Round 1 Group 3

[Silence Sei]

Round lasts for 2 weeks! Good Luck!

[Philomel]

Over the rough plains the fox’s eternal silent bark yelped from his unclosing mouth. His eyes were perfectly symmetrical, and deep, full of an emotion-filled life that somehow the sculptor had managed to capture with simply a hammer and chisel. Tenderly painted with a splash of gold and black for the pupil, they looked out beyond the ship’s fo'c'sle, away to the north where the Red Forest glinted at the horizon, where a group of adventurers were gathering, and where the party would truly begin.

However before the war could begin, somewhere in the bowels of the ship, preparing mentally for the likely battles ahead, the Captain of the Fiesty Fox finally stepped out from her cabin. There was a idle group before her, with patient elves and war-ready maidens, but in the end only one other would join her to fight the shadowy beasts under the forests’ canopy.

She had her elegantly-bladed sword strapped to her back, and the enlightened blade, the Lover, tucked into her belt. Upon her right thigh were buckled four throwing daggers, along with a secreted iron steak knife for those final desperate moments. By her leg trotted Veridian as proud as ever, silent paws leaving little to no imprint on the dirt beneath. Admiringly, she glanced down to him, and him up to her so that the stormy grey eyes met with the golden wonders, and for a moment perfection was granted to them both, mentally and emotionally. Then the faun stopped, right in front of a large elf warrior who moved to stand before her with the usual unsubtle clanking of heavy armour.

“Matriach,” Maverick grumbled. “Are you sure this is a wise idea after all?”

The Matriach, also self-styled as the Nightingale and Philomel van der Aart herself, smiled in response, raised a hand and waved the elf warrior’s needless worries away.

“Mav,” said she, stepping back to look at the others. Similarly, the entirely female sailors had nervous expressions adorning their visages. “Stop your worrying. I have done things like this a hundred times before, and never as powerful as I am now.” She grinned briefly down at Veridian. “And never when Veridian has been so blessed. Honestly, there is nothing wrong with this idea at all.”

“But, madam,” Maverick squeezed out a strangely (for her) high voice, and gestured to the other people around them. “You need us … for the danger in there! There are … things in that place that I have heard of. Trust me! I grew up around here!”

“Where is your sense of adventure, Mav?” Philomel laughed.

Suddenly, she sprang on one hoof. Owing to her natural speed and might, she launched into the air a little higher than humanly normal. Spinning around as she did so, she sailed in a clockwise twist of three metres of a curve, right over the group. She landed, behind them, now facing their backs with a bright smile on her face. As they turned around, her gaze floated from one to one, first towards the other faun, who was a bold, strong individual with bright crimson hair. She looked at Veridian, who came through the group bounding, and was just as eager as her, with his swishing tail and toothful mouth. Finally she turned back to Maverick and straightened, adjusting her drakescale half-bodice and folded her arms.

“Adventure is everything, darling,” she said, “besides, Veridian and I have survived in there before, and you know we will not be alone. This young new friend of ours here,” she nodded to the faun, another red-head , “I trust her that this whole thing is not a lie. People do pay for odd things in this continent. Now stop worrying your winged helm, and let us keep going.”

Her hooves kicked hard into the wooden panels of the body of the ship and she strode up the staircase that would take her onto the deck. Her journey then took her down the gangplank to come face to face with another female. This woman had been on her ship the whole journey but due to ship needs Philomel had never seen her. The other faun walked just as fast, the same look of adventure on her face, the same desire for battle in her eyes. The three of them, after all, were all heading somewhere great and wondrous - into the belly of the Red Forest itself, called by the High Bard Council to defy the works of Pode and bring back the beauty of Raiaera …

Philomel, the faun of all fauns, the assassin-whore, the daughter of Lacey, turned one last time to Maverick, her devoted guard. A smile flickered across her face as she gave one last address, before approaching young Rayleigh and beginning this world of contest and deathly ideals.

She paused. And then she giggled.

“It’s exciting, Mav. We are going to adventure-land.”

[Rayleigh]

The Previous Day

The great ship cut silently through the blue-green water. From a distance, the vessel did not appear to bob in the slightest, though the wind sent small waves dancing across the surface. White wake murmured and rolled beneath the bow, and gentle waves peeled off from the hull, but the movement was impossibly graceful. Enormous sails, ballooned and heavy with air, propelled the craft ahead at a steady six knots. Brilliant mid-morning sun bathed the ship in light, its reach unhindered by the few thin, wispy clouds that dotted the robin's egg sky. A scene fit for a canvas, the Feisty Fox drew closer.

Rayleigh Aston was not impressed. The young mechanic stood upon the dock, hands on her hips, coral lips pursed in displeasure. "Such an outdated means of travel," she muttered to no one. Her own experiences on sailing ships had all been unpleasant, plagued with bouts of seasickness and collisions as she fought to find her sea-legs. At the memory of Tobias Stalt's vessel, the Alerian shuddered.

