Underwood: Collecting Firewood

[Revenant]

It was an uncommonly warm autumn morning when William Arcus realized that it was time to make another trip from his secluded cabin home to the bustling settlement of Underwood in the heart of Concordia forest. It wasn’t the embracing, friendly heat of the summer months giving their final farewell to the year; nor was it the stifling, muggy heat that sapped the vim and vigor from everything that happened to be unfortunate enough to have to be outside. No, this day’s heat was the type that fell squarely in the middle of those extremes and yet completely outside them at the same time. It was the type of heat that was uncomfortably warm but not unbearably so. It was just the type of heat that made William glad that his unusual physique had left him without the ability or need to sweat. After all, how could the beating sun, still forest air, and thick humidity really measure up to the molten fire flowing just under his skin.

Though he appeared human enough, the ragged mercenary had lost the right to call himself that an uncountable number of years ago. Hazy years, lost to rage induced blackouts and too many nights struggling against his nature. Years that, if he so desired, he could dimly recall. Assuming, of course, that he wanted to face the mutilated bodies and blank, accusing eyes that went hand and hand with his mercifully fog-dimmed past. Some days he would do just that, summon the haunting ghosts of yesterday and give himself leave to wallow in the self-pity and guilt that accompanied them.

Today was not one of those days.

What today was, was one of the rare days in which the revenant felt the need to get somewhat in touch with his human side and the society that it craved. While he was able to procure most of the supplies that he needed to survive in the wilds of Concordia on his own, there were some things that he just couldn't find without taking a trip back to the civilized world. Underwood was the closest settlement, and thus Underwood was where the revenant would head to fill up and restock. And, as loathe as he was to admit it, enjoy surrounding himself with the trappings of humanity for at least a little while. It wasn’t always the easiest thing to do, and it certainly brought its own unique risks, but there was something about the excitement and thrill that he craved, not to mention the companionship.

And so it was that the revenant strapped his wood axe to his ratty, well-traveled backpack, donned his tattered green-borwn wool cloak and covering bandages, and set off for Underwood with a light heart and a lighter step.

[Revenant]

By the time William had made the trip to Underwood, the sun was hung high in the sky and well on its way to evening. Not that it mattered to the bustling hamlet of Underwood, a small village that was currently experiencing a boom to its growth. Only a few short months ago, Underwood was nothing more than the midway stop-off point for travelers making their was through Corone’s largest forest, and the only thing of any note that the town could boast was The Peaceful Promenade, a large and fairly famous inn.

Times had changed, however, and with the completion of the Ravenheart Academy and an influx of new visitors, Underwood’s tiny borders were expanding day by day. While such growth brought wealth and prosperity to the town, it also introduced a less savory element to the crowd.

Not to long ago anyone could walk the streets of Underwood and be afforded casual indifference if not a smile and a nod from the passing townsfolk. Now however, outsiders were treated with suspicious, wary glances and in some cases outright hostility. That wasn’t to say that travelers couldn’t find a warm welcome, they just needed to prove that they were on their best behavior.

“Apparently even towns have to experience growing pains,” William chuckled to himself, answering a passing farmers narrowed gaze with the most non-assuming smile he could muster. Behind his eyes the oily darkness curled tightly, clamoring for freedom.

Not all hostility is misplaced it seems, the revenant thought, acknowledging his darker side.

With how fast Underwood seemed to be growing, William was completely unsurprised to find that he was somewhat unable to gain his bearings. The thirst for excitement filled him, but he knew that wandering around randomly about the town would only serve to bring more suspicion upon his head. What he needed was an in, a way to distinguish himself from a random, wandering traveler. Spying a middle aged man in dark, mud spattered overalls in the process of securing a load of what looked like firewood, William moved in.

“”Ho,” William called out, signaling to the man. “I said ho, stranger,” William called again, stopping a respectful distance behind the man. The man whipped his head around with a start as if taken completely by surprise that this bandaged, cloaked stranger was calling for his attention.

“Are you talking to me?” the man asked in a cautious tone.

“I am,” William replied, holding his bandaged hands up to indicate that he meant no ill intent.

“What the hell for?” the man seemed to take little solace in the gesture.

“Wood,” was all that the revenant said.

“Huh?” the man’s demeanor shifted from wariness to confusion.

Good, good, William’s thoughts spoke, put him off-guard.

“I see that your cart is loaded with wood,” William finally lowered his hands, gesturing slightly to the tarp covered vehicle the man had just been working to tie down.

“Of course it is,” sure enough, with mention of his wares, the man’s stance visibly relaxed, “I’m a forester. What’s your point?”

“I, myself, was a forester once,” William shrugged and then, seeing the wariness creep back into the man’s eyes, added, “but that was a long time ago. You’ve got no worry about me trying to muscle in on your business.”

“Ok, fair enough,” the man turned back to his work while he continued to talk, “not that there’s any business right now to muscle in on.”

