Round 1 Group 3

[Rayleigh]

Green eyes fluttered open, and immediately shrunk into mere slits. The light that surrounded the young woman was white-hot, blinding her with an intensity she never dreamed possible. Pain contorted her face as she continued to squint upward, willing her eyes to adjust more quickly. Moments later, when her eyelids were finally able to part without protest, confusion drifted across her features.

Slowly, the brunette peeled her upper body from the ground. It felt as if she moved through water, her limbs impossibly heavy, each muscle crying out with exhaustion. With a soft grunt, she settled into a sitting position, short legs crossed beneath her. Then, she took to surveying her surroundings.

It was as she had feared. The shimmering light not only hung above her, but also spread out around her. Even as the girl looked down, she could see nothing but a white glow. Her petite body shifted, and the ground moved with her, as if she rested on fine grains of sand. But when she extended a shaking hand, and raked her fingers across the space where she sat, she met no resistance.

The first traces of fear gripped the poor Alerian, a heaviness on her chest that made drawing air difficult no matter how hard she tried. She choked on shallow breaths, a pathetic gurgling sound spilling from the lips of the panicked girl. Jade eyes rolled wildly, and her tiny frame shuddered violently.

Then a heavy hand settled on her shoulder. “Deep breaths,” commanded a gruff voice directly behind her. That voice. Her shaking ceased almost immediately, her sob cut short by a sharp, surprised gasp. The man fell to his knees beside her.

“Dad?”

“Hi Ray.”

He was just as she remembered. His deeply tanned face was carved of old leather, and he wore a five-o’clock shadow which framed his full mouth. Bushy eyebrows, the same shade as his thinning salt-and-pepper hair, were arched in anticipation. Emerald eyes, her eyes, peered back at his daughter.

A calloused hand reached for Rayleigh, but she shied away. “How?” was all she could muster, voice soft and airy, but deafening in this strange place. Her father remained silent, a distant sadness clouding his visage. Unsatisfied by his response, she tried again. “You’re dead.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then, how?”

He reached for her once more, and this time, she let him. His palm pressed to her cheek, and a pleasant warmth shot through her. Her eyes closed, and she inhaled deeply. Oil, rust, and the unmistakable syrupy scent of fruit-flavored hard candies. Though she opened her eyes once more, hot, briny tears blurred her vision. They cascaded down her freckled cheeks as she collapsed into her father’s waiting arms. No one could fabricate his smell.

Edmond Aston had never been one for physical displays of affection, but he did not protest; he drew his girl closer, allowing her to cry freely against his chest. He patted her head gently, delicately, like a man who was unsure of how he was meant to behave. But his movements were genuine, and if his daughter sensed his uncertainty, she certainly did not let on.

Sniffling, the mechanic’s daughter pulled back. Gaze swept over the man who kneeled beside her, and her eyes revealed the confusion that plagued her. “You’re not sick anymore.”

“No. Not anymore. Not here.”

“Here.” Rayleigh repeated the word softly, letting it roll off of her tongue. “Where is here? Why are you here? Why am I here?”

“You always asked so many questions.” The humor in his words did not translate to his tone, and he wore his pain clear on his face. A moment of silence passed, Ray preparing herself for the answer, Edmond searching for the words he never thought he would have to say.

Finally, “you’re dying, Ray.”

“What?”

Suddenly, their world dimmed slightly. The young woman hardly noticed, consumed entirely by the news she had just been given. The man, however, winced.

She spoke again, voice cracked and shaking. “I can’t.” Rayleigh shook her head, “no, I can’t. I don’t - I don’t remember anything.” The tears of joy which had fallen freely only moments before dried on her cheeks, and new emotion pressed at the backs of her eyes. Shock, anger, and a sadness unlike any she had ever experienced churned within her. “I’m dead?”

“No,” the older man gently corrected. “You’re not dead. You’re dying.” With one hand, he motioned to the nothingness that surrounded them. “The light is dimming, Rayleigh. That means you are running out of time. When the light is gone-” His voice trailed. He could not say it.