A cool breeze whipped across the sea and washed over the unsuspecting brunette. Emerald eyes closed as the sharp scent of salt stung her senses. She felt the wind tug at her clothing, and toss her heavy mess of hair over her shoulder. When the air was still once more, she blinked a few times and expelled what was left in her lungs with heavy sigh. Restlessness raged within her, and she wanted nothing more than to move on to her next adventure. Briefly, she wondered if Philomel Serkena van der Aart's ship could move any slower.

The High Bard Council had advertised a new job, one which had peaked young Rayleigh Aston's interest. The past weeks had been spent chasing false rumors, and she felt this would be a welcome change of pace. Unfortunately, the close proximity of the Red Forest to the Tarot Hierarchy's bunker had meant very little, as Ray had been abroad at the time of the Council's announcement. It had taken quite a bit of leg work, and the cashing in of a few favors, to organize her passage with Philomel.

Finally, the Feisty Fox slowed to a halt. Ray watched the crew come to life, women of various races throwing themselves into their predetermined tasks. Some tossed long, heavy coils of rope from the deck to the dock, while others tended to the billowing sails. Two eased a ramp into place, and the mechanic recognized that her time to board had come.

"I hate ships."


The Present

Their arrival in the Raiaeran port was accompanied by a flurry of activity. The first person to exit the craft was the brown-haired mechanic, freckled face flushed and glistening with sweat. She looked as though she might be sick as she stumbled down the gangplank the moment it was set in place. The small figure doubled over, hands on her knees, breathing deeply through her mouth until the rocking motion began to subside. When she finally straightened, she did so just in time to catch sight of the violet-haired faun.

"Philomel?" Ray called out, voice soft and hesitant.

At the sound of her name, the woman turned. "Yes?" questioned the ship's captain as she descended. Her movements matched the confidence with which she spoke, painting an image of a strong, independent woman. She was flanked by other individuals, though they remained silent.

The much shorter woman bit her lower lip. "My name is Rayleigh Aston," came her response, as she fought to keep from staring. This was not the first faun the girl had encountered, but she had never actually interacted with one before. Something about cloven hooves and intimidating ease made it difficult to look away. Finally, she tore her gaze away from Philomel to study the ship behind her. "I heard that you might be heading to the Red Forest."

"You heard right."

"Well, I had hoped that I might accompany you."

Philomel eyed the mousy woman for a moment. “Do you have much experience? I don’t believe I have seen you around here before.”

“No,” came her confession, “I don’t have much experience, and I am new to the area.” Her features hardened, the same look of set determination reflecting in her green eyes as she met the faun’s gaze. “But I’m a fast learner.”

Shoulders rose and fell as the assassin gave a small shrug. "I don’t see why not, so long as you can keep up." She glanced toward her companions, and when they voiced no opposition, the faun motioned to the distant treeline. "There seems to be a small group collecting that way. You're welcome to come along."

With that, the captain of the Feisty Fox began the long walk toward the forest. Eagerly, Rayleigh trotted behind.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Seven days prior

A thin wooden door scraped softly against stone, granting a golden-haired Bladesinger access to Melenahil’s library. Two months before the next scheduled cleansing run, Production and Research were busy trying to make more - and more efficient - canisters for containing the Blight, but there was little for the militia to do. They made up for it by running drills, sparring, and patrolling the base, ever-vigilant in Plague-scarred lands.

Armored boots rapped sharply against the floor with every step, each falling with military precision. They stopped short at the small collection of wooden tables that made up the communal reading space – the scarlet figure who sat there was out of place.

“Alydia.” She glanced up at him, then returned her attention to the book in her hands. The strong line of the Bladesinger’s jaw stiffened, and he approached. “You know you are prohibited from wandering without an escort.”

“Hmm. Am I?” The characteristic sultry purr was distant; she wasn’t listening.

“Ye –“ Glorfindel paused, a frown creasing his fine features while he wracked his brain for information he knew was there. When it came up lacking, his brow furrowed and his fingers found the bridge of his nose. “You stole that law.”

The Alerian didn’t flinch under the weight of her acquaintance’s accusation. “Years ago," she reminded him, "I sent one of mine to propose this place to you so that you could argue before your leadership for it. When that was granted, I traveled the world looking for the right buildings to put here and cleared the land of Corruption so that Melenahil’s survival was possible. I’ve returned every single year thereafter to take more Corruption and help your nation. The elves who settled here decided they didn’t trust me to not steal their petty belongings. Very well. I gave them years to learn that I am trustworthy. When I’d abided long enough, I requested the restriction be lifted. But your people can be ridiculous at times, and the request was denied.”

A single blue eye flicked up to meet his glare. “I have shown goodwill, Glorfindel, for over a decade now. It has not been shown in return, so I have taken it. If I do something to break faith, the restriction can be reapplied at a later date.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then shut it, grumbling. She was right; she’d stolen much for Melenahil, but had taken nothing from it. Somehow, she was easier to deal with when she was being unreasonable, because he couldn’t argue her points.

