Eldritch Guidance-Chapter 152 – Fenny

Cid: “Ack! Undead!” he yelped, his voice cracking as he jolted backward. The glass in his hand sloshed precious, expensive liquor onto the polished marble. The sight of the smooth, vulpine skull, the hollow sockets holding twin embers of light—it was a visage from a necromancer’s nightmare, not a companion in a quiet bar.

Fenny let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand similar reactions. The orange lights in his sockets dimmed slightly.

Fenny: “John’s still the only one who didn’t even blink,” he mumbled, more to the comforting solidity of the bar top than to Cid.“Nope. Not undead. Just a really, really fucked-up mutant.” The words were blunt, delivered with a practiced casualness that couldn't quite hide a lifetime of having to explain himself.

Cid, his heart still hammering against his ribs, slowly willed his breathing to steady.

Cid:“S-Sorry,” he stammered, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat his cheeks. “I’ve never even heard about a case where… someone mutated into a skeleton.”

Fenny corrected, his bony jaw clicking faintly with the movement.

Fenny: “I’m not a skeleton. Think of it as… a kind of extreme, biological bone plating. An exoskeleton. I’ve got the regular, squishy-human insides, and then I’ve got this.” He gestured with a gloved hand to his face. “I have my original skull in here, and then a secondary one grew outside and around it, like a helmet. Or a mask.” His voice took on a dry, clinical tone. “The problem is, it fused with my skin. I can’t remove it without literally peeling my own face off. Trust me, not a fun afternoon.”

To prove his point, Fenny performed two simple demonstrations. First, he opened his mouth wide. Beyond the row of sharp, bone teeth, Cid could see another row of teeth and a perfectly normal, pink, and very much living tongue, which Fenny wiggled for emphasis.

Then, he pushed up the sleeve of his studded leather jacket, revealing the forearm beneath. The underside was covered in a layer of soft, black fur, confirming the presence of mammalian flesh. But running along the top of his forearm was a plate of the same smooth, white bone as his face. It wasn't an accessory; it was seamlessly organic. The edges vanished into his skin without a seam, looking less like an attached piece and more like a ridge of bone that had erupted from within and been polished smooth by the world. Fenny raised a finger and tapped the plate twice with his knuckle. Tap. Tap. The sound was a hard click like a stone striking a stone.

Fenny: “See?” he said, lowering his sleeve. “Still flesh and blood under all the armor. Just… a lot more armored than most.” The orange embers in his sockets glimmered with a mix of defiance and a deep-seated weariness. “Makes buying a helmet a real bitch.”

As Cid looked closer he could also see that Fenny's neck and collar now that obscuring enchantment was gone were also flesh and blood covered in black fur and his skeletal face had two holes on the top of his head where two pointed fox ears stuck out of. It seemed he was telling the truth. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Fenny: “I had the jacket enchanted to obscure my face when the hood’s up,” he explained, the orange embers within his skull flaring with a pragmatic light. “It’s just simpler than having to explain my… biological circumstances to every startled person and screaming child. Saying your ‘Not undead’ is a tedious conversation to have six times a day.”

Cid: “Again, I’m genuinely sorry for my reaction,” Cid apologized, his mind already moving past the initial shock and into analysis. His numerologist's eye was cataloging the precise, elegant curves of Fenny's skull, noting the perfect logarithmic spiral implied by the structure. It was a horrifyingly beautiful piece of natural—or unnatural—geometry.

Fenny: “It’s fine. You’re not wrong; you don’t see many mutants like me.” Fenny’s tone shifted, the dry humor returning. “Which reminds me. Never got to congratulate you. Heard from Scarlett you royally screwed over that nest of Rattle Bone cultists hiding in the Arcanium Archive.”

Cid shrugged modestly.

Cid: “I didn’t do it on purpose. The situation just… unfolded that way.”

