You're a young priestess from /meat/.
Adventuring with a party in the far North. Your team consists of an admiral from the island of the clock people, a marksman from the land of armsmiths just south of your homeland, and a mage from the Phoenix Mountains.
Your mission is simple enough; travel North West. Far far North West. Rrats on the grapevine from the Northeners' lips mention a magical castle that fell from the sky. With mages in glass helmets with companion wolves of wheat. You chuckled at the idea at first but after all the wonders you have seen you learnt to accept the world the way it is; wonders at every corner.
You are so far from home, you don't recognise anything your eyes have lain. The plants and animals are unlike anything you could ever imagine. Deers with horns larger than a canoe, flying crocodiles that breathe fire, a cow covered in thick fluffy fur, and snakes with human hands!
Your party had met plenty of resistance from foes, both beasts and intelligent. But they all have one thing in common: None of them has ever heard of or known about your people or your customs. It is quite a revelation and places things into perspective to be so far away that your kin is considered myths and rrats. Although, some of the rrats were so obscenely outrageous you thought they were insulting. While you know of the intelligence chapter of the clergy whose purpose is spinning a web of lies of your people in faraway lands, these rrats are so outlandish compared to the usual. Such as claiming your people to be man-eating spiders that worship a Moon god. At least the man-eating part was spot-on.
Your team came to a halt. The admiral gave a signal to stay on guard. The marksman took out her rifle and pull the lever. Enemies are close. Out of the bushes and the trees, came down hooded figures. Men of lanky build, taller than a hut, in black and green uniforms. Their faces of hair and puffy white feathers. Beaks clicking as they talk. 'Yuyamuya', the locals called them. Worshippers of a long-dead deity. One which you had the opportunity to attend her deiphage ceremony. You recognise them as a race from the Ni-Jiya continent. Why are they up here in the far north of Holovia? Far from their home continent?
The leader of the Yuyamuya posse drew his weapons. A matchlock and a sword. The Phoenix mage gasped at the sight of the sword. Crafted out of a Vtubium alloy of a dead goddess. Such a weapon would have lost its powers. The tall figure clicks his beak. The mage was able to translate the avian lexicon. "After their goddess died, they were cast out. Their people were shunned. They migrated north, from the Southern Continent of Ni-Jiya. All the way here, in the forest of the Hoomen. They felt at home here, and it strengthened them." Their motive here is simple. Power. They sensed immense power coming from the Admiral. They will kill to get it.
With a wave of his sword, the Kronie charged against the avianoid. Their blades clashed and insults were exchanged. The marksman stood her ground and start shooting at the moving flock. Missing her shots as they cast a blinding spell in her eyes. The mage is occupied in dealing with two combatants.
Leaving you alone with one. The creature towers above you. His beak rattles as he points his matchlock at you. A display of intimidation. However, you smile. These godless bandits are lost as they cling on to a past they cannot reclaim. You've seen your people celebrate the death of their goddess. Now it's your turn to clean up loose ends. Cleave away the last remaining heathens. Today, you will be having poultry for dinner.
You focus your mind and tighten your grip on your staff. Liquid vitubium flows through it, chuubanyl that channels the energy of your patron deity, the abhorrent and eldritch Dentata. You swing your staff down and erupt a mass of spiked vines and fleshy branches from the ground. Snaring and trapping the avianoid. Raising your hand, your finger dances. Like a marionette, the vines move with your fingers. Conducting the writhing mass of flesh and plant, you direct vines to pierce through his orifices, entangle and snare all over his torso. With one last gesture, you order the vines to erect their talons, and unwind. Eviscerating the birdman from the inside-out. Severing into multiple chunks of body parts and organs.
The battle halted as everyone saw your handiwork. With a cry, the leader of the bandit orders a retreat. The battle ended just as you were about to have fun.
Too bad. But at least, you have dinner.
One day in the snow a bread dog is pulling a sled. It notices something buried in the snow. The Sanalite helps his bread dog uncover what they found. Its a frozen corpse of a woman. The Sanalite brings the corpse to /nasa/ Station for autopsy. They placed the body in a refrigerator. However due to a power outage the refrigerator stopped working. After half a day the Sanalites checked on the body. The body somehow was still alive. Not only was she alive she was eating the flesh off of one of her arms. The Sanalites subdued her with tranquilizer and administered immediate medical aid to her eaten arm. After talking to a /who/man the Sanalites concluded that the woman is from /meat/ judging by her attire. How she got so far into /nasa/ with her clothes is a mystery.
The Principal is running away from the hardliner militia. All the way into the medical sector.
Without anywhere to go, he locked himself in the morgue. No one would expect him here.
Too late.
The bangings have arrived. The militia is right behind the door.
With every thud and creaks, dents began forming on its surface.
The Principal could only huddle in the corner, awaiting his eventual arrest.
All he wanted was to retire amongst the natives. But now his fate is sealed to be executed like a lowly inmate, regardless of decades of hard work he invested for his crew.
Louder and louder the bangs grew and with a loud crash it came down.
The Principal opens his eyes.
The morgues door is still shut tight. Still being sieged down by the militias.
Then what was that-
He looked to his left.
Slipping out of the morgue. A body. A figure.
He sees the broken panel on the floor. One that came from the very section this figure slips out of.
As the figure stands up, the Principal can make up its physique beneath the dim light.
A petite female, lightly tanned skin, her limbs are well toned yet her face is smooth. Her skin appears clean and shifting. Wait, he couldve sworn her skin was moving around. Like a fleshy exoskeleton.
The figure stared at the walls around her, glancing to her left at the banging door, then to her right at the Principal.
"Uh... hello... young miss. You might be the person our scouts rescued... we're having a bit of a situation right now..." the frightened man points at the door.
With an enormous thud, the morgue's door bursts open, as the head of a battering ram makes its way in.
The newly awoken female stepped aside from the ram. Looking back at the entrance.
With a blast from a plasma cutter, the militia finally tored down the morgue's entrance open.
One by one they marched in. Ready to fire at the Principal.
But what they haven't realised yet, is the figure in front of them. Untwirling her limbs like vines.
Before the Principal could close his eyes, a splash of crimson blood smeared across his face.