After a moment, he looked at her book. He wasn’t too surprised that it was a tome on Raiaeran geography and lore, but the subject concerned him, especially considering the call of the High Bard Council and murmurs of events in that area. “You’re going to the Lindequalme?”

“Mmm. Sintta needs a few things that can be found there, and with all the noise happening, there should be enough distracting forces that I can get them.”

“And you’re not curious at all about the temple exploding?”

A smirk slashed across her face at Glorfindel’s dubious tone. “Why ever would I be interested in that?”


Present

Aramil of Tilgonar narrowed golden eyes suspiciously at the Tel’gothra in front of him. Her red lips smirked in a mockery of sympathy, as though she appreciated just how difficult her presence was to accept. Alerian elves – fallen elves – were not among the respondents the High Bard Council had anticipated when the call for aid went out. Certainly, this garishly-dressed female would have been apprehended and imprisoned but for the letter she carried. The seal on it was utterly recognizable, but the recommendation within it, though weary and heavily resigned… how could that be real?

Penhalhael Tinehtele was a well-respected Anebrelithian Bladesinger who had made a name for himself during the Corpse War. As he still fought the lingering undead hordes and the corrupted Plaguelands, perhaps it was fair to say that his Corpse War had yet to end. In his own hand, he called this dark elf an ally of his and of Raiaera. However clearly his tone rang with resignation, his words were to be heeded. They were to let the Tel’gothra into the Lindequalme. But they did not have to trust her, and they certainly were not responsible for her safety.

“With them,” the Bladesinger ordered her, pointing a gauntleted hand sharply at a group of three individuals, who stood waiting for the final member of their group to get underway. A single blue eye scanned his sharp features and the scarlet smirk only deepened. Without a word, she retrieved her letter from his hand and approached them, moving between dancing sunbeams like a scarlet shadow.

The first member of the group looked to be a half-elven male in Bladesinger couture. He stood with the impossible stiff straightness of a mannequin. Also the impossible prettiness of a mannequin. Everything about him exuded ethereal command; he didn’t question his superiority and didn’t expect anyone else to, either. Men like him amused Alydia; she never fell in line with what they wanted and their reactions to being challenged or ignored were better entertainment than Akashimian kabuki theater.

The second was a little freckly human female, not much past the age of majority if Aly’s guess was right. There was a sort of naïve wonder in her brilliant green eyes and a sort of careless comfort in the way her hair was pulled back and the way her clothes fell around her body that screamed of youth. The grease and oil stains on said garments whispered of a profession, and the polite, one-word greeting pinpointed where she was from. Another Alerian, then, albeit a human, and from the Ettermire region based on her accent.

Alydia grinned at the girl, cheerfully returning her “vedui.”

The final member of the group was by far the most infamous. The violet hair and ram’s horns, the brazenly curvaceous figure, the curly fur and cloven hooves, the little fox at her side… there was only one being on all of Althanas that this could be. She traveled in different circles than Alydia, and probably had as much respectful contempt for the thief’s profession as Aly had for the assassin-whore’s. Even so, she was an earth mage, and that had a lot of potential value in the Lindequalme.

Silent steps stopped in front of the faun. “Van der Aart,” she acknowledged.

“Ettermire,” came the lilting response. The human’s expression flickered, like she recognized the name, but didn’t know from where.

Alydia touched a hand to the brim of her hat, smiling slyly at the group. “Since we’re all here, shall we be off?” She motioned to the fetid forest.

“Entertainment, a countryman, and a fellow criminal. They certainly could have given me worse.”

[Ranger]

Twilight Hours; Day of Burning

I sat outside the tent, staring into the darkness of the wee hours. Thick fog rolled its way through the grove like oily smoke, lingering ominously as if daring the adventurers to test its weight and purpose. It twisted tendrils knowingly against the silver birch and ash trees which lined the face of the forest, wound around the trunks until they were engulfed one by one. Its density threatened to sap the will from a distance, its slow moving descent promised disorientation for any who bravely ventured into its depths. It was the same every morning until the sun crested the horizon and cast aside the miasma. Before that could happen I watched a heavily armored human sluggishly wander to the edge of the woods. As he shuffled with his armor and britches the fog laced its fingers around his legs and eventually he was out of sight, most likely never to be seen again. “Imbecile…”

Foolish errands by the High Bard Council had brought many to the edge of the Lindequalmë , as if the once pristine now crumbling towers and the cities left in ashes were less important than ridding the world of Podë’s influence. Xem’Zund had perished nearly five years ago, leaving the country pockmarked and scarred with legions of his undead minions scattered across the region. Alerar joined in on the conquest of the high-elven nation and broke the long-standing barrier of the Twilight Mountains, further removing the delineation between cousin cultures. It was a precarious situation the Raiaeran people found themselves in, one I reveled in. The very nature of the noble quest of purifying the Blood Wood was a farce with political machinations and deluded ignorance. It was a crusade of base intention.