Fenny: “I don’t give a damn about your reasons,” he said, waving a clawed hand dismissively. The usual carefree cadence of his voice hardened, taking on a sharp edge. “I’m just happy any time a Rattle Bone cultist gets their due, for any reason. So, as far as I’m concerned, you did good by me.”

Cid’s picked up on the change. The shift in Fenny’s vocal harmonics was a stark deviation from his baseline. This wasn't just casual disdain; it was a deep, personal animosity, the hatred in Fenny's tone was palpable. Cid gut feeling was screaming that there was a profound and painful history there.

Cid opened his mouth to ask about the source of this obvious bad blood when Fenny suddenly seized up.

A sharp, guttural grunt of pain escaped him. His skeletal frame tensed, and the orange lights in his eyesockets flickered violently.

Fenny:“Oh, for fate’s sake… terrible timing,” he gritted out, his voice tight with strain.

With a grimace, he yanked the collar of his shirt and jacket down, exposing the left side of his clavicle and upper chest. The black fur and flesh there were visibly distorting, bulging outward in a way that was utterly unnatural. The skin stretched, taut and shiny, until with a wet, tearing sound that made Cid’s stomach lurch, a jagged spike of bone erupted through the tissue. It was a grotesque, spine-like protrusion, slick with blood and lymph, looking less like a growth and more like a weapon forcibly ejected from his body.

Fenny, his movements brutally efficient, didn't even cry out. He simply reached up, gripped the bloody spine, and with a sickening crack that resonated in the quiet bar, wrenched it free from his body. He tossed the offending piece of bone onto the marble counter with a clatter, where it lay, steaming faintly.

Left behind was a gaping, pulsing wound. But even as Cid’s mind reeled at the sheer brutality of it, the flesh began to move. It knitted itself back together with a speed that defied nature, the fur regrowing in a visible wave until, within seconds, only a patch of slightly pink, new skin remained amidst the black fur.

Fenny: “Grizz, another drink. Please. Make it a double.” his voice was thin, frayed at the edges from the recent surge of pain. He slumped forward, his skeletal head resting in his hands for a moment, the orange embers of his eyes dimmed.

The bear mutant, Grizz, gave a slow, solemn nod. He didn't flinch, didn't comment. He simply retrieved a fresh glass, his movements as steady and unsurprised as if Fenny had merely asked for more water. The sight was deeply unsettling; this was a routine horror.

Cid stared, his mind struggling to reconcile the casual brutality of what he’d just witnessed with the opulent calm of the bar.

Cid: “What in the burning abyss was that?” he finally managed, his voice a hushed whisper.

Fenny didn’t look up. He merely gestured a hand toward the bloody bone spike lying on the pristine marble.

Fenny: “That,” he said, the word laced with a lifetime of bitterness, “is the result of a deranged Rattle Bone cultist who wanted to create a mutant who could endlessly regrow their own bones.” He let out a shaky breath that rattled in his ribcage.

A cold dread settled in Cid’s stomach.

Cid: “Is that… is that why you hate them so much?” he asked, the pieces of Fenny’s earlier venom forming into a horrifying picture.

Grizz placed the double measure of amber liquid in front of Fenny, who seized it and drained half in one go. The liquor seemed to steady him. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dangerously calm, all traces of his usual playful cynicism scorched away.

Fenny: “Hate?” he finally lifted his head, the embers in his sockets glowing with a cold, focused fire. “No, Cid. It’s so much more than that. Try to imagine it. You’re a starving orphan, scooped off the streets with the promise of a warm meal. Instead, you’re handed over to a deranged cultist who sees you as raw material. They use rituals and alchemy to warp your very being, twisting you into… this.” he gestured to himself. “A fox-thing trapped in a cage of its own making.”

He tapped a finger against his bony face with a sharp tok.

Fenny: “And the changes don’t stop. They designed the process to be unstable. So, at random, your body rebels. A bone rips its way out of you, just like you saw. It hurts, every single time. And that’s the point.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “For years, that was my life. A burst of agony, or sometimes they would force me to grow more bones than usual, then they’d come and harvest the fresh bone. They’d just… yank it out. Over and over. A living resource to be mined.”

