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Pixies by azi (critique requested)

Pixies

The moon was bright and high in the sky, as Crissa the centaur made her way through the streets of the walled city. Torches set into the wall burned with alternating green and blue flames, leading the way to a large grassy square with a cluster of apple trees. It was strange to meet so late and not be around a tavern, but this was certainly the less noisy option; few people were about, with some late workers packing up stalls and carts, and city guards on their patrols.

Crissa often took on different forms, to swim or fly or just keep herself hidden. Today, she was shaped and dressed quite plainly, with equine ears and long blonde hair, a light green tunic suitable for a late stroll, and a small bag at her waist. Below the human waist, she had a chestnut brown horse body and some white birdcatcher spots around her flanks, with firm black hooves that matted the grass. Presentable, but she was meeting with someone new, and that meant opportunities for adventure. Her last engagement had ended, and so the next one was just around the corner.

One of the trees was lit up with fairy dust, and it caught her eye. A little fluttery shape came next, weaving about before hovering just in front of Crissa's face. Oh! The pixie was also equine, but more like a faun; just the one set of hooves. She spoke, quietly.
"Evening, Crissa. I'm glad to see you."
"Yes, a pleasure... have we met before? Makes sense to meet here, I'd never have found you at the tavern."

The pixie didn't give her name, but got right into the purpose of their meeting; she wanted volunteers. Lots of them. A helpful pixie could improve any adventuring party, but dozens of helpful pixies could advance just causes all across the land. A band of pixies could check on the intriguing plots taking place in the Fairy courts, to make sure they didn't spill out into the wider world. More good help was good for everyone.

"So… you'd like me to be a pixie like you?"
"I'd like you to be a lot of pixies like me."

There was something familiar about the little fairy. It became more apparent as they talked, and as Crissa watched and listened. Something about her appearance, her voice, her logic, until a leap of inspiration struck.
"You're me," said the centaur, suddenly, with a little flick of her ears. "But small. You're too familiar, it's like I already know you. What happened?"
"It was during your last campaign," said the pixie. "Some of your magic got split away from you, and then a little later there was me. It gave me the idea. Will you join me?"

It was hard to say no to herself, there would be so much to do and see. Crissa agreed, and the pixie looked pleased, and a deep wave of magic caused a little ring of toadstools on the ground to glow, sprinkling small wafts of fairy dust into the air. The centaur felt the spell tug at her own magic, as it was designed to do. Deep breath, then. She stepped into the broad circle, two hooves and then four.

The grass grew long against her hooves, and then a wind rushed down from her ears to her tail. The tunic felt loose, her bag seemed heavy, and Crissa felt a wave of dizziness as she shrank. Thoughts were running away from her, her magic seemed to be pulling her in all directions, but the centaur stood her ground and closed her eyes. And opened her eyes. She was a pixie, sitting on a toadstool, watching herself change. She was two pixies. Three. Four. Sight and feeling, smell and hearing, it was an ensemble that slowly merged together as each new pixie self popped into existence, pop, pop. Each set of wings was new, drying slowly in the moonlight, a sea of breezy fluttering that offset the disorientation of not having four legs. All of them were her; not identical in every way, but not different enough to be obvious. More spots, less spots; colours, tastes, feelings, just little variations.

Crissa stopped counting new appearances in the thirties. The forest was alive with fairy dust, and the feeling of this magic which was so new to her. Toadstools were stacked with pixies, and some took to the air. Her centaur self was the size of a foal, lost in clothing now far too big, pulling off her bag before it slipped down to her lower body. Now she was many, and her senses started to overlap and come together, becoming more and more focused; fifty heads were better than one. Thoughts were beginning to line up and work together, as the sea of individuals asserted itself as a growing swarm of pixies. The Crissa-swarm saw a little in all directions, but took to focusing on her shrinking self, feeling and seeing the long slender wings fidget up out of her back.

Most of her selves mixed thinking and speaking, asking if each other was alright, being quite curious at the act of more and more pixies materialising out of thin air. Presumably, they'd stop coming once the shrinking, changing Crissa had finished becoming a pixie herself. A little rush of new knowledge and sensation wandered through her, which she realised as a sign that the swarm had reintegrated with the single pixie that had invited her here. The centaur pixie-swarm was whole again, beginning to work magic on her oversized clothing and bag, making it into smaller accessories to better suit them all. Not all bags and tunics were quite the same, but it would still be easy to pick any of the pixies out as Crissa.

Soon, the change left her complete, as two of herself helped her out of the grass. Wings took to the air naturally, and quickly firmed up. Two hundred ish, she said to herself; having gotten slightly curious, a couple of her had tried to count her up. Remembering her conversation, Crissa still felt like she wanted to talk to the pixie and ask more questions - but it didn't make any sense to do so now. She was the only one here, all of her. The pixie-swarm would need to get a notice on the board at the tavern, or maybe she should just start asking about adventuring parties, there were certainly enough of her now to make it practical.

Presence. Someone was nearby. One of the city guards stood by at a distance, concern etched on their face. It was a quiet orchard, but fairy magic and shiny lights were quite visible from a distance and it had attracted their attention. Most of Crissa looked over at them - would it help to call herself (themself?) the Cris? - would anyone believe this was her choice?...

"Hi!" said one of the pixies, fluttering over a little closer to the guard, as most of her was still in two minds as to if that was a good idea. "Ah. It's fine. I'm- we're fine. I can explain."

-fin

Pixies (critique requested)

azi

Here's a short magical commission for Crissa, with some TF moods I enjoy very much: turning into a swarm, and being helpful. I don't write nearly enough swarming, and this was a pleasure. ^^ Tagged for a cute pixie swarm TF and some shrinking, written in August 2020.

Submission Information

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