“What did you say?” Faelyn cocked a sharp eye in my direction, her face wrinkling in a rather disgusting fashion that underlined her contempt. She was my guardian, my lifeline, and my captor all in one. From the day I had walked out of the Lindequalmë , reanimated after my death and journey in the underworld, she had been at my side. She was both an inconvenient shadow attached to me constantly and an amusing plaything with which I passed my time. Much to her dismay, I took every opportunity to prod her patience.

“I said ‘can I get some bloody wine?’ Apparently that is too much to ask for.” With a cuffed hand I had flippantly tossed aside the opening of the tent, rattling the chains as much as I could in the process. “Or maybe the key to these? They wrinkle my cuffs in such a terrible way.”

“It seems you might have an opportunity to be free of your constraints after all.” In her hand she had a piece of paper, commands from her betters no doubt. She intensely stared at it before handing it to me. On it a list of names and the orders of the bards – I was to be assigned a group and returned to the perverse forest to assist with the cleansing. “Not exactly freedom, but you will be given the opportunity to assist others in the great undertaking.”

Mid-Morning; Day of Burning

Joining in the madness that was the purification of the forest was definitely not the way I wanted to regain my freedom, if it could even been called that. I was delivered to the meeting point early, I assumed because they didn’t want the other participants of the suicide mission seeing me in chains. Faelyn left me provisions and my weapons – along with the clothes I was wearing it amounted to all the things left to me in the world. By mid-morning the others began to arrive.

The odd couple that arrived first was enough to at least promise things would be interesting. The human girl was small, with a slapdash style of clothing that looked like she had just wandered to Raiaera accidentally. She had no armor to speak of and only a dagger at her side that looked like it had been in the sheath a long time without use. Even from a cursory glance I could tell that the grip had very little wear. I could sense a slight, fleeting expression of magic within her, but it was being overshadowed by the creature at her side.

Like a lighthouse she glowed, an intense beacon of raw magic amidst a sea of bladesingers, bards, and outsiders. It was impressive that her proximity made most of the others in the growing crowd dull by comparison. However, I had no clue what kind of thing she was except for the word faun, as I had never encountered a creature like her. She had horns, furry legs ending in hooved feet, and a bust that would make even the most notoriously loose of tavern wenches jealous. It was hard not to stare, and when I caught her grey eyes shift in my direction I quickly looked away. In that split second I knew, somewhere deep down, that she was not someone I wanted to make an enemy.

Of all things to round out the party with, a dark elf. It was as if the very heavens opened up, the god of misfortune looked down at the world, and with sly grin picked me to be the one to gain her attention. I looked to the azure sky above, inhaling the fresh cold air, and cursed fate itself. The particular Alerian that strode towards my growing group was bluster and confidence in physical form. She wore clothes that made me wonder if she had intentionally purchased them as camouflage, crimson and black to blend with the forest. The moment she greeted the goat-lady and the exchange between the two finished I could tell we were cut from similar cloth, and yet opposite in almost every way.

“Interesting,” I mumbled. The diverse company was complete and after a moment to assign names from the list to the faces before me I was ready to begin. I picked up my polearm and propped it on my shoulder, careful as I turned and started for the forest. There was much to be said between the party, but words were left for another time. Other parties had already begun to roam towards the crimson woods, starting on their journey to cleanse the Forgotten’s lingering curse. I couldn’t let them accomplish their goals if I wanted to study Podë’s power and had no intention of being the last to begin the High Bard Councils quest. “Let’s be off.”

We walked in relative silence, slowly approaching the Lindequalmë . Two weeks had passed since I had walked out of the woods, two weeks of questioning my disappearance and the fate of my squad. Telling the bladesingers or the bards the truth would have undoubtedly meant my execution. The high elves were not very forgiving when Xem’Zund’s name was behind the death of their own, and would have killed me on the spot if they knew it was by his hand that my soul had returned to my body after being dead for almost a decade. In the back of my head I could feel his presence, not turned in my direction but always lingering.

I stopped a moment at the line of trees, placed my hand on the trunk of a silver birch, and inhaled deeply. Even my sharp green eyes could not penetrate more than a few feet. The Red Forest was not a place to be taken lightly, even when the dangers were well known. With my free hand I tossed open my doublet in a flourish, letting my penchant for flair act as confidence as it always had in the past. I tossed a charming smirk over my shoulder and nodded to the twisted trees. “Are you ladies ready for what we’re about to encounter?”

“Or not,” The only acknowledgment I received was from the dark elf, the brim of her wide hat nodding ever so slightly. With a casual shrug I started into the thicket. It was never the first few steps that added to the trepidation in an adventurer’s heart. The base of each birch was warped and contorted as it stretched from the thick mat of feathery ferns. If it wasn’t for the nature of the forest we were walking into it would have been beautiful. Jagged black streaks across the trunks separated parchment thin sheets of bark, year-round crimson leaves hung from thin boughs as if heavy laden by the weight of the persistent curse. The ferns were soft and deep orange, as gentle as the down of a nestling baby bird but tried to suction to my legs as I walked through.