But she understood. “Will I be saved?” the girl asked solemnly. “Can I be saved?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he confessed, “as I don’t rightly know myself.” The answer was as much as she had expected, and after a short nod, she let her head fall in defeat.

Edmond gave a soft sigh. “But,” he continued slowly, wrapping a heavy arm around Ray and pulling her closer, “I’ll stay with you, no matter which way this goes.” Words would not come to her, and as her body went limp against him, she thought only of that exact moment.

The mechanic and his daughter sat in silence, watching the light fade around them.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Alydia Ettermire had done many things over the course of her life. She’d charged haphazardly through war-torn Raiaera on her own, she’d hunted a psychopathic, sado-sexual serial killer across the world and dropped him off a speeding train. She’d smashed a demon under tons of rock for the sake of a dozen kids who meant nothing to her - and one who meant everything. She’d ventured alone into her home city’s dank sewers to save a little girl’s life because it was her job. She’d cleared leagues of Blight from the Plaguelands, she’d inadvertently brought a dead man back to life, and she’d made friends and allies where logic and tradition said that she couldn’t.

She’d never stolen an innate ability from a plant before, though. Still, it let her allies shred through roots that would have otherwise been hard as steel; the sheer size of the plant meant it was going to be a long, hard slog to return Rayleigh’s soul to her body.

The thief would have simply stolen the plant and dropped it, rootless, back on the ground if not for the young mechanic’s folly. Aly needed a Fealote. But living things did not belong in The Dark, where she both traveled between spaces and stored things. That didn’t bother her so much for the plant that lashed out at its attackers with thorned, stinging vines. But the little human? No, she didn’t want to expose Rayleigh to The Dark unless she absolutely had to.

A vine whistled past her head, so close and fierce that it raked her hat as she dodged. A coil of shadow wrapped around her hand and sliced through the offending bramble like a steel sword, letting it fall twitching to her feet. The shade whip cracked and danced, hacking at root and vine with equal ferocity. On her command, darkness itself curled and crashed, splitting and sundering vermilion vegetation alongside the faun’s swords and the elf’s unusual polearm.

Despite the danger of taking her eyes off of the vines for so much as an instant, the thief hazarded a glance at the giant luminescing flower that held the soul to digest. What she saw made her work more frantically to slay it. Over the course of perhaps a minute, the brightness had dimmed from bright moonlight to rapidly-dimming torch light. Soon it would be a candle. Then it would be dark.

“Pode’s creations defend her!” The words tore themselves from the Alerian’s throat before she could process them. “Forget six days! She won’t last sixty more seconds!”

They couldn’t fight effectively if they all used practically the same angle; the plant was too big, too hungry, too angry. If they didn’t kill it, the naive little freckle-faced girl she’d pledged to protect would die. I can’t lose another one. Not like this. Not today.

Blue eyes hardened beneath broad hat brim, black-booted feet raced up a fallen log, scrabbling for purchase on the unexpectedly slick surface. It let Alydia’s lash reach behind the Fealote, so that she could slice through its hard-to-reach appendages. Not like this. Not today.

Sweat, sap, and spatters of blood flew around the intense melee as the combatants struggled ever harder for their comrade’s survival. Rings jangled against shaft, silver blade sang, feral snarls rumbled, and shadow snapped against the ferocious flora. All the while, the flower’s light faded, just a bit more, just a bit more.

Alydia’s lash vanished from her hands; she detested violence and hadn’t practiced with that newly-learned skill much. The light flickered, faltered, threatened to go out. Not like this.

Tendrils of darkness wrapped around Alydia and deposited her directly in front of the flower. Without hesitating, she shoved her arm in as far as it would go, grasping for that last glimmer, reaching for it to pull it into the non-death that The Dark offered. Thorns raked viciously across the back of her vlince coat, but she ignored them. Something came at her call, something bright and alive and it did not belong in her grasp. She felt its panic.