“No one needs firewood before winter?” William asked incredulously, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh I’ve had plenty of work up to this point,” the man grunted, heaving to put the last bit of strain on his bindings. “But by now just about everyone has a stockpile. I’d heard that Old Mother Brevard still needed a load, but she doesn’t want just any old wood.”

“She wants special wood?”

“Yeah. ‘I only want wood from the old deadwood grove north of here’ she told me,” finished, the man turned back to face William, dragging the sleeve of his shirt across his forehead to wipe away the trickles of sweat beading there. “Fucking hot today. I don’t know how the hell you’re standing there so comfortable in all that shit.”

William shrugged again, “I like the heat.”

“To each his own, I guess,” the man shrugged back before continuing, “anyway, that’s what she told me. She only wants wood from the deadwood grove for some reason. Fuck that though, that’s where the Wampum lives, ain’t no money will get me to go in there for wood.”

“The Wampum?” William’s interest was piqued.

“Yeah, the Wampum,” the man shuddered. “Horrible beast that attacks anyone who goes near the grove.”

“What type of beast,” yeah, William was definitely interested now.

“That’s the thing,” the man said cryptically, “no one quite knows. Some say it’s a magicked up mutant, or a shape shifter of some sort. Me, I think that the grove was a sacred place to the old elves and that the Wampum is some guardian spirit they left behind.”

“And this Old Mother Brevard only wants wood from this grove?”

“Yeah. Crazy old witch.”

“Where can I find her,” William almost shouted in his eagerness.

“You want to find her?” the man was incredulous but, seeing the how excited William was, just shrugged and said, “she lives in the rundown looking mansion near the center of town.”

“Thanks,” William nodded his appreciation and turned to start for the center of town.

“You won’t be thanking me when the Wampum gets you,” the man called after him, but William maintained his pace until the forester lost sight of him.

“Thayne’s rest your bones, stranger,” the man murmured before mounting his wagon and heading out of town.

[Revenant]

Excitement burned like fire in William’s veins, urging him forward and quickening his pace towards the center of Underwood. He had left his home this morning intending to spend some time relaxing in the company of his ‘fellow’ man. It had never occurred to him that he would be given the chance to indulge in his violent side and the thought of facing this ‘Wampum’ and tearing it apart made him almost giddy.

He’d always wanted to kill a legend.

It was hard to miss Old Mother Brevard’s estate. True to the forester’s words, while there were numerous stately mansions near the center of Underwood, only one of them stood out as rundown. Looks boards swung lazily in the late afternoon breeze, catching occasionally on the twisted vines and overgrown shrubs that filled the yard. More windows appeared to be boarded up than intact and it looked like the place hadn’t felt the loving touch of a paintbrush in over a generation.

Eerie feelings and bad paintjobs couldn’t keep William at bay however, and the revenant never missed a beat in pushing the front gate open and striding purposefully up to the front door. A shrill voice answered in reply to William’s sharp attention-getting knocks.

“Who are you?” came a frail, broken voice from the other side of the wooden portal.

“My name is William Arcus, and I’ve heard that you are looking for someone to head into the deadwood grove up north to fetch a yard of wood for you.”

Immediately, William could hear the scrabble of locks turning and chains sliding from restraints. The door creaked open a fraction of an inch and William could see a frazzled, white-haired old woman staring through with dark, suspicious eyes.

“And you’re willing to go to the deadwood grove and fetch it for me?” she asked questioningly, opening the door enough to talk with William face-to-face.

William jerked his thumb back at the wood axe strapped to his pack as if that was all the answer she needed.

“And the tales of the Wampum don’t scare you?” she asked again, seemingly testing the limits of William’s knowledge.

“There are far worse things to be worried about in this world than ghost stories and fairy tales,” William chuckled behind his concealing scarf.

For a second, Old Mother Brevard’s pupils contracted, as if she were peering into and through her doorstep visitor. “Of that I have no doubt,” she said, “but that does not mean that the Wampum isn’t real.”

“Real or not, I intend to head to the deadwood grove,” the black pits of William’s eyes burned with excitement.

“Very well,” the old woman finally seemed to have come to a conclusion, “you may fetch the deadwood for me. I only need about a hundred pounds of it anyway. It would only take some of these youngsters a couple of hours to go there, gather that much, and return, but the people around here all run like frightened children at the mere thought of it.”

“I’m no child,” William assured.

“Of that also I have no doubt.”

“And so I fetch you one hundred pounds of deadwood from the grove,” now that William had obtained the job, it was time to negotiate the fee, “and what is the payment.”

“There is always the standard payment of hard minted Coronian coin,” the woman started, but the lingering drop she left at the end let William know that there was more to it.

“Or?” he prompted.

“The people of Underwood stay away from me because I am old and frail and I frighten them. They say I’m a witch and that I practice dark magic in the dead of the night.”