“The calm before the storm,” I thought as I used the heavy dehlar blade to shove aside and cut through hidden vines beneath the carpet of growth. It was only a matter of time before the trees began to change, the undergrowth became vicious and blood-thirsty, and the true dangers of the Lindequalmë were expressed. I stopped as a deer appeared for a moment in the distance. It lifted its dagger like crown of antlers, ripping scars into a tree with the movement. I pointed it out to the others and watched it turn away, most of its hide eaten away by some sort of maroon colored moss-like contagion. “You almost feel sorry for it, huh?”

[Philomel]

Deep green, soft green, dying green, ugly green.

The edge of the forest still retained something of its once natural colour. In a moment of pure bliss it was caught between the Thaynes, the attempt to re-open the Tap and the power of minor gods; this was a copse worth fighting for. If there was a singular Earth Mother then this would be her battleground against the evil works of Pode. Or if there was a singular hero this would be where she stood to begin her conquest to bring back life to the bleeding foliage. However, for now, this was just the start of the deadly path for the Nightingale, the faun blessed by Drys, and an earth spirit who was likewise growing in power. Together, in this faint haven of a forsaken paradise they could fight, and delve deeper into the Red Forest to wipe the Red Witch for once off the face of Raiaera.

Silently, after a moment’s prayer to their goddess, the two of them turned to wander back down the nearly un-noticable tracks back towards the rest of their company. They had left them to conduct some religious practise in private before the war ahead. Quickly the green of the leaves turned back to a thick crimson, and the bark transformed to a silver with an almost starlight quality. In some other time it would be magnificent to speak of and see, and maybe in another place, but underneath the canopy of this mad forest it was no comfort. The silver only spoke lies and deceit and the promise of something that was not truly good; a thing of which Philomel knew well.

I would prefer it if we had ventured here with Farragise, Veridian grumbled, right into her mind. She was much help the last time we were here.

Looking around her, checking every branch in case it came to life and snapped at them, Philomel kept walking and took time to reply.

That, my dear, was more than a month ago. Now we are here for quite a different purpose.

Ha! said the fox-formed spirit, bounding over a large grey root. He landed, soundless, in a patch of plantless dirt, where his paws formed perfect little prints. Swishing his tail, he danced in delight around his mark. Different purpose indeed! We are as likely to die now as we were then.

There were noises in the distance. Philomel wrinkled her nose in slight distaste, but nodded forwards, recognising the two distinctly different elves and the human around the edges of trees before them.

We have a bigger group this time, she reminded him. Third time lucky or what have you, darling, but we have some company.

Pah! Not like you and I can take care of our-

He jumped, let out a sudden shriek as a thorn-adorned vine suddenly detached itself from a tree. Previously it had been still and silent, just looking as normal as vegetation should be. It was deadly and sickly blood-red with veins of vomit-brown flowing through it and points as black as night. When a whisp of Veridian’s hair brushed past it the plant-beast whipped up and smacked heavily against his side. Coming seemingly from nowhere neither of them expected it, and it threw the fox-formed spirit mercilessly into a trunk.

Memories of a similar time involving a manticore and a flying island suddenly flooded into Philomel’s mind. Her beloved had been downed then, too, and sent unconscious for Drys knew how long, until they has escaped the bloody place. The anger and sheer rage suddenly ripped through Philomel again as she experienced the pain through their mental connection. Grabbing the hilt of her sword she drew out the shining white blade and ran into fierce retaliation. As the deadly thorns, each as sharp as a shark’s ragged tooth, seemed to enlong and the vine raised for another attack, the faun sprinted like a shadow in the night.

She planted one hoof on the ground and exerted as much energy as she dared. The vine, seething with unfathomed hatred, reached the climax of its ascent - and then whisked, whacked, right down again. Aiming for the earth spirit. Except in this case -

Phhiillommeeelll ...

As a deadly lady of assassination, Philomel met the plant head on. Thrusting her horns into its stem she thwacked it in mid-air in the pivotal moment of her leap. Her blade of white equally moved as strong and swift, cutting through the flesh like a thirsty vampire. A tremble ran through the vine before it came crashing down to the ground, its sap leaking like blood on the dirt.

Near it, and near the bashed and bruised Veridian, Philomel landed, heavily. She rocked on her hooves, gasping slightly for a single breath. As she bent to scoop Veridian up with her free arm the pounding of footsteps could be heard behind.

The voice of Alydia Ettermire came first. “Careful,” she said in an irritatingly silky smooth voice, “There are more vampires among the boughs of the Lindequalme than in the rest of the world entire."

Philomel turned on one hoof to face the company. Of course the thief had stepped forwards and held in her hand a piece of severed blood-vine. As she finished off her speech the object vanished into a void of darkness.

“Whatever, Ettermire.”

The faun glared at the Aleraran thief as she slid her mythril sword back into its sheath. Veridian gulped for air as he leant against her bosom, trying to recover as fast as he could. Tossing back her plait and pretending not to care anymore, Philomel moved quickly, past the elves and the human, back the way they had just come.

“We should get moving.”