She also felt the plant pulling at her, that stinging burn that felt like a thousand scorpion pincers grasping for something intangible within her. But she was Alydia Ettermire, the greatest thief of all time; she was not so easy to steal from. She pulled back, grasping with her talents at her own essence, refusing to surrender, refusing to succumb. Not today.

Shadow swallowed her again, planting her back at Rayleigh’s side. “Hold hard to yourselves and fight until it’s dead, or it will take you, too!” she called to Philomel and Arphenion, warning them of the new, heightened dangers.

A pair of vines lashed for her, stretching to the end of their reach, but she popped a shield, letting them bang against it with leaden futility. A gloved hand planted itself on the human’s forehead, and she reached into The Dark for the little bright soul, grasping it and putting it back.

The girl didn’t stir, didn’t breathe. Her color didn’t improve.

Please...come on! The thief bit her lip, watching anxiously for any sign of life. Had she been in time? Or was too much of the girl absorbed by the Fealote? Had the cold, hostile ever-black of The Dark been too frightening? Had she failed yet another person she’d sworn to save?

Not like this. Not today.

[Ranger]

Beads of sweat dripped from my brow, salty streams stinging the edges of my eyes. A mix of exertion, fatigue, and anger gripped my muscles and for the first time in a long time I felt desperation. It worked its way from the dark cave of my subconscious, reaching out with decrepit fingers to test the mental barriers I had for so long kept intact. Finding the climate steadily inclining towards its favor it stretched and spread. Muscles were sapped of strength and cramped as I continued fighting the plant for the survival of the child within.

“Why do you fight?”

My shoulders tightened as they tried to confess to my mind that they could give no further. Arms and chest quickly followed suit, as one at a time the very core of my body tried to give in. I could not give in though, could not let the soul of the girl be trapped forever within the body of the flower. I hacked at the root that had given my momentum its final purchase. The dehlar blade smashed the thick flesh, centimeter at a time turning it to pulp but failing to find the core. Desperately I sought the middle, if nothing more to give me hope.

“Why continue? What is the point?!”

Thoughts screamed at me for attention. They offered hopelessness in the face of adversity. They begged me to end the pointless endeavor. My muscles added their song of sorrow to the cacophony of thoughts rapidly growing to un-focusable levels. My fingers were going numb with the weight, hands rubbed raw from the friction against the oak shaft of the guandao. It had been a decade since I had physically been part of a conflict and I was feeling the wear. For a moment I stopped, for just a second, and realized that perhaps the task at hand was a fruitless struggle that would yield no gain. In that moment I saw from the corner of my eye the movement of the others.

The faun was diving into the fray with blade and fire at hand, swinging and dancing her way through the roots. At her side the little fox had grown to a monstrous size, its teeth snapping and claws swiping ferociously through the plant. I wondered what the motivation for fighting was for her, as she seemed to have no special connection with anyone in the party either. Yet she ripped through the roots as if they had threatened one she loved.

“The High Bard Council.”

The reason flashed to the front of my mind, mouthed as I realized the reason I needed to keep going. If the girl died, I would be at the mercy of the headsman. They already had lost faith in my past allegiance, had expressed that if I did not see the cleansing of the forest to its end I would be considered a traitor. It had never been expressly worded as such, but I could tell by the silence that spread at my presence, by the off-hand comments made in my direction, by the cold eyes watching my every move in the camp. If Rayleigh died I would too.

Instead of continuing the smashing of the root I lifted my polearm, placing both hands along the center of the shaft. I began to twist it back and forth, slowly at first until I had built up the right tone with the rattling rings. When just the right amount of apparently random noise had begun to resonate I let my voice do the rest. Dual notes flowed from my chest, the very core of my magic beginning to spread and unite with the din of battle. As the song flowed I felt the rhythm seep into my extremities and suddenly a burst of strength jolted me upright.