Fenny’s grip on his glass tightened until Cid feared the crystal would shatter.

Fenny: “Then, one day, the cultist in charge decided my particular ‘quarry’ was yielding ‘boring’ bones. No new varieties. Just the same old spines and plates. I was no longer an interesting experiment, just a used-up tool. So, he gave the order to have me ‘disposed of.’ to be thrown into an incinerator pit like garbage.”

He finished his drink, the ice cubes clinking loudly in the heavy silence.

Fenny: “I only escaped because of pure luck. I crawled out of that pit and kept crawling.”

Fenny set the empty glass down with a final, definitive click. The orange light in his eyes was like the heart of a forge.

Fenny: “So, no. ‘Hate’ is a word children use for a rival or a disliked teacher. What I feel for the Cult of the Rattle Bone is so much more. There is no word to describe how much I despise them.”

Cid felt the air grow heavy, thick with the gravity of Fenny's confession. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, the sound unnaturally loud in the hushed bar. He had stumbled blindly into a chasm of pain that made his own past struggles feel like minor inconveniences. An apology formed in his mind—"I'm sorry," "I didn't know"—but the words felt hollow, insultingly inadequate in the face of such a history. They died on his tongue, unspoken.

A long, tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft clink of Grizz placing a fresh, clean glass on the counter. The bear mutant’s presence was a quiet, grounding force in the room.

Finally, Fenny let out a breath that was part sigh, part forced nonchalance. The grim intensity in his posture eased, the orange embers in his sockets softening from a forge's fire to a gentle hearth's glow.

Fenny: "Well," he said, his voice deliberately light, "that's my depressing past, served neat. No chaser. It sucks, but... you learn to live with the scars." He gestured vaguely toward his own body. "And for what it's worth, the weirdness that clings to John has its perks. When a bone decides to stage a breakout these days, it's more of a sharp annoyance than the complete agony it used to be. Progress, right?"

He visibly shook off the lingering shadows of his memories, a physical effort to shift the mood.

Fenny: "Anyway, I'm the one bringing the mood down, and that's not why we're here." He raised his newly filled glass, the liquid catching the light. "We should be celebrating. To your restored leg—no more wheels for you. And..." He leaned forward, tapping his glass gently against Cid's with a clear, ringing clink. "To a new friend. Welcome to the family of misfits, Cid. We're a broken, messed-up bunch, but we look out for our own."

Fenny, eager to wash away the bitter aftertaste of his memories, tipped his head back and drained his glass in one practiced, smooth motion. Not wanting to be impolite, and feeling a strange sense of camaraderie, Cid followed suit, drinking back his own beverage just as quickly.

The reaction was immediate and dramatic.

As the liquid flowed down his throat, Fenny’s entire body went rigid. The orange embers in his eye sockets flared, brightening with pure, unadulterated shock. He didn't swallow. Instead, he lurched forward and spat a stream of clear liquid directly onto the polished marble floor with a loud, "Splah!"

Fenny: “What in the burning abyss is this?!” he sputtered, slamming the empty glass down on the counter. “It tastes like... like dishwater filtered through a wet sock! This isn’t Gizan 72!”

From behind the bar, Grizz continued polishing a glass, utterly unfazed.

Grizz: “That’s because it is water,” he rumbled placidly. “With a splash of cranberry juice for color. Mistress Yin was very clear about your limit.”

Fenny stared, his skeletal jaw agape in outrage.

Fenny: “But she hardly uses this bar! Why does she care?!”

Grizz: “Doesn’t matter,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for debate. “I follow commands. Your limit is five alcoholic beverages. After that, it's hydrating fruit-infused water for you.”

Fenny let out a low, guttural growl of frustration, but the fight went out of him almost instantly. He might play fast and loose with Kyle downstairs, but Yin was different. She signed his paychecks, funded his lifestyle, and was, frankly, terrifying. Pissing off any of the women in the Unseen Hand was a line even he wouldn’t cross.