She strode right into the foliage, chin slightly raised in an attempt to look more powerful, as much of a competition for the leadership of this group than Ettermire. In a few more steps she bent to place Veridian back on the ground, and so had more freedom to draw her sword, now grungy green with the sap, and her dagger The Lover, in case any more vines needed felling. She did not care much if the others followed close or far, all she was concerned with was showing her strength of mind and attitude. For she was not going to be denied her part of the fighting here.

Deeper into the forest they strove, to a place where thing grew darker and more bloody. The other groups - Philomel had no idea where they might be, but hers was likely close behind from what her quiet moments of reaching out with her earth sense told her. Danger lurked in the shadows of the dark, that was well known, but quite what danger befell them next was beyond anyone’s imagination.

[Rayleigh]

As the party ventured deeper in the crimson-stained forest, they naturally fractured into smaller units. The faun whore took the lead, and the ex-bladesinger trudged close behind, each ignoring the other as they moved across the carpet of vermillion leaves. This provided the perfect opportunity for the young human to drift closer to the dark elf. As a fellow Alerian, Alydia struck Ray as the best person to confide in; the brunette was plagued by questions, but she feared Arphenion and Philomel might be put-off by her lack of knowledge. Instead, she chose to avoid the pair altogether, and find her answers with the much more even-tempered thief.

Sidling up to the slightly taller woman, the mechanic gave a short cough to catch Alydia’s attention. Then, in a voice meant only for the elf, she began, “so, do you know what happened to the forest? Why it is all red?”

Aly looked at Rayleigh from under the broad brim of her hat. History… history was one of the Alerian elf’s passions, but not everyone shared it. A young human Alerian, from a working-class family, wouldn’t have much use for Pode or the Lindequalme. Which meant she had no idea what she was getting into. Still, she was wide-eyed and seemed eager to learn, and Alydia liked that characteristic. Trust a human to dive into unknown depths and then ask if what swam there were sharks or dolphins. It was one of the race’s most endearing traits.

Red lips pulled up into a smile. “You would have been young when the Corpse War happened, but I’m sure you heard of it? You’d have been just about old enough for every whisper to run wild in your imagination. So you’ve heard of at least one Forgotten One. There were five. Xem’zund was the instigator of the nastiness that consumed the rest of this nation, Denebriel took over Salvar and made a cult around herself, and while the other two are fascinating, they aren’t who we’re dealing with. The fifth was named Pode. She stole what was most beautiful from Raiaera: Belegwain i Beleg. This was about a thousand years ago, give or take a few decades to a century. In its place, she left this.”

A gloved hand waved, indicating the forest and the red haze that surrounded them like a bloody mist. “Lindequalme. Death Song Forest, in Tradespeak. She corrupted and twisted it, left it a scarred place. An evil place. A place so hungry for life, it will take it from whatever source it can get. That little fox up there, the faun who belongs to it, the former Bladesinger, me, you. The other fools who dare cross its borders.”

Mild amusement twinkled in Alydia’s visible eye. “If you’re asking how much trouble you’ve walked into, young one… the answer is a lot.”

The pair walked in shared silence for the next few moments, Rayleigh fighting to comprehend all that she had just learned, and Alydia giving her the space to do so. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot, and the occasional call of some wild animal from the depths of the forest. Aston’s small frame shivered at the noise, now cursed to wonder what sort of creature would linger in such a damned place.

“Alright,” came Rayleigh’s answer, voice wavering, and barely a whisper; it still seemed too loud in the still of the Red Forest. Her tone, and every line of her body, revealed the fear she now experienced. I’ve gone and done it again, a voice murmured from the back of her mind. Getting involved in business I shouldn't have, and now I'm back in deep shit. Did I learn nothing from the demon?

Alydia Ettermire’s blue eyes rested on the girl, observing her internal struggle without comment or condemnation. It was clear that Ray was struggling to come to terms with the new information, and it was difficult to watch. Finally, the dark elf's hand gripped the young woman’s shoulder with reassuring firmness. “Dos phuul bwael. Usstan'bal aslu dos.” You’re all right. I’ve got you. If Rayleigh had no other ally in this massive mess of mangled maleficence, she at least had her fellow Alerian.

At the sound of her native tongue, soft traces of reassurance flickered across Aston's face. The lines of worry which had criss-crossed her brow lightened, and her small body deflated slightly as she breathed a small sigh of relief. I'll be okay, she mused, emerald gaze flitting from her surroundings to her companion. Last time, I was alone. This time, I won't be.

Satisfied that she had done something to soothe the young woman's nerves, the elf looked at the ever-shrinking backs of their companions. “...I think they’re going the wrong way. Let’s catch up and see if we can’t organize ourselves so that we at least have meaningful direction. I’m going on ahead; don’t trust anything.”

The warning fell on deaf ears, as the petite human's attention had already moved elsewhere. The object of her fascination was bathed in the same rich reds of the rest of the forest, and had it not been for one unique feature, it may have been overlooked altogether. As if entranced, Rayleigh drew closer, coral lips parting to emit a soft sigh of delight.