“And are they correct?” William asked, a little more tense. His years had brought him enough trouble at the hands of mages and sorcerers of various kinds and he was naturally disinclined to be on favorable terms with mystics of any sort.

“Bah,” the woman waved her withered hand as if to shoo away the question, “some are right and some are wrong. Who knows. What I do know is that you carry with you a book of magic that is ancient and powerful, a book that you do not fully understand.”

William’s eyes jerked wide as if he had just been stabbed and he lurched backwards a step.

How does she know about the Tome? he wondered, thinking of the arcane tome that, even now, was bound safely and kept in the bottom of his traveling pack. The infernal sorcerer Kal’Necroth had used the arcane as the foundation for the ritual that had turned William from man to revenant and William had carried it since Kal’Necroth’s defeat in the hopes that he would one day be able to use its power to reverse his condition.

“Assuming that your words are true,” William began, hesitatingly, “why would you trade knowledge that potent for merely carting some wood.”

“Because I need it,” the woman replied plainly enough. “And because I’m a collector of knowledge. I also seriously doubt that I will be able to translate the entire thing for you in the time it will take to accomplish this task for me. So what do you say?”

William thought about the offer carefully, taking several full minutes to decide. Finally, the revenant set down his pack and fished a tightly wrapped package from within.

“It is a deal,” he said, handing the bound tome to the old woman, “but if you do anything to compromise this, old woman, then you will have to answer to me.”

The undercurrent of menace in William’s voice left no doubt at to the meaning of his words.

“Now that,” a spark of life finally jumped to Old Mother Brevard’s eyes, “would be something to see.”

[Revenant]

The journey north to the deadwood grove was nothing difficult for William, who had spent the majority of his life traipsing about in the woods. The hardest part had been finding directions more reliable than ‘go north to the deadwood grove’ from a passerby in town, and even that had just involved asking a couple of people. All that was left after that was to pull his cloak tightly about him and head off into the underbrush.

As the old woman had told him, it only took a couple of hours for William to reach the deadwood grove. By the time that it came into sight however, the sun was beginning to make its final descent into the evening horizon. It would be a silly thing to try and prepare Old Mother Brevard’s lumber in the middle of the night, so he would have to make camp.

Besides, the pain in his legs grumbled, I’ve been walking all day and it’ll be good to take a break.

Not that an all day trek was a problem for the wanderer. It would only take a minute or two of inactivity for his body to restore any wear and tear that he had done, taking all of his muscular fatigue along with it. Still, if the Wampum was real and posed any sort of a threat, it would be far wiser, and far safer, to camp outside of the grove and do the firewood gathering the next morning.

“That settles it then,” he let out a weary breath and dropped his backpack to the ground, eager to prepare his bedroll and get a fire started. Though the day had been uncommonly hot, all traces of the heat vanished with the sun, and if would be uncomfortably cold if he didn’t build a sizable fire. Like the mid-day heat, a cold night wouldn’t really do much to his demonically enhanced physique, but for some reason the cold always annoyed him more than he really cared to endure.

Wasting no time, the revenant pulled out the thin bedroll that he used while traveling, unfurling it with a kick, and cleared out a nearby section to act as a makeshift fire pit. Soon enough a handful of gathered trigs had been built into a small but warming fire. There was little left to do except lay back and enjoy the rapidly cooling evening air. And even sooner thereafter William was asleep, dozing next to the fire.

William dozed fitfully, never really falling into deep, refreshing slumber, and so it was no surprise to him when the heavy rustling in the grass nearby woke him to full alert. The sun had set hours ago, and the dim glow cast off by the slowly dying embers of his fire provided only hints of illumination into the shadowy Concordian Forest. Awake and alert, William nonetheless remained still and unmoving, doing nothing but listening to the rustle around him.

Has the fabled Wampum come out of the grove to greet me? he wondered, slowly inching his hand towards the unbound wood axe resting next to him. He was far less deadly with the axe than he would have been summoning his demonic power, but he didn’t want to subject himself to that full body-searing pain if he didn’t have to. Besides, I was pretty good with this thing once-upon-a-time.

The rustling in the brush escalated suddenly, turning into a full-on crashing mixed with high-pitched squeals.

“Come on then,” William roared as he jumped to his feet, blood alight with battle-fever and no longer caring about his resting pretense. A creature, large enough to be a small calf, burst from the edge of the small clearing and made its way towards William’s challenge at a dead sprint. It was no Wampum but, recognizing the savagely tusked animal for what it was, William cursed and jumped into action all the same.

“Fuck,” he spat, diving to one side even as he swung his axe out at the charging boar. He was quick, but the animal had gotten the drop on him, and both the boar’s tusk and his axe landed at the same time. Hunters were always going on about what vicious bastards wild boars were, and how dangerous a prey they could be. But boars were no harder to take down than any other prey if you were willing to make a little sacrifice.

