AC Finals: The Mongrel

[The Mongrel]

We are forgotten. This lightless forest will swallow us and leave no remains. In a year, no one will miss us. In five, it will be like we never were.

They scattered, scrambling over broken ground to escape the ferocious jaws. The humongous head swept past Illara, then rounded on Zarae, who flattened herself so narrowly into a trench that the delyn scales scraped harshly on her armor. Clawed feet shook the earth in time to the dragon’s frustration, ripping fissures open and erupting jagged rock from the crimson dirt. The beast had come from nowhere, exactly in time with the elves’ deduction about the Forgotten One’s reasons.

Illara rushed for the trees, only to be repelled by a wall of brambles and shattered trunks. The dragon lunged for her again, a mindless monstrosity, full of only hatred and hunger. She dashed and rolled, tumbling on the rocky ground, but found herself between the rapidly-closing teeth. Desperately, she lunged for the dim light.

GWOOM! The maw thundered shut, washing her with a wave of rancid breath. The elf came to her feet, bleeding profusely from a new wound on her cheek.

She didn’t feel it. Adrenaline told her to go up, that she’d be safer the higher she was. Before the creature could recoil for another strike, she leaped for its face, clinging tightly when it shook with the strength of a hundred horses. Beyond thought, instinct told her that if she was thrown, she was dead.

Respite came suddenly from Zarae, whose mere iron daggers scraped uselessly at the dragon's side. The Alerian danced and dodged, stabbing at the thick hide despite the futility. “There are no holes in the armor down here! I can’t get under the scales! Check its back!”

The beast turned to swat at its tiny attacker, oblivious to the ancient trees that splintered and flew beneath its girth. Illara had a split-second’s stability, and she bolted, fluidly dodging flying logs that weighed more than she did and huge chunks of wood that came within inches of taking off her head. Her bow came to hand, arrow fitted to the string, but though she ran along the beast’s back, searching for any weakness, she was met with only a glimmering sea of interlinked scale. She aimed her arrow anyway and let it fly for the back of the dragon’s head. It rattled when it hit, but wasn’t even worth the beast’s attention – its focus was directed entirely between its front feet.

“Will you do something fucking useful?” Zarae shouted. With Illara out of easy reach, she bore the brunt of the dragon’s fury. Though she was nimble as a mouse, the fragmented stumps and broken ground slowed her. The beast’s every movement drove her further into a cul-de-sac, and though she could see the trap, she couldn’t get around the man-sized claws or the house-sized jaws.

“What do you expect a shortbow to do to a dragon?!” the pale elf cried. Her body trembled; Zarae’s panic was sending shivers down her own spine and weakening her legs. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she didn’t know if that was her other half’s terror or her own.

Illara looked around desperately, seeking anything that might help. A way to distract the dragon or a hole in the barricade of brambles that she and her other half might vanish into. Something. Anything.

Instead, she locked eyes with a green-eyed redhead whose purple dress shimmered malevolently in the waning light of the moon. The cruel curve of Podë’s lips spoke of the demi-goddess’s intentions and pleasure in the half-breed’s plight.

This was what she wanted all along.

Illara’s lip curled. She nocked another arrow and sent it singing for Podë’s eye.

Zarae screamed.

Then the dragon’s head turned, snatching up the Raiaeran and swallowing her down into the same fetid darkness as the Alerian. Stillness fell upon the grove, leaving only the sounds of broken branches succumbing to their fates.

“Well done, my pet.” Podë snapped Illara's arrow in half and reached for the earth dragon, which bent its neck to submit to her affections. “The elves could have sent their most stalwart heroes, but instead they sent a stray puppy into my forest. They should not wonder that they are defeated.” Though her own daughter and her own pupil had turned on her like the ungrateful worms they were, part of her would live on.

She could rebuild.

She could revenge.

All because one woman was weak.

The dragon rumbled, almost a purr – but only for a second. Its head lifted and turned, its great teeth and claws ripped at its chest as the agony within overrode the irritation without.

Podë’s eyes widened. Her skin paled.

The entire grove washed in the light of a thousand nights.