Before her stood the most exquisite flower the young woman had ever laid eyes on. It was enormous, its diameter comparable to the girl's own arm-span. Six perfectly round petals unfurled from a raised center, tips curling upward slightly as they kissed the soil below. An intricate braid of vines and wood spilled from the bottom of the flower, anchoring it to the ground and a nearby tree; even the impressive girth of the flower itself could not hold a candle to the size of the plant as a whole. At the heart of the massive bloom, settled between the petals, was a gaping hole.

Perhaps the flower's most bizarre element was the light that shone from within its hollow center. When the strange glow had initially caught her eye, it had been nothing but a miniscule speck in the haze. She could have sworn that the light grew brighter as she grew nearer. Slowing to a halt beside the unusual plant, she inhaled deeply, flooding her senses with a sharp, peculiar mixture of earth and cinnamon.

There was no doubt in her mind now that the plant had reacted to her presence; the glow was far more brilliant than it had ever been before. The plant's core shimmered and danced before her, bringing a warm and welcome relief from the dark and dangerous forest.

With no hesitation, and no regard for Alydia's wise words, Rayleigh plunged her hand into the blinding light.

And then her world went black.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Alydia chuckled a little to herself while she approached the swifter travelers. The brazen faun had, through pride and bull-headedness, attempted to wrest control of the group, with the Bladesinger neither truly following nor trying to lead her. What Philomel had failed to notice was that there was only one member of the group to lead – the whore would listen to no reason, the former Bladesinger knew no humility, and the thief saw no sense in being part of the power struggle. So by virtue of their shared nationality, walking slower to accommodate the human’s pace, and a gentler touch, she’d attracted the one follower the little party had to offer. She wondered if the Crimson Hand's Master of Secrets had ever considered whether there might be more than one way to lead.


She really didn't care to command the cocky strumpet or the cold soldier. Their missions and goals had nothing to do with what she needed; if they distracted whatever the forest had to offer, they served her purpose and were welcome to think they led her. If it cost them their lives, that was not her concern. Just so long as she took from this polluted morass the things that she needed, Arphenion and van der Aart could rot.

“Aie,” she called out. “The turnoff is back this w-“

A soft gasp from behind her. The crisp rustle of disturbed leaves. A meaty whump.

Aly’s blood froze in her veins, her words dying in her throat. Had she not just told the little one to be mindful of herself? Had she not just promised to protect her?

She spun on her heel, crimson coat swirling scarlet mist. Fleet feet drew her to Rayleigh’s side, where the young mechanic lay lifeless, crumpled in the leaf litter. Alydia turned her over, lifting her eyelids and patting her face to try and gauge response. “Rayleigh? Rayleigh!”

Nothing. The girl’s complexion was waxy and ashen, her skin cool and clammy, her breath soft and shallow. If not for the way her eyes twitched under their lids, like cats desperately trying to escape a cage, Alydia might have given her up for dead.

A small wisp of something glowed at Aston’s lips, and when the other Alerian reached to touch it, it crackled back at her, repelling the shadow magic that flowed through the thief. It had to be some sort of light magic, or… Or some sort of spiritual magic.

Blue eyes looked up, scanning the immediate vicinity. Where was it? Amidst so much red, almost anything could camouflage itself. So too would the piece of flora that had caught Rayleigh, if not for the way the plant, near-starved of its preferred source of nourishment, luminesced brightly. The flower was beautiful, almost delicate-looking, but huge - easily as wide across as a wagon wheel. The snarls of stems that siphoned life out of the tree it attached to were gnarled, woody, and twisted like an ancient rat nest. The whole plant was easily taller than two men standing one on the other’s shoulders and wider than a barge.

“Fealote!” she called to the other two, identifying the soul-stealing plant. “Detach its roots, or she’s dead!”

[Ranger]

Philomel van der Aart, was a name I was not going to forget anytime soon. She was overly boisterous in her own manner, yet seemed to be aloof from the party the same way I was. The curse of the Forgotten was something that was lingering on the minds of each of us, as was the reason we would endeavor to undertake the cause. I wanted to know their motivations but trying to talk to the others had only allowed for curt responses, unanswered questions, and disinterest. For me, it was a matter of learning all I could about the Tap. Pode was the only active member of the feared fraternity of ancient mages remaining on Althanas, though even I questioned as to whether she actually existed in a physical form any longer. It would be remarkable, but her command of nature was a potential means by which she could survive – in the same was Xem’Zund’s dominance as a necromancer extended that advantage.

The beacon of magical energy embodied as the faun was a curiosity. I could not identify the type of power that she possessed, only its existence. If I had to take a guess as to the motivation of the wild-haired woman it ran along the lines of exploring spirit of the forest, or perhaps she truly believed in the cure for the woods. Whatever the case was, she was stalwart and defiant in her resolution to be the leader of the expedition, as if others were contending. I had my own goals with absolutely no desire to lead the ragtag misfits and Alydia seemed even less interested than I. She seemed more focused on making the young human feel at ease.