A barrage of pain filled squeals and heaving thrashes surrounded the boar as it crashed on it’s side in the underbrush at the far end of the makeshift camp. William’s axe had struck the beast in the joint between the creature’s front leg and its neck, a mortal wound if not an instantly fatal one. But William’s success had not come without a price and the meat of his left leg was laid bare from the knee to the ankle, a jagged line where the boar’s tusk had ripped through him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” William spat, grabbing for his leg and pulling it in cradling it in close, his own pain-filled thrashing mirroring the boar’s. But William had an advantage that the forest creature didn’t, and almost as soon as the razor tusk left his flesh his revenant physique started knitting it back together.

Soon, only one figure lay rolling in the dirt.

[Revenant]

William spent most of the night’s darkest hours huddled in pain, cradling his gashed leg until it had closed enough for him to stand to put a little weight on it. Once that had been accomplished the revenant spent the rest of the dim hours re-kindling his campfire and carving up his kill. Though he was still in a tremendous amount of pain by the time the first rays of morning light pushed through the forest’s canopy, at least William could limp around on his wounded leg and had a belly full of seared boar meat.

“Let’s get on with it then,” he grumbled to himself once the daylight had illuminated the forest enough to clearly see through.

Ahead of him, silent and still in the cool morning breeze that whipped through Concordia, sat the deadwood grove. Even William, who feared very little on Althanas, felt an odd sense as he gazed upon the bone white deadwood trees. It wasn’t a frightening sensation, merely one of oddity and out-of-placeness.

Due to his wounded leg, it took William far longer to cross the distance to the grove than he had anticipated. The exertion required to make the crossing on his hobbled limb, and the pain that it provoked, left him winded and near breathless as he crossed the invisible demarcation line into the fantastic tree line. Putting a hand out against one of the smooth white trunks, William was amazed to find that the deadwood trees were unusually warm, as if they had been basking for hours in the afternoon sun.

“Definitely odd,” he muttered, moving to the next tree, which also felt unusually warm, “I wonder…”

“I intend to cut this wood,” he called out suddenly, bellowing loudly into the depths of the forest, “and haul it back to Underwood that it may be used by the witch who lives in the center of the town. There is nothing that you can do to stop me or change my mind.”

Finishing his challenge, William fell silent, waiting and listening for a reply, any reply. But nothing stirred in the deadwood grove, and as the last remnants of his echoing proclamation faded into the distance, the uncommon silence once again reasserted itself.

“So much for the hype,” William snorted derisively. The people of Underwood were apparently the same as the backwoods commoners of any small town, superstitious and afraid of their own shadows. Not that William really faulted them for it. He himself was living proof that the bogeymen were real and that fantastic, legendary creatures stalked the world. Still, to be afraid of nothing more than an oddly formed grove of trees was a little much.

Shrugging, William dropped his pack, unslung his wood axe, and selected a prime tree to harvest. It’s unblemished ghostly trunk was big enough that it alone would suffice to provide the required amount of wood back to Old Mother Brevard. Groaning at the thought of having to haul a hundred pounds of wood back to town on his wounded leg, William set to work.

[Revenant]

Hours passed while the stillness of the deadwood grove was broken by the rhythmic crack of axe biting wood.

“Damn,” William cursed, pausing to take a survey of his work. While the deadwood looked like any other lumber, it was far tougher and more durable than any normal tree had a right to be. He had lost most of the knowledge and skill of his far ago life as a woodsman, but enough of it remained that he should have easily been able to finish the tiny load that Old Mother Brevard had requested. Even so, the solid wood had proven frustratingly resistant and he was now panting with the effort of cutting and shaping it.

“Fuck it, break time,” he determined, limping over to the stump that he had produced by felling his work project. His restorative capabilities had continued to work on healing his leg and, though he had slowed the process by trudging through his work, it was feeling somewhat better. The screaming, fiery pain had gone, replaced by a pulsing achy throb, and the re-knitting muscles were overly stiff. Still, it would most likely be fully healed and pain-free by the time he made it back with his haul.

“Could have been worse,” he shrugged.

He had no idea what the time was since the trees provided too much cover for William to accurately gauge the position of the sun, but a rude estimation from his internal clock told him that it was probably around lunchtime. Breaking out some hastily prepared and stored boar-jerky, William once again surveyed his work on the deadwood.

It’ll still take a couple of hours to finish, he observed, chewing heavily on the thick hunk of poorly cured meat, but I’ll finish and be back on my way to Underwood well before nightfall unless something else happens.

It was at that moment that William realized something about the deadwood grove had changed. Throughout the entirety of his morning’s work, the only sound that the revenant had heard in the grove was the sounds that he had made. Now however, there was something on the wind that he could hear; something that sounds like faint whispers. Straining to hear, William fell completely still and listened harder.

It is whispering, he thought, picking up the distinct cadence of spoken word, though he couldn’t understand their meaning, definitely some sort of whispering.

William waited, listening, for several minutes, silent and still as the deadwood around him, but the whispering sound neither became louder or more discernable.