[The Mongrel]

I am not lost. Though at times I may have been without direction, for half my life my steps have been entirely my own. Whatever leaps or stumbles I may have made, I made them by my own choices. I was where I was. I am where I am. And I’m going where I’m going.

“Aaye Aurient, Atara en Elenrim, Seimaya.”
Hail Aurient, Star-Mother, Merciful.
“Fallana i'corm rusve.”
Heal the heart that was broken.
“Tanka i'harwen aha sakkat.”
Mend the wounds that rage tore.
“Lava lye poldor au'dune,”
Grant us strength to stand again,
“Ar'lye coiuva ero ner.”
And we will live once more.

Curled up in the hot and humid miasma of the dragon's crop, with the arms of one half of myself wrapped around the other half of myself, I prayed like I never had before. Hundreds of times I had called upon the Stars, only to be the recipient of their famed silence. But in the Lindequalmë, for reasons only they knew, they had answered me twice.

If the silver in my reflection meant what I thought it did, hoping for one more chance wasn't entirely a fool's hope.

Give me a chance to right my wrongs, or let me drown in my betrayal.

For a long moment, nothing happened. My two halves clung to each other in a mockery of their whole – enemies, rivals, sisters, symbionts. Each had reason to hate the other, oh yes. But each also needed the other.

Let me be all, or let me be nothing.

Silence. There was no answer. I was weak. Podë's survival was my fault, and mine alone. I had doubted. I had succumbed to my anger, to my greed. I was condemned. I was dead.

Just as I accepted that, light erupted from everywhere, burning everything away in its glory. A powerful chorus surrounded me, carried me, wound around me. When its crescendo faded and the light dimmed, I stood once more in Podë's grove, surrounded by charred clumps of dragon flesh, whole in a way I'd never appreciated before. My right hand, held aloft, clutched a sword that glowed with the light of a million stars.

In the Witch's presence, a few trees had their mirrors and ornaments untouched, but the even she could not deny the damage the dragon had done. The rent earth, the splintered forest, despite her vanity, those all remained. She stood opposite me, face stuck in an expression that couldn't decide between shock and fury.

"How?” she sputtered. “You were sure to kill yourself, or succumb to Carak. There is no way you can be.”

“Still I stand among the living, unbound, unbroken, and unforgiving,” I shot back, lowering my sword to challenge the Red Witch. I had a second chance, granted by no less than Aurient herself. I had a new perspective, gained by the opportunity to examine the rage from both halves of my blood. And I had a new understanding of the situation I was in.

I don't know if Podë accurately reflected the others she'd shown me, or even if they existed. But she had reflected me. I was full of shit, so she was full of lies.

I only give people one chance to lie to me. Podë had used hers.

“You exist to take what is beautiful, whether it is something as grand as the Belegwain i Beleg or something as small as the love one stray had for another. I don't know why the High Bard Council chose to end you now. I don't really care. I came because I hate assholes, and oh... you are an asshole.”

Podë's eyes narrowed and her hands lowered, fingers clawing for the ground. I just grinned, tilting my head to indicate the voices that still resounded through the clearing.

“Can you hear them singing, Witch?”

[The Mongrel]

I am not misbegotten. I cannot help how I came to be, but that does not matter. As I told Alyssa just recently, it’s not what I’m made of that matters, it’s what I make of myself. I am not a crime, and my mere existence does not make me a criminal. I am capable of surviving and thriving against all odds, and this bitch will have to kill me to tell me otherwise.

The same star light that gave me courage washed Podë out. She looked haggard in it, weak. Perhaps the other parts of her that faced other adventurers were having trouble. Maybe she was just spread too thin. That could only work to my advantage.

She sneered at my question; the chorus that echoed through my consciousness was not part of her reality. But it might have been my greatest weapon against her. The sky roared with radiance and chanted its crusade. I alone stood before her, but the song assured me that I did not stand alone.

Though the Red Witch gathered power, though I was weak and small, the Stars shone bright above me. I did not fear to fall.

The forest rippled, readying an arboreal assault at Podë's command. I sank into a crouch, legs bent and sword ready to launch my own attack. We stood less than ten yards apart, and the fractured landscape gave me the advantage over anything she might summon. I could reach her first.