He turned to Cid with a look of profound, comical betrayal.

Fenny: “Well, so much for the grand tour of Yin’s legendary liquor collection,” he said, his voice thick with melodramatic sorrow. “I guess the party’s over before it even began.”

Grizz: “He doesn’t have a limit,” he interjected, pointing a single, thick claw in Cid’s direction. “The new one can drink as much as he likes.”

The outrage returned to Fenny tenfold.

Fenny:“What?!” he screeched, the sound echoing in the opulent space. “Why does the new guy get an all-access pass while I, a loyal and long-standing member, get cut off after five? That’s favoritism! That’s discrimination against the skeletally gifted!”

Grizz didn’t even blink.

Grizz: “Because Mistress Yin knows that if you had unlimited access, you would drain her entire stock of Gixian Fire-Whisky and that 500-year-old elven absinthe within a week. She does not want her private bar emptied by a thirsty fox. The new one,” he added, glancing at Cid, “has not yet proven himself to be a liquorous menace.”

Fenny opened his mouth to protest further, then snapped it shut with a sharp click. He just grumbled, slumping back onto his stool in a posture of utter defeat. As much as it pained him to admit it, even silently, Yin was absolutely right. Left to his own devices, he would have considered it a personal challenge to sample every single rare spirit on those shelves, and the resulting bill—or hangover—would be legendary.

Fenny watched, a pang of pure, agonizing envy twisting in his gut, as Grizz selected a pristine glass and began crafting another Old Fashioned for Cid. The ritual was a symphony of temptation: the rich glug of the amber bourbon, the precise muddling of the sugar cube and bitters, the touch of the orange peel. It was a real, potent, and undoubtedly exquisite drink, and it was being given freely to the newcomer while he was relegated to fruit-infused water. The injustice of it all felt unfair to Fenny.

Cid: “Um, it’s quite alright. I don’t think I need another,” he said, his voice cutting through Fenny’s thirst-filled reverie.

Cid raised a hand in a polite, almost timid gesture of refusal. For him, the single drink had been a welcome anchor in a chaotic evening, a warmth that steadied his nerves without clouding his mind. After the Dollhouse and the weight of Fenny’s tragic pass, his spirit was far wearier than his body.

Cid: “I think I’m good for the night, thank you.”

Grizz gave a slow, approving nod. The look in his dark eyes was one of deep respect.

Grizz: “A wise and measured choice,” the bear mutant rumbled. He didn't even need to turn his head; his gaze simply slid to the puddle of dejection that was Fenny. “That,” he stated, the single word heavy with implication, “is precisely why you have a limit. Cid demonstrates restraint. While you see a well-stocked bar not as a privilege, but as a conquest.”

A muffled, indignant huff was Fenny’s only reply, his skull remaining firmly planted on the cool, soothing marble. His tail, a barometer of his mood, gave a single, limp thump against the stool leg—a gesture of utter, defeated surrender.

Cid observed the scene with a mixture of pity and confusion. Fenny was an emotional whirlwind, shifting from wounded survivor to carefree trickster to sulking adolescent without a moment's notice. It was emotionally dizzying. He was on the verge of offering a consoling word, or maybe nudging his own full glass toward the morose mutant, when the transformation occurred.

It was as if a switch had been flipped.

Fenny shot upright with excitement. The lethargy evaporated, replaced by a crackling, almost manic energy. His tail, once a sad tassel, now became a metronome of enthusiasm, swishing in a wide, joyful arc that thumped a happy rhythm against the brass stool leg. The orange embers in the hollows of his eyes blazed to life with the gleeful fire of a brilliant new scheme. He spun on his stool to face Cid.

Fenny: “Hey, Cid,” he said, a scheming undertone that was far more infectious than his previous whining. He leaned in close, the polished bone of his skull gleaming under the soft bar lights. “Forget the drinks. Do you like board games?”

(Author Note: And so begins the Jumanji chapters 😂 /J)