The polearm moved in an arching flash, almost too fast to note exactly where the blade was at any given time. It sang a sharp melody of its own, adding a third string of notes to my voice and suddenly I was ripping into the root. It tore open and spilled green blood, spraying it in a verdant shower in all directions and on my body. I ignored it and continued my songmagic, letting the weapon do the work with the support of my renewed purpose and strength.

As if in response smaller Fealote turned in my direction like moths to the flame. I turned just in time to slice through a lunging vine and spun as another lashed towards me. In a flash I was engaged with a handful of barely opened plants, offspring of the massive mother. Each one was ripped in half, bursting with flashes of light. Between the constant defense I found gaps to let the heavy blade fall on roots, my song intensifying as I smiled and sprayed green droplets in a furious mist all around me. I had almost forgotten just how much I enjoyed power.

The vines slowed their intense assault just as I ripped through a cluster of vines and a root at the same time. In a single, wide arch I brought my blade up, spun my body, and with a half-skip launched it at the ground. It crashed into the ground with an explosion of dirt. The blade was embedded in the soft, muddied soil with a severed root on either side. With a reprieve I glanced up to the others, seeking approval as much as a report on their progress.

Philomel was tearing through as many as I with her companion, but a couple of the flowers the size of a human head had moved their interest from me to her. I let my lungs open up and spill out the song of strength. With deft hands and the will to ignore the tenderness of my skin, I pulled my bow from across my back and nocked one arrow out of the two dozen I was issued. My pull was almost too potent, the silver birch limb groaning with the draw. I did not hold it for but a split second, releasing the arrow almost as instantly as it was drawn. The steel head spun through the air, reflecting the blood red of the woods. Its sharp whistle came to an abrupt end as the head pierced a flower and carried it into the nearest tree, the point digging inches into the wood. I nocked another and began to let each arrow find a mark to protect the others until my quiver slowly emptied.

[Philomel]

The plant was like any other beast they had battled before. Except for one clear difference - its taste. The way it moved, with its twisting stalks as agile as tentacles, the way it attacked with brushes and bashes as fierce as a full-grown ogre, and the way it recoiled in pain as the two of them dealt blow after painful blow into its thick green flesh was a mirror of any other living monster. However - when Veridian, all in his behemothian glory, with claws of cruel thorns and fur of living flame, lunged and bit into the root he found his tongue desiring something other. All other flesh, be it mortal or immortal, had to him a meaty flavour, with blood a source of iron and the muscle a source of protein. They varied in taste, of course, from ‘gamey’ to ‘grainy’ yet none, unless it was of the undead putrid type, was as foul as this.

Thick green sap, as vile as the vomit that threatened to roll from Philomel’s stomach, was the life-juice of this monstrous plant, and it filled the throat of Veridian as he tore through the stalks one by one. Through their mental connection, charged and alive in the heat of war, she could taste each raw new mouthful, and for the first few bites it truly disgusted her, threw her in fact, and caused her to lose concentration.

How can you deal with it? she roared into his mind, It is beyond anything I have ever ingested.

I am not actually ingesting it, the proud fox stoutly replied, leaping from a root he had just ripped open with a clean swipe of his claw, That would be impractical.

With a savage hiss not dissimilar to a snake, the Earth Spirit threw himself towards the base of a stalk with mighty fury. He had spent a long time so far trying to get to the thickest part of this one, digging down far with his huge paws, swiping back murderous thorns as they tried to upend him. Philomel was attempting her best to guard him, but so far she had been downed twice, an action which had each time sent Veridian into an avatar of mad violence. In time she became parted from her beloved familiar, to an extent where they could not fight together, and so were dueling their own wars. Sometimes she got whipped, sometimes she got beaten. It was in those moments that the taste had really gotten to her head, distracted her completely from the mission.