I just needed her distracted for a second.

Come on...

BOOM!

A sound like thunder shook the largest mirrored tree that stood intact amid the grove's wreckage. Podë's magic paused, though one hand still pointed at me, threatening murder if I moved. The sudden insertion of percussion into the Star-song - the sudden interruption of her mounting rage – required some of her attention. The malicious murmurings behind me quieted without her calling them for the massacre, so I was content to bide my time.

She'd make a mistake and give me a move. I could feel it.

BOOM!

The glass cracked in a spiderweb pattern at the second blow, then exploded into silver shards at the third. An axe head slammed into the open air. It was made of humble iron, slightly rusty, with chips and dings in its double-headed blade. It was nearly twice as big as an average man would use.

I knew that axe. The last time I'd seen it, it had joined its wielder in eternal rest.

All weight lifted from me, all fear vanished like fog in the sun. The weapon pulled back into the tree, and I started laughing.

I wasn't mocking the ancient evil who was determined that I should die. I wasn't letting out shrieking peals of insane despair. Joy and relief washed through me like a tidal wave, and I could either laugh or drown. Podë looked at me, the same uncertain contempt in her eyes with which a youth would spear an unwashed lunatic. I doubted she understood genuine laughter anymore, much less the reason for it.

“The Stars sent you their harbinger,” I explained, motioning to myself. “Now they send her champion.” A final blow echoed through the clearing, shattering the crimson ash tree and releasing the axe's owner into the night. “Can you tell me he is not beautiful?”

The half-orc stood tall and strong among the splinters. His torso was as broad and hard as a stone wall, his legs as sturdy as oak trees, and his arms were thicker than my waist. His wonderful lumpy face turned to take in the scene, and lit up when his eyes lighted on me. I couldn't help but grin at him like a young girl at her first crush. Death's door be damned, I felt like I had my soul back.

He was my Mutt. And he'd kept his promise.

Our gazes locked for only a split second before he turned to Podë and his expression hardened. A roar ripped from his throat with the ferocity of a raging bull, his tusks bared in aggressive challenge, and he charged for her, shaking the earth with every step. She whirled to face him, giving me the opening I needed.

Like lightning let off leash, I lunged.

[The Mongrel]

I am not friendless. Just in this forest, I have proved that orc kin can wear elf skin. If I die, Erirag will sing of our triumph in taverns and around campfires all over Althanas. If I wander Corone, it is only so that I can spend time among all those whom I love. I share in their lives often, I keep them informed about the well-being of friends they see infrequently, and I am vital to the organization that gives me purpose and livelihood. More than I am vital, though, I am family. I am loved. And my Unfoundlings are valuable.

Mutt slammed into Podë like an avalanche. His greataxe hacked at her head with the fury of a whole herd of raging stallions. Her left hand raised to block it, countering the power of his blow with a sheet of magic. It exploded when he hit it, sending him flying back into a bed of thick brambles.

No matter. Her back was within two strides of my hungry sword, we were an instant from victory.

She whipped around like a snake, hair flying in her wake. The Witch had no time to throw a magic shield to block my stab, so she stepped away, slapping my weapon like it was a wasp.

Boils erupted on her palm and burst into seeping red and green pustules where she'd touched the blade, and she shrieked, either from pain or surprise. I swiped viciously for her face, giving her no single second to recover herself, but she didn't need it.

Vines burst from the ground, wrapping around my legs despite my momentum. They squeezed hard, trying to snap me, and little nubs grew and sharpened, digging at my clothes and armor with relentless thirst. Podë reached for me, hands and nails bent to claw my life out.

A roar sounded from the brambles behind us, and my attacker vanished in time for a small boulder to crash through where she should have been. A roar of rage rent the night. Vines strained, then snapped, and a second later a mountain of iron chopped inches from my feet, ending my imprisonment.

Mist flooded in from the forest, so thick and red it looked like a century's worth of bloodshed was billowing in to choke us. It covered the sky first, blocking out the star light, then it descended. We stood back to back, our only light coming from my sword.