“Bah,” he finally said, throwing this hands up, “so that is the villager’s Wampum. Bunch of silly, superstitious fools frightened of some ancient whispering spirit. The letdown was very frustrating for the revenant, who had hoped to have the opportunity to dig his claws into the flesh of a very real creature. He would have just walked away from the grove in disgust if he didn’t still have the thought of Old Mother Brevard’s translations waiting for him.

“Well at least I still get something out of this shitty deal,” he grumbled, taking up his axe once again and getting back to his feet and returning to the task before him.

[Revenant]

The whispering continued, unabated, as William toiled away the afternoon. His work was slow, but steadily progressed with each bite of his axe until, late in the afternoon, he finished. Chest heaving like a bellows-pump, William made his last strike, severing the final portion of the deadwood down to the proper size for transport. Finished at last, the panting revenant tossed the axe aside almost carelessly, and reflexively brought his forearm up to wipe his forehead. There was no sweat upon his brow, and never would be as long as the inferno within him raged with volcanic fury, but there was something in the action that William found comforting nonetheless.

“Brings you back, eh demon,” he chuckled at his own foolishness, thinking back to the long days in the sun that he had spent felling, chopping, and shaping the wood of his livelihood. On those days he would look forward to the end of work as an excuse to return home to Rebecca, his wife, and their small, homey cabin in the woods.

Now, he thought bitterly, all I have to return to is that spidery old woman and that damnable book.

As with his stop for lunch, William settled on the deadwood tree stump for a bit of a break, enjoying the relief he got from stretching out his aching leg. He listened to the whispers, still murmuring, as he rested, vainly hoping that they might have become understandable while he was finishing up his work. Much to the exhausted revenant’s surprise, the whispers had gotten louder and more varied. They were still being spoken in the strange language that he could not understand, but now there appeared to be several different voices all mumbling in the same rhythmic time. And if that weren’t enough, William now felt as if somehow his every action was being watched.

“So,” he chuckled lightly to himself, lips curling up in a sinister grin, “there appears to be more to this legend.”

After spending most of his day hacking at the damnably difficult piece of wood, and doing all of that in pretty nasty pain, William was in no hurry to bundle up his prize and take flight from the deadwood grove. Leisurely taking his time, the revenant stretched himself out, working to loosen the muscles he had knotted through hours of swinging his axe, all the while listening to the growing parade of whispering voices. A keen outside observer might have noted that he seemed to be deliberately drawing out the process to keep himself in the grove as long as possible.

But despite the mounting chorus of voices whispering through the deadwood’s ghostly trunks, William was not a patient man. Rapidly growing tired of the Wampum’s waiting game, if that is actually what the whispering was, he finally got back to his feet and began to gather his things. It was only after his backpack was resealed and his axe strapped back in place that the whispering changed and a voice could be heard.

That voice simply said, ‘sacrilege’.

[Revenant]

Sacrilege? William questioned, hearing the moaning voice with which the whispers spoke. Not too far fetched an idea, he supposed, that someone, somewhere would take to the interesting texture and life of the deadwood grove here and assume that it held some spiritual significance. Perhaps the elves who had inhabited Corone for so long and worshipped here, or perhaps it had been a human cult of sorts, dedicated to the belief that this grove was a shrine of sorts.

Perhaps the with, Old Mother Brevard, had known of this and believed the same thing. That would certainly explain why she was so interested in getting her wood only from this site.

I wonder, William thought, looking down at the bundle of wood he had gathered and prepared for the witch and then down to the pile of scraps and refuse that he had thrown aside once he had gotten what she needed. There were still some decent sized scraps of wood laying there, and if the wood did have some sort of special properties, he didn’t suppose it would hurt to bring an extra branch with him.

But that would have to wait until his business with the Wampum was finished.

“So I take it you’re this so called Wampum,” William called out to the whispering in the deadwood.

“We are the Wampum, blasphemer,” the words seemed to spiral around him, coming from all directions and none at the same time. It seemed as if they spoke in a dozen voices, none quite in sink with the others, leading to a jumbled echoing effect. The entire effect was a little disorienting.

A way to keep me distracted and off-guard, William thought, so that I’m confused and disoriented when it strikes.

“So why wait until now, when I’ve already cut up your tree,” William spun in a slow circle, doing his best to keep on guard, “why not show up and challenge me when I got here this morning?”

“Even torn and broken, the wood is sacred and will regrow if left in the grove.”

“But not if I take it?” William was beginning to see.

“No,” the Wampum agreed, “and that is why we watched and waited. The Wampum wanted to give you a chance, heretic. A chance to depart the grove and leave the wood, as we give a chance to all creatures who come.”

“How generous of you,” William’s reply dripped with sarcasm. The ache in his leg made his circling defense difficult, and William cursed the stupid, feral creature that had caused it.