The mission was, of course, the thrill of the adventure, to go and bring to justice the mad Red Witch who had poisoned this forest, but it was also to get there together. Her and Veridian’s purpose was to keep one another alive, yet it was also, all the way through, to get a rush of adrenaline and feel more alive than the seas had now allowed them to feel in the past month. An entire month without a war or a bloody-fisted fight in the Citadel had left Philomel feeling dry and thirsty, to such an extent where she was beginning to wonder what was the matter with her. Was she suffering from a malady, or some kind of madness, or was this just old age? It also crossed her mind that she had not had sex in the past month either, and instead been giving all her time to saving abused whores and dealing with her mother, but that did not seem to bother her at all. What did bother her was the lack of fighting in her life, so right now this was an ease from the lull. It was a high, a fix, a Drys-damned cure for her weird sickness, and by all the earth gods, she would get all that she could from it.

The hybrid elf was doing what he did best, and that was singing to his polearm, apparently. Ettermire had all but settled down to an equally low lull whilst cradling the still form of the Rayleigh mechanic girl, something which disturbed Philomel when really, it should not. Something about them seemed odd, a friendship that was … not like Philomel’s and bitch-tits Astarelle, but then they were really a very odd pair. Philomel swept her sword left to right, mowing down what attacks she could from around her, but this plant was vicious, so vicious, and she felt, if anything, she needed a friendship that strong to help defend her, or at least Veridian, so far was he from her now ...

From the distance, on the periphery of her conscious thought, Philomel heard Veridian’s growl. Twisting her head slightly to the side she saw him bearing down with fiery mouth agape. Smoke spiraled from the corners of his muzzle, and underneath his now still paws the skin of the root was beginning to sizzle and burn. She saw, as plain as the high noon day, that he had dug far down to the root, and ripped through the surface to fire the core of the stalk. It thrummed with an ugly pulse, that was an echo of an arrhythmic heartbeat. Likewise disconcertingly it shone with a dull purposeless light, and though there was no sound it still vibrated the air, calling to the oceans around it.

Veridian’s claws fastened in hard to the rim of the wound he had made, though his limbs were weak from where blood trickled down from injuries where the plant had defended itself. Effort and design, he had worked here from the outside of the plant, battering down thorns and poisons to get to this point, this single point and now it seemed too perfect to be true. Barely able to stand any more via the pain and suffering that he had endured, he let the one last growl slip from his throat, just as a sweeping vine came up at an arc.

Like a booing crowd at a theatre, he hissed, caught between snapping the final artery of this root, and thus the centre connection to the bloom, or defending himself. If he did not defend himself then he may be swept away beyond the root, but if he did, then the opportunity to sever the bond might be broken. Philomel, in her own world, battling her own demons, saw it and her breath halted in her throat. Currently she was trying to yank out her white blade from the belly of a root whilst others snapped at her ankles. She felt helpless, desperate in a way, because she knew he was there, and she could see him right down near the base of the flower’s root. Seeing him notice the flying vine, and deliberating over whether he could take the risk or not was torture to her soul - and her heart leapt. Her sword, stuck as it was deep in the flesh of a root was of no current use, and she had to abandon it as she made the decision for him.

Summoning up what she could find of her magic, she opened up a portal beneath her hooves and disappeared from that spot with no further ado. Appearing beside him, from the dirt upwards, almost instantaneously, she came right face to face with the attacking vegetation. As she screamed to high heaven for him to lunge and cut that final part that would end at least the root’s life, if not the entire plant’s, the faun threw herself forwards. Horns filling suddenly with energy that rippled up her spine she sent a severe headbutt with earth cracking magical ability right at the thing, ripping the skin in two. The shock, of course, also threw her back, but the precious time it granted gave Veridian long enough to bite and lunge.

"BITE MY LOVE. KILL THIS BEAST ..."

As he did so he noticed the light growing brighter, and he realised entirely that this was not an artery but the thing that was akin to the nerve stem of a being. It was the central hub of the soul flower’s control, that which connected it to its incessantly evil brain; and his jaws were aiming for it. His teeth, half a foot long each, fastened around the light and snapped it in twain, tearing the thing to shreds. As his beloved Philomel fell back to earth he stole the light from the plant, the soul-stealer from its prey, and his wounds became too much.