“Mousie is much changed, and much far from home,” Mutt tried for light conversation, though his tone was tense and his axe twirled in his hands. His blood flowed freely from dozens of deep scratches and punctures, but he didn't seem to notice them. If we lived long enough to patch him up, he'd pretend he still didn't notice.

“Mutt as well,” I returned. “But I am glad to see you.”

“Made a promise. Had to come.”

“Damn right you did.” I coughed; the fog was a true miasma, bitter and burning in my nose and mouth. It blocked out all light, all heat, all idea of where the terrain was truly treacherous. Obviously my long-lost love and I were a threat to the Red Witch, because she certainly wasn't toying.

I'm not fucking letting her win.

“You want to fight, little ones?” Podë's voice sussurated through the fog, smoother than silk, sinister as a psychopath's trophy room. “Then you do it on my field of battle.”

She stood on the ruined fountain, face contorted in a rictus of rage, hands curled into gnarled claws, and eyes flashing fury. Mutt looked at me and nodded, walking slowly forward. I took a step back and tried to fade into the mist.

[The Mongrel]

I am not faithless. In my darkest days, I believed that my uncles would take me in rather than let me die. Since I joined Unfounded, I have believed that they had my back in good times or bad, whether or not our individual members were getting along at the time. I believe that my brother wanted me here because he believed in me, believed that I was good enough. I believe in Mutt’s promise that I am never alone. Thrice in these woods I have believed in the Stars enough to invoke them. Thrice they have answered. And right now? I’m even willing to believe in myself.

“Aaye Selana, Elen Nessa, Alkar en Tel'Ilmenrim.”
Hail Selana, Young-Star, Glory of the Skies.

My lips moved, but I dared not give voice to my words. With the stars blotted out, the celestial chorus sounded more like a distant storm. I didn't know if, under Podë's blanket, we were beyond the Pantheon's aid, or if the ancient prayers absolutely needed tradition's specific volume and cadence.

Bitter, metallic fog filled my mouth and lungs, threatening to choke me and ruin Mutt's efforts to distract our target.

If I have not already received enough help from our gods, there is nothing in this world that can save me.

I shut my mouth and gripped the hilt of my sword, which I'd sheathed to hide its radiance. The Stars had gifted me a weapon capable of killing their enemy, they'd given me back my lover, and they had even returned me to myself. It was time to prove that I was worthy of their faith.

It was time to save my own life.

A dozen yards away, Mutt postured and threatened, stamping the blighted ground and charging at the Witch. Podë deflected each of his advances, but her eyes searched the mists for me. Of course she knew our tactics. She was vainglorious, not stupid.

I stalked my careful way around glass shards and through dragon-dug trenches, working far more by feel than by sight. Each step was slow, deliberate, and absolutely silent. I couldn't afford to give myself away. Every heartbeat wore away at the Witch's patience, though, and I could not afford to bide my time long. When I reached eight yards, I pounced.

Everything blurred before me, the murky woods, the crimson fog, my target's back. Sword sang on scabbard, swift stroke slashed scarlet.

Podë casually backhanded in my direction. She didn't turn or let on that she'd ever known where I was, just lashed out with blasé brutality, and I might as well have run full speed into a wall. I rebounded hard, disoriented and winded. My body tumbled over the ground, torn by jagged rock and rubble and battered by broken branches.

Mutt roared, and I heard him charge once more, in earnest. I clawed for purchase, trying to rise even before I came to rest. We fought as a team; I had to help him.

A deep-throated scream split the night, equal parts pain, rage, and frustration. I only got a glimpse of him, buried under vines as thick as his arms, before the Witch appeared in front of me. She grabbed me by the throat, squeezing down like an iron noose. Red, black, and brightest white tangled in my eyes, making my vision a battlefield. Her other hand grabbed my wrist hard enough that I felt the bones crunch. She held me fast, unable to stab her, unable to defend myself or rescue my partner.

“Wretched cur.” Podë's lip curled in disgust. “You should have submitted to the dragon.”

She squeezed harder.

[The Mongrel]

I am not forgotten. I have touched too many lives too intricately to not have lasting and lingering impact. I’ve been almost an aunt, almost a cousin, almost a mother to so many wonderful people. Maybe I’m a part of a greater history for being in this grove, fighting this would-be goddess, but it will always matter more that I’m part of their history.