“Many are turned away by the strength of the wood,” the Wampum continued their explanation, “and how hard it is to cut and shape. Others are frightened away by our voices in the stillness. The rest either heed our warning, as we warm you now…”

“Or you kill them,” William guessed, finishing the Wampum’s thought.

“Yes,” again the Wampum agreed. “So what is your choice, unbeliever?”

“Oh I believe,” William chuckled darkly, feeling the fire of excitement burning in his blood, “I believe that you’ll have a much harder time killing me than you think.”

William tossed his backpack, with his axe still strapped to it, onto the bound pile of wood he had been sent to retrieve, and loosed the barrier holding his power back. Instantly, he felt the molten heat flow forth, filling his flesh and blood with demonic strength and power. Wisps of black smoke curled from his blackening flesh and a wave of heat poured off of him.

Around him, wisps of blue-green light swirled from the trunks of the deadwood, coalescing into small, humanoid forms. There were a dozen of them in all, completely surrounding the demonic, hulking figure that the revenant had become, and though they remained little more than hazy spirits, William recognized them as goblins, or at least as things that had once been goblins.

William loosed a bloodthirsty roar of defiance which was answered by the screeching war cries of the Wampum as they swarmed forward to attack.

[Revenant]

They’re fast, and they’ve got me surrounded, William thought as he watched the swarming Wampum’s approach, but they’re shamans, not warriors. The revenant’s assessment proved to be true, as it seemed that the spirit goblins relied more on their ethereal natures and their numbers to overwhelm the demonic figure in their midst. But William was no random forester sent on a suicide mission to the deadwood grove, and the revenant wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Tearing at the approaching goblins with savage slashes from the claws of blackened bone which now covered his hands, William fought. Each plunging attack from the living engine of destruction would have been a fatal one, swept across the belly or throat of a Wampum spirit, had the creatures possessed mortal forms. But the Wampum were spirits, guardian defenders of the deadwood grove, and no amount of lethal swipes from William’s wicked claws could end their lives.

Still, that was not to say that the revenant’s attacks were useless. Each pass of his claw through the body of one of the Wampum halted the spirit goblin, dispersing its form like tossing a pebble into a reflected image in the water. With each strike, it took more and more time for the goblin’s spirit bodies to recollect themselves, as if the process sapped them of whatever energy they used to keep themselves together.

It was a brutal, awkward fight, with William lashing out at the approaching creatures and then hobbling around their coalescing forms as fast as he could with his throbbing, wounded leg, and with the Wampum rushing at his new position as quickly as they could pull themselves back together.

“There is no escape, blasphemer,” the Wampum cried out each time they began their assault anew, “you cannot kill the spirit of the wood.”

This is more like a carnival game than a fight, the whispers in William’s mind growled unhappily. Just reach out and bop each goblin that pops up.

William had wanted to fight the Wampum, true, but this was not the fight that he had hoped for. These apparitions didn’t scream when he cut them and there was no tender flesh to part under the caress of his demonic claws, no blood that spilled forth into the forest loam, hot and delightful. All in all, it was a disappointment and the fact sickened William.

Perhaps it was the result of his internal dissatisfaction, his mind subliminally channeling his frustrations inward, or perhaps it was the strain of being on his feet the entire day, but more likely than not it was only the result of his combat maneuvering and the corrupting power that burned him away from the inside, that William’s leg gave out and the gash from the boar’s attack ripped wide open. The effect this had was instantaneous, and the revenant toppled over with a pain-filled scream. With nothing left to stop their advance, the Wampum pulled themselves together and surged forward one last time, leaping upon their fallen foe.

Though they were nothing more than spirits, the Wampum’s pointed teeth and jagged fingernails dug into William’s charred flesh with ease. The revenant twisted and thrashed under the weight of their assault, attempting to dislodge the spirit creatures with no success. Already overwhelmed by the pain of his torn leg, William could do nothing but howl as the Wampum greedily tore gouges out of his body.

Hot, molten blood flowed in rivulets from William’s wounds. Droplets were flung through the Wampum’s spirit forms to splash upon the smooth white deadwood all around them and a strange thing occurred everywhere they did. Smears of demonic blood faded wherever they touched the deadwood, as if the odd wood of the grove drank the sanguine fluid in.

The Wampum screeched suddenly, breaking away from the fallen revenant. “The heretic’s blood is tainted brothers,” they cried, “it burns us. It burns the holy wood.”

William’s only reply was to grimace and grip his leg in pain.

“This cannot stand, unbeliever, you must not be allowed to become one with the holy wood,” the Wampum cried out again, backing slowly away from William. “The wood you have taken is yours, we cannot have it back or it will be the death of the grove.”

All around the revenant, the spirits faded, growing ever dimmer in the receding evening light, “you have won, blasphemer. Take your unholy prize and never return.”

And with that, the Wampum were gone.

[Revenant]

“And so I lay there in the dirt for hours until my leg had healed enough to walk again,” William recounted the final uneventful hours in the deadwood grove to Old Mother Brevard.