I turned my attention from the faun, leaving her to the concern of her pet and whatever bravado she wished to muster. If she wished to hold the world on her shoulders she was welcome to. I, on the other hand, knew the dangers of the forest and wished to remain at least nominally close to the rest of the group. As my emerald eyes shifted focus I watched one of the horrors of the Lindequalme come to life, I realized the imminent threat as soon as the slim girl drew closer to it and fell in a slump.

“Of course she would be the one to be caught. This is why children shouldn’t be here.”

The screaming terror in the voice of the Alerian caught me off-guard. Apparently the chatter between the two of them my half-elf ears had picked up – the intolerable dark elf tongue and common mixed – had brought them closer than realized. I watched while Alydia bent to scoop up the comatose girl and call out the danger. “Did none of you take the time to inform yourselves of the perils this place holds?”

Nonchalantly I pulled my felt cavalier hat down, tightening its grip on my crown. With dexterous fingers I started to spin my polearm, building momentum while walking towards the glowing plant. The heavy guandao began to rattle with the nine rings of steel clattered against the dehlar blade, a rhythmic tone I used to focus. Each rotation brought a heavy hum, the weight of the blade splitting the air and singing with the friction. The Fealote plant was a carnivorous anomaly unique to the forest, one that did not sap the life and blood of the victim but the soul itself. In a way, it was feeding on the latent magical energy of the creature it trapped with its overwhelming allure.

“Oh it’s not so dire, Ettermire. No need to be melodramatic, we have plenty of time.” I said with an unimpressed sigh. I walked past the venomous glare of the dark elf and towards the plant. The key was to not disrupt the flower or the pod it expressed itself from, that was where the trapped soul was being held. Too much damage to the shell and its containment and Rayleigh’s soul would leak like water from a cracked dam, never recoverable. Instead the thick roots needed to be severed, and the weapon in my hands was the perfect way to shred through them. “Do not strike the pod or she will be lost, if you strike the petals the plant will harden its roots faster.”

With that I let the first gouge take form, placing all of the momentum into an upward arch. The tip of the blade caught the ground and ripped through the soft, nearly black loam leaving a score leading to the root. It shredded through it effortlessly, severing the soft vine-like material in two. For just a moment a gush of ethereal light poured from the wound alongside a sputter of green bile, the sap of the flower, then it was extinguished. I looked up with a smile after grazing through another, but it seemed the effect of each slice had diminishing returns. The glow of the beast was beginning to dim, but its luminescence was shrinking slowly to concentrate at its core.

Each cut became more difficult, my blade slowing with the hardening sap and thicker and heavier roots closer to the core. The damage to the plant was all I could do without delving into songmage spells – abilities I did not want the others to know about in case I needed an advantage later. Each laborious step was slower than the last, momentum coming close to a complete stop. Frustration began to build and I turned to the others, bluntly grunting out orders. “I need help… we need to cut faster than it can defend, the flesh is thickening and the roots are more dense.”

Without a word Alydia gently placed Rayleigh on the soft ferns tenderly as if a mother putting her child to bed. She gave one last glance at the girl before approaching the flowers. I wasn’t sure if she knew what she was doing, or intentionally ignoring my orders to leave the bud itself alone. As if to answer she brought her hand to the edge of the pod, brushing it while letting soft strokes of shadow linger along the sides. The light flickered for a moment, as if almost giving in to whatever magic the dark elf used. The shadow extended to wrap around before its fleeting presence disappeared. My next stroke smashed more than cut through what had been a nearly impenetrable root. “That will do!”

[Philomel]

Her eyes lit up like beams of hellfire as she turned back around. Bidden to by the dark elf, they widened and then stared at the Ettermire canoodling the prone form of the young pretty human.

In a mad rush of silence Philomel took in the wide petals, the deep crevice that was the light, and the flailing arms that were the roots of the thing. She saw the struggling elf as he began to attack the thick vines near the base of the flower, as he yelled something about 'flesh thickening'. The faun gently titled her head, thinking to herself, before reaching out with her earth sense. With it she sent her energy and her soul and sense of being through the soil under her hooves, embracing the dirt beneath. In a span of fift metres her awareness rapidly expanded until she could identify the very smallest of weakest weeds struggling for survival.

Veridian came up slowly beside her, like another disinterested god looking at these poor flailing mortals.

A soul flower, I think, he said, At least that is what my kind call it.

Indeed ... she replied, murmuring into his mind, I have heard of them and seen them but never thought they actually ate your soul.

The little fox yawned and stretched his forepaws as his tail flicked out behind him. Those gorgeous golden eyes blinked before a tongue flicked out and tasted the scent of spilling sap in the air.

I can see the roots going down about thirty feet, the Matriarch gimaced, thirty feet and there are more than plenty of them.

Numerous?

Definitely, she said, smiling, taking her keris blade into hand. Enough for both of us.

Deftly she flicked the trigger beneath the hilt of her curved dagger. At once