I faded between black, red, and white. I fought for air, for freedom, but in the grasp of a vengeful demi-deity, what could a mere mortal do?

We'd tried.

We'd failed.

Mutt... He was going to die again, but at least I was going with him this time. And I was ready.

I heard his struggles, though it sounded like listening from under a mile of water. I heard his rage. His howl rose to the heavens like an avalanche, cutting through the crimson fog and the darkness that crept through my skull. I heard a sound like trees snapping in a hurricane, and vaguely I felt the earth tremble beneath my toes.

I fell from Podë's grasp as she turned to face the resurgent challenge from my relentless champion. My fingers clutched my sword and I wheezed in a lungful of burning fog. He swung and went right through her. If she was mortal, he'd have cleaved her in two. Instead, she struck back, utterly unharmed. Deep gouges opened on his face to match wounds that he'd ripped into himself. He was more red than green, more blood than man.

I grasped my sword, gathered strength I didn't have, and made one last, desperate lunge.

My sword sank into her almost as if she wasn't there, and she turned to me, face slack with disbelief. Black blood poured down her violet dress, pustules erupted on her skin. She bloated and boiled, then she dissolved, banished and defeated. The fog fled when she was gone, the forest quieted. The Lindequalmë – or that part – felt more like a peaceful section of Concordia.

We'd done it. We'd won.

Mutt collapsed heavily, leaning against the fragmented remains of a stump. I either limped or floated my way into his lap.

I couldn't feel my body, and my world was more black and white than gray. But I was in his arms again at long, long last, and I was content.

“Mutt fears his Mousie's sun is setting.” Despite the pain that had his heart thundering and made his own breath come in rough snorts, he propped me against his chest so that I could breathe a little more easily.

“Then we'll walk together in the moonlight.” Talking felt like dragging my throat over a mile of broken beer bottles, but I smiled and reached up to stroke his cheek. “I know why they chose me, Mutt.”

“Why, Mousie?”

“I'm the only whole elf who came.”

He kissed my forehead, murmuring something, and darkness wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I wasn't sure if there was anything for us next - death, life, afterlife. But wherever it was, we would go together, so all was well.

The Mousie sits atop her Mountain,
Stained with blood from battle.
Sleep, Mousie. Take good rest.
Smile again tomorrow.
Mutt's Poem

[Max Dirks]

Judgment

To be perfectly honest, when I completed my prep work for your thread and saw its length and additional content (the introduction quotes and poems), I was not looking forward to reading it. Much to my surprise, this thread was amazing. From the onset, you had me hooked after you abandoned your complex prose for simpler writing. Storywise, Illara's initial encounter with Pode was by far the best of the tournament. It was written so well that I almost felt empathy for the Red Witch, something that no one had attempted thus far in the tournament. My only qualm with the story was the inclusion of Mutt at the end. Like with your round two quest with Alydia, this thread could have been separated into three substories. Whereas the first two substories fit naturally together, Mutt was not particularly well developed. Fans of Illara's storyline will recognize the orc from the Unfounding quest or from brief mentions in your previous rounds, but the promise he kept was scantly developed. This made his appearance, which led to Pode's ultimately downfall, to seem convenient and anticlimactic when it was meant to be the strongest character driven point in the story. Bonus points were awarded, though, for following the prompt and peering into the other finalists' missives.

Writing wise, you had minimal, if any spelling and grammar mistakes. Your shift from first person to third person to first person when Illiara and Zarae were split from each other was expertly drafted. It was a risky move given the potential for errors and the impact it could have on pacing, but you pulled it off. Your clarity was hurt a bit by some convoluted actions. Even after reading through the thread twice and reading a similar spell used in Erirag's thread, I'm still unclear on exactly how the star magic works and what powers it granted to Illiara. In future threads, take care to explain central plot points outside of metaphor.

The Mongrel

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

Total- 63/100

The Mongrel receives 1520 EXP and 189 GP + a double enchanted prevalida weapon of your choice

You've won the 2015 Adventurer's Crown Tournament. Congratulations!

[Lye]

Exp & gp added.