“And the Wampum?” she asked.

“Not so much as a single whisper once they faded away,” William shrugged. “When I could stand again, I realized I wouldn’t be able to haul your wood back here with my leg in the shape it was so I fashioned a crude walking stick and used it to help drag the wood back.” William jerked his thumb in the direction of the deadwood cane that lay propped against the door frame.

“Not very pretty, is it?” she chuckled.

“I really didn’t have much inclination to make it attractive,” he shrugged again, annoyed by the old woman’s harping, “by then I just wanted to get your stupid wood back here so I can go home.”

“To tell you the truth,” the old witch moved on, “I didn’t expect you to come back at all. I expected the Wampum to do to you what they do to everyone else who goes into their grove and then I would have gotten to keep that nice book you left with me.”

William’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

“Oh no need for that,” she waved his angry look off with a laugh, “you would have had no need of it if you had died. But since you did return, and I am a woman of my word,” the old woman shuffled over to the book that lay amid the scattered papers on her table. She gathered up a few of the papers along with the book and returned, handling them to William, “here is what I was able to decipher from your tome. Those are nothing more than some scattered notes on the random things I was able to translate, mind you, and won’t do you any good without further translation.”

“At least it’s a start,” William muttered, flipping briefly through the scattered pages and jumbled notes.

“Indeed,” Old Mother Brevard agreed, “though if you felt inclined to leave the book with me longer …”

“Not a chance,” William interrupted her proposal and stuffed Kal’Necroth’s Tome along with the notes into his pack.

“Pity,” the witch seemed genuinely saddened. “Well if you ever find that you need more work…”

“I’ll be sure to look for it somewhere else,” William hoisted his pack and grabbed his cane as he headed for the door, only pausing to turn his head and tell her one last thing.

“Enjoy your wood.”

Spoils:
Deadwood Rod – This rough hewn, bone white rod is long enough to function as a walking cane and is fashioned from the wood of a special grove a day’s march north of the town of Underwood. This wood has roughly the same strength and toughness as Akashima Redwood but with the added property that it absorbs blood that comes into contact with it. The wood becomes warmer as more blood is absorbed, and can grow hot enough to burn bare skin if enough blood is fed into it over a long enough period of time. This wood is also highly susceptible to magical enchantment, using its stored blood reserves to fuel any magic enhancement placed upon it. This rod has no magical properties at this time and has only absorbed enough blood to make it slightly warm to the touch.

Translations of Kal’Necroth’s Tome (1 of 4) – Through his travels, William has found various methods of translating the words and symbols of the ancient tome that he carries. Once he has gathered enough translations, he will be able to unlock the secrets of the infernal sorcerer who created him.

[Atzar]

Quest Judging
Underwood: Collecting Firewood

I’ll be honest with you here, and hopefully I don’t come across as too harsh: your first sentence didn’t get you off to a good start. “It was an uncommonly warm autumn morning…” displayed two things. The first is the word ‘was,’ a passive word that you want to avoid as often as possible; the other is that it didn’t hook me like the opening to a quest ideally should. With that out of the way, points:

STORY

Continuity ~ 4/10. You hinted a little bit at William’s past, but it was never quite enough for me to get a feel on who I was following here. I know that he underwent a fairly horrific transformation at some point, and you left me a tantalizing bit about a wife from the past, but never went into enough detail to satisfy me. While you accomplished the bare minimum for a decent score in this category, it’s details like that which could have given you a good score here. Tell me a little more about the transformation, what caused it, things like that. You mentioned that it was violent and a memory he could do without, but that’s not enough. Show, don’t tell: instead of just telling me that it was violent and terrible, give me an example, perhaps a brief flashback that shows me what you mean.

Also, I thought you left some meat on the bone where the story was concerned. I know that this was a mission board quest, but I think you let it limit you in where you took this. It ended up being a very straightforward “go to X, get Y, return” quest with no turns. Go crazy, get creative. Maybe the old lady has some control over the Wampum and was trying to set you up so she could keep your book (it seems like you considered the possibility at one point). It could have given you a cool twist, as well as maybe a more climactic ending.

Setting ~ 5/10. I have essentially the same qualms here as I did in Continuity: you give me ‘decent’, but don’t quite reach ‘good.’ You seem to have an interesting habit of dwelling on details which I considered fairly unimportant (the first paragraph of the thread, for example), while just quickly glossing over others (the past wife) that could have been used to great advantage. A good tactic in this category – and one that you used occasionally - is interacting with your environment, rather than simply describing it. For example, instead of simply noting that there’s a pencil on a desk, you might pick it up and spin it between your fingers. Or snap it. You touched on this idea when you put a hand to the deadwoods and found them to be warm. That’s good; work that concept into your settings more often and you’ll see your scores rise.

