Just as the angry undead grass elementals had been whipped into a frenzy for their red tourney, the sad undead grass elementals had also been put into a frenzy of action. They looked high and low for things to hunt so that they may have trophies to bring to the hidden hunting lodges.
A far more stealthy affair than the clash of arms—that was what the angry undead were up to. One such hunter was slowly closing in on their prey. They stayed low to the ground, their armored centipede body not giving themselves away so long as they moved slowly. Though they were not helped by the sizzling of their shell from the acid that coated their armor.
Luckily for them, their target made more than enough noise to cover up the sizzling of the small drops of corrosive fluid that fell off them and melted small holes into the ground as they hit. The undead sad grass centipede stayed completely still for a moment. They focused all their senses on the creature before them to be sure that it hadn't done something outside of expectations.
It had not; the creature was still floating in the same circular pattern it had been when they had first discovered it. The creature was a thing of smog and grass. Its form was made up mostly of smog formed into the vague outline of a grass pixie female. The only really solid part of the creature was its hair. Which was made up of black and green magical grass.
The creature, a female as far as it could tell, kept moaning and repeating the same thing over and over again. "The grasslands are all gone. Where will we go what will we do now that the grass lands are all gone?" The strange creature would say in a sad voice tinged with hysteria. It knew of sadness that was part of its very being; the hysteria confused it, though.
What was there to be hysterical about? the hunter thought to itself. Sadness was a natural thing; why make it confusing by mixing other emotions with it? The hunter thought to itself about the strange, complicated prey before it for a moment, then decided there was no point. So it was time to catch it and bring it to the lodge so it could gain the rank of apprentice and cry with its fellows at the lodge.
So it's goal in its view, and its prey still unknowing of its presence, it slowly got into position. It was making for a point just beside its target's circular route. It knew the perfect time to strike, and so it waited for just that moment as it blended into the grass it had chosen as a hiding spot. The creature, too into its wailing to put a lot of focus into its surroundings, was oblivious as it slowly began to move into a kind of crouching position.
It tensed, waiting for the moment its prey made the latest circuit. "It's all gone. What is" The lady of smog said once more but did not finish, cut off by it making its move. It threw itself forward, its mandibles wide open, going for the neck; it was on its prey. The lady of smog turned about to strike out at it with talons of smog, but it was too late, and so its mandibles closed around her neck and pushed together.
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A final wail of "nooo!" Before the only truly physical thing about the lady of smog which was her head, rolled away from her smog mist body. For a moment the sad undead grass centipede waited, watching the head for any signs of movement of getting back up to continue, but there was none. So it picked up the head and made its way toward one of the nearest hidden hunting lodges.
The journey was quick, as its eagerness caused it to do away with stealth for speed. So it was there quick enough after growing through a wall of grass that hid the hunting lodge. It burst its way through the doorway and made its way to one of the walls of the hunting lodge, where many trophies were put.
It slowly and ever so carefully added its trophy to the few that were there. It waited a long moment; the fear that its trophy would be rejected filled it, almost overtaking the sadness that made up its being. Then the trophy merged with the wall, showing it was worthy to be in the wall, and it found itself gaining a rank and a name.
In one moment it went from one of the many no-name peasants to a named apprentice. Its acid tears flow freely, the corrosive fluid not burning through the floor of the hidden lodge, as it was made to withstand such liquids. The tears are a result of the sadness of existence and a touch of happiness from succeeding. It was strange and foreign to mix such emotions, but it felt right this time.
It focused its attention on the tale of the creature it has hunted, as the wall of tears would tell its sadness, and in its sadness would its name be known, as that was how they gained names. In the sad tales they make, it found itself eager to know, which was a strange and rare emotion for one of its kind.
It read the tale and fresh tears fell, for it was such a beautifully sad tale. To be stuck in an existence of constant dread for a land you never knew. As this weeping smog last would have been born after the land had already changed. So she mourned a past she never knew, born from the fears of another that never knew her and now never will.
Also, to be slain by one of the very creatures born from what you were made to fear was an added flavor of sadness to the tale. No wonder the trophy was accepted, for surely this tale of sadness was something that would be worthy of the lord's hidden blue tear. The name born from this sadness was clear to it now. Its new name was Weeping Grassinia, truly a wonderful name.
Weeping Grassinia was now truly an apprentice, and so she made her way to the few others she could hear moving about the hidden lodge. Eager to tell them her sad tale and then hear, "Oh, how wonderful a time it was for her," so many tales to hear and cry about so soon. Truly, Lord, hidden blue tears had created a river of tears for them all to follow, and this was only the beginning. Who knew how far this river of tears would be in the end?