Together they fell to the earth as the flower gave one last heave, one last shudder, and one last, silent gasp. Five warriors battling together against a deadly obstacle and they had managed to last until the end. Die or not, Veridian then knew that Philomel’s thirst had been sated, and that was satisfaction enough for him.

Slowly, as the soul of Rayleigh was provided the way to return to life, the fox closed his golden eyes and the flames on his body steadily died away.

[Rayleigh]

In an instant, the dying woman was plunged into complete darkness.

Her small frame crumpled, sending her sprawling across the imaginary ground. Her father’s warm body, which had supported her up until that moment, had vanished with the last of the flickering light.

“No!” The panicked word tumbled from her lips as shaking hands cut the darkness, grabbing madly for the ghost who had left her for a second time. “No! Gods, no, please.” Her throat was tight with fear, dry and cracked, as she croaked, “I’m not ready.”

How was it that the end would come? Rayleigh’s time had run out, that much she was sure of. It had come faster than she had expected, what with the gradual dimming of the brilliant, white light giving way to complete darkness in the blink of an eye. But perhaps that was how it was meant to work; as in life, one never knew quite when the flame would be extinguished. She had been naive, and even selfish, to have assumed she would have much more than the few precious moments she had been given.

Thoughts such as these worked to sober the olive-eyed mechanic. Her trembling hands stilled, and the tears which had threatened to spill dried before ever zig-zagging down her cheeks. As was to be expected, her heart still raced, a dull pound that echoed in her ears. Still, much of the initial hysteria was ebbing away, leaving only an empty acceptance in its place. What more can I do? Without thinking, she put voice to her musings. “So this is it then?” There was no answer to her question. There was only the darkness, and the soft breathing of a girl destined for death.

Slowly, carefully, Ray climbed to her feet. The air seemed to have a heaviness to it, and the darkness only amplified the sensation. It took a great deal of energy for the already exhausted human to stand, but she she did so anyway. There was something so urgent, and so significant, in the concept of meeting her fate standing up.

“Alright,” came her valiant challenge. It filled the emptiness that surrounded her, a booming battle cry. In a final act of defiance, Rayleigh threw her arms out wide. “What are you waiting for? Take me then. Take me to my parents.”

In the inky blackness that cloaked her, a sudden disturbance drew Aston’s attention. Three figures materialized a short distance from her, an eerie backlighting defining their silhouettes. As realization washed over her, the initial horror she experienced hardened into raw fury. Hands clenched into fists at her sides, and her eyebrows knotted as she eyed the newcomers.

“You,” she snarled, squaring off against the hooded figures who had haunted her for the past few months. “You are my jury, then? My executioners?” The spectres did not answer; they merely gazed back at her in shared silence, faces hidden beneath the heavy fabric of their cloaks. Ray’s jaw worked as she waited. Each passing second chipped away at her already dwindling patience, until the doomed girl finally exclaimed, “just do it already!”

The figures obliged.

Dozens of invisible hands clutched at her arms, legs, and neck. Though no true flesh gripped her, her skin chilled at the touch. Fingers dug into her hips and shoulders, tugging her desperately toward the figures who had not moved since becoming visible. A shocked squeal escaped the mousy woman as she stumbled forward, unable to counter the immense pull the darkness had on her. Weakly, she attempted to pinwheel her arms, fighting to stay on her feet just a bit longer. The hold on her tightened, and she screwed her eyes closed.

Suddenly, a scalding pain racked her. It felt as if flames danced across her midsection, and as the unseen source squeezed her tightly, the last of the air in her lungs rushed past her lips. This sensation, so different from the first, began to pull her away from the ghosts. Her skin crawled, shivering beneath one touch, bubbling under the other. Rayleigh’s body was a warzone as ice met fire. Two dark-veiled enemies fought for control of her. Each party battled to draw her closer, and the young mechanic felt as if her body was being ripped apart. Excruciating pain lanced through her, the sounds of her shrieks shattered the stillness of the dark.