Pacing ~ 4/10. The story flew by like the wind! It seemed like I had just begun when the thing ended. In particular, the battle ended in a snap of the fingers: you were getting beaten up, and then “Oh no you’re tainted!” done. The fact that it was over so quickly made it anticlimactic. The predictability that I alluded to in Continuity also hurt you here: I always knew what was coming next, so there wasn’t much suspense

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 4/10. I thought William’s dialogue was fairly plain, and he had a habit of stating the obvious (especially during the middle of the quest). It ties into Continuity a little bit: while you tell me that he’s not the most social of people, you never really give me a reason for his behavior. Dialogue is a category that is easy to describe, but very difficult to master. The ultimate goal is to give your character his own voice and thoughts, so that readers could read your dialogue and know “This is William talking” without even needing to be told. It’s a tough point to reach – few on Althanas really have, in my opinion – and can really only be accomplished by gaining familiarity with your character.

Action ~ 8/10. Probably your strongest area of the thread here. I liked how you got attacked by the boar, and then you don’t simply forget about it after two posts – that’s a common flaw amongst writers here. Almost everything your character did made sense, both in terms of his personality and of his ability. Good job here.

Persona ~ 4/10. As with dialogue, I thought William was plain and flat. He was crusty and antisocial, but I didn’t really see much of a personality aside from that. This was somewhat disappointing, because I felt that you gave yourself some good ammunition for this category: you mentioned a troubled past and a lost wife, and both things could have gone a long way toward making him seem three-dimensional had you chosen to spend a little time on them. But you didn’t; they were just quick in-passing notes, and you never went anywhere with the ideas.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 4/10. In general, you didn’t make much of an attempt to turn this into anything but the straightforward thread it turned out to be. As I’ve mentioned, there were several places that cried out for flashbacks to give me more of an insight into your character, but you either glossed over it or avoided it entirely. Threads with straightforward premises don’t have to fly by; I’ve seen quests that were short in terms of the events that took place, but were still very effective by virtue of character development and attention to detail (although this can be taken too far). For now, work on the persona of your character. By fleshing him out a bit more and giving me some more insight into who he is, the quality of your work will improve substantially.

Mechanics ~ 5/10. In terms of typos, your quest was generally pretty clean – I saw some here and there, but not enough to distract from the story at hand. From a technical standpoint, however, there are a few things that could use some work. First, as I mentioned at the open of the judgment: you overuse ‘passive voice’: specifically, the words ‘was’ and ‘were.’ These are words that you want to avoid where possible (although it’s certainly not possible to eliminate it entirely) and doing so will make your descriptions much more effective. The other point that I’d like to raise is that your dialogue isn’t always structured correctly. For instance, consider the following line from your last post: “Pity,” the witch seemed genuinely saddened. “Well if you ever find that you need more work…” In this case, it should be written thus: “Pity.” The witch seemed genuinely saddened. “Well if you ever find that you need more work…” The comma inside the quote is correct when the following part is a verb such as ‘said, remarked, queried, retorted’, and so on. “The witch seemed genuinely saddened,” however, is a sentence that stands by itself and should be treated as such. Aside from these two mistakes, your writing is fairly sound from a technical viewpoint.

Clarity ~ 8/10. Nothing really needs to be said here. I followed you well, you were clear from the start to the finish and you never lost me. Perhaps my only complaint is that you have a tendency to dwell on a couple of things that don’t really need the attention, but that’s a minor qualm.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 5/10. I think I covered everything that I needed to say already. You have plenty of room to grow as a writer – you’re pretty sound fundamentally, and as you learn to refine your style and your character, the quality of your work will improve a lot. I’m looking forward to seeing your writing in the future.

TOTAL ~ 51/100. Don’t take the numbers to heart too much. I’d expect you to score higher with a more intriguing plotline, and I think you’re very close to figuring your character out – you’re already brushing against the things that could have made him a very interesting character to read about in this quest. Feel free to contact me via PM or AIM – my handle is Ark Ether – if you have questions or comments.

EXP Rewards

Revenant gains 735 EXP.

GP Rewards

Revenant gains 105 GP.

Other Rewards

Deadwood Rod – This rough hewn, bone white rod is long enough to function as a walking cane and is fashioned from the wood of a special grove a day’s march north of the town of Underwood. This wood has roughly the same strength and toughness as Akashima Redwood but with the added property that it absorbs blood that comes into contact with it. The wood becomes warmer as more blood is absorbed, and can grow hot enough to burn bare skin if enough blood is fed into it over a long enough period of time. This wood is also highly susceptible to magical enchantment, using its stored blood reserves to fuel any magic enhancement placed upon it. This rod has no magical properties at this time and has only absorbed enough blood to make it slightly warm to the touch.

Translations of Kal’Necroth’s Tome (1 of 4) – Through his travels, William has found various methods of translating the words and symbols of the ancient tome that he carries. Once he has gathered enough translations, he will be able to unlock the secrets of the infernal sorcerer who created him.

Both requested spoils are approved.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.