Phil. He could have probably swept the woman up in one arm as easily as he had lifted the cart, but these people were clearly still terrified out of their minds for some reason. “Why would we do that? We need directions, and I don’t like bandits besides. It’s tacky.”
“… Then. Uh,” The man blinked as if in a daze, trailing off into that odd silence again, and reached a hand out as if to touch Phil’s wing.
Phil moved it back with a pleasantly puzzled smile, and a slight narrowing of his eyes.
“Do that again and we’re gonna have a problem,” Phil advised, still in the same cheery tone, but with a note of warning. “Listen, what’s the server name?”
Taron blinked at him. “I’m a farmer.”
Phil stared back, and when Taron didn’t elaborate, he turned his attention to the woman Techno had led over. She collapsed down as soon as she was close enough, and Phil winced to see how it jostled her clearly broken leg. He still had half the gapple left which would take care of the worst of it, but it would need to be set first, and he didn’t think it was going to be pleasant. The woman threw her arms around Taron, crying in great, shuddering sobs. Blood was completely soaked into her skirts from her leg, as well as her right side where she had been… in the radius of her dead companion.
“Does she know what server we’re on?” Phil asked Techno hopefully, sighing when he just shook his head.
This was looking less and less likely to be a quick trip in and out.