Rayleigh was still screaming as her eyes snapped open. Alydia’s dark face slowly came into focus, and at the sight, Rayleigh drew a shuddering breath. It was over. The horrors had ended, and she was alive.

Every tiny, vivid detail burned in her memory, providing more material for the nightmares that plagued her almost every night. But that thought did not cross the girl’s mind. At that moment, Rayleigh Aston was simply overjoyed to still be alive. Without hesitation, she reached out for the figure who held her. Hungrily, weak arms snaked around the thief’s waist, and she buried her face in the woman’s stomach. The trembling girl desperately sought comfort, and her fellow Alerian was there to provide some.

Only a few feet away, the soul-stealing plant lay dying. A single vine, much like the woman it had held in its grasp, also trembled. Then, with a final shudder, it was still.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Rayleigh lurched back to life, panicked and seeking a source of stability. Alydia provided it, holding the young human and stroking her hair. She had seen too many die in this accursed land, and to have restored this one person to life redeemed her a little bit. The child would never be Kelvar Maliaya - a dear friend she’d personally escorted to the gates of eternity - but just this once, just today… just today, everybody lived.

She pulled Rayleigh up, pressing her cheek to the top of the girl’s head. “Ol zhah bwael,” she whispered, holding tight to the soul she’d stolen from the jaws of death. “Usstan’bal aslu dos. Dos zhah bwael.” Her voice shook nearly as much as the mechanic’s body. “Dos zhah bwael.”

The forest quieted around them. The bloodvines stilled at the presence of something that could kill a Fealote, the deadly insects that burrowed in the mulch gave the group space. Even the bloodoaks seemed to back away a fraction in the aftermath of the battle. But it would not last for long.

“What were you thinking? I just told you to be wary.”

“...it was shiny,” the green-eyed girl answered lamely. “I just wanted…”

“To know what it was? Dalhar, this is not Alerar, with its nice clean labs and stringent testing requirements and well-run factories. This is Raiaera, the wildest of its wilds. If it’s shiny out here, it’s probably going to kill you.”

Rayleigh nodded into her shoulder, her shakes dying down in the wake of Alydia’s gentle rebuke. She would have to be more mindful of the world around her, because it was not the world that she knew. Her arms fell from around the elf’s waist, releasing her death-hold on the safest thing in the woods. She received a gentle pat on the head, and the red-coated woman stood up, turning to view the carnage.

Arphenion stood exhausted, van der Aart and her familiar lay unconscious amidst a tangle of dead vines. All that remained of the Fealote was its hulking carcass. Silent steps carried her forward; had she wished it, Alydia could have been invisible in the Lindequalme’s murky crimson morass. Remaining visible to her peers actually required more effort, given that she was in the one location on Althanas that her audacious outfit could be considered camouflage.

Keen blue eyes impassively surveilled the damage done. A glance sufficed to track the winded Bladesinger as he made his way to Rayleigh, another determined that the faun and her fox would live. She found the sword stuck in the plant, and a flicker of shadow enveloped it at her touch, pulling it out of its temporary tomb. It reappeared clean, and Aly dropped it beside its owner. She had neither use for nor interest in implements of war.

Finally she turned to the crumpled carcass. Along with bloodvine - much more bloodvine than clumsy Philomel had scored on accident - and a bloodoak from near the center of the forest, Sintta had asked for a Fealote. To what point and purpose the thief didn’t yet know, but she assumed it had something to do with furthering a cure for the Plaguelands. He’d only been working on it for years.

Aly knelt down, putting her hand on a thorny vine. Shadow curled along the plant, swallowing it like a snake would devour a pig. When the shadow retracted, the Fealote was gone, leaving behind only the scars of its existence.

“I think we should part here,” she told Arphineon. “The way is long and full of peril, and these ten eyes are not good eyes to watch out for each other.”

The Raiaeran gave her an incredulous look, but it melted back into blase indifference after a mere moment. “If that is your wish.”

Rayleigh staggered to her feet, grabbing hold of the nearest tree for support. “Umm…” She bit her lip. She knew she was a lot of trouble, maybe more than her countrywoman could afford or would tolerate. After this latest blunder, though, the human knew she would never survive the trip out of the woods on her own. “Can I go with you?”

The red lips thinned for a second, then a smirk spread them once more. “I did promise to look after you, did I not?” Her hat tilted toward thicker woods and she held a hand back toward Rayleigh. “Come on, dalhar. Let’s go.”

Thread complete. All bunnies approved. Spoils request: one dead Fealote plant.

[Max Dirks]

This was a solid first round effort. As this is a tournament, commentary will be limited. If you have any concerns over scoring, I'm happy to share my notes with you in private.

Storywise, the interaction with the fealote plant and Rayleigh's treatise on death were excellent with good action and pacing; however the extended introduction and the abrupt end to thread ultimately ended up hurting you in equal portions. While all of you tried to create some back story, only Ranger truly did a good job of explaining why his character would have any interest in joining a party attempting purifying the Red Forest. Though, his failure to follow up on an excellent setup (Xem'Zund, another Forgotten One, reviving his character) left me somewhat disappointed as a reader. Philomel added some explanation in her last post, but it was too little, too late. In other words, the story would have been just as effective if you would have omitted the ship and burning day segments. As for the story ending abruptly, I realize this was to preserve Ranger's place in the tournament (Alydia edited a conclusion rather than take the DQ). This was admirable, so I didn't take off core points or DQ Ranger, but I did remove a Wildcard point. For future reference it is against the spirit of the rule to do this.

In terms of character, you all did well individually, but as a group you did a poor job of interacting with one another. This read line a single file march through the forest. In my head, I envisioned the title scene from Dragon Age Inquisition, with the mages and templars marching aimlessly towards Haven. Bunnied dialogue and character mannerisms were awkward, particularly when the owner of a character would post immediately following the bunny with different mannerisms and tone. Even when considering their nationalist ties & their short discussion, Alydia's valiant cry of "I can’t lose another one. Not like this. Not today" seemed out of place and not well developed.

Strengths were definitely in writing. With the exception of Philomel's opening post, which omitted commas and had bizarre pacing, your prose was mechanically sound and relatively easy to follow. Even Ranger's writing avoided the usual "show don't tell" trap of first person writing. There was no "I feel sad. I hate plants," which was nice. I was unable to give perfect scores due to some minor run-ons from Philomel and preposition phrases from Ranger. Alydia also did some tense changes from simple past tense to perfect progressive outside of dialogue, which muddied otherwise solid writing. Rayleigh, your command over English is notable, and I commend you for a near perfect showing. That said, though it is not grammatically incorrect, I'm not fond of sentences where the there is an implied subject. For example, the sentence, "Green eyes fluttered open, and immediately shrunk into mere slits" made me cringe. In terms of technique, you guys essentially limited yourself given the short time frame of the quest. As noted above, Ranger was unable to capitalize on his introduction. There was no foreshadowing and you only used simple metaphors. Imagery was also a missed opportunity. Though you adequately described the setting, you did not completely immerse the writer into it.

Judgment Group 3 (Philomel, Rayleigh, Alydira Ettermire, Ranger)

Story - 5
Setting - 6
Pacing - 6
Communication - 5
Action - 6
Persona - 5
Mechanics - 7
Technique - 7
Clarity - 7
Wildcard - 6

Total - 60/100

Philomel receives 480 EXP and 48 GP
Rayleigh receives 352 EXP and 48 GP
Alydia Ettermire receives 512 EXP and 48 GP
Ranger receives 432 EXP and 36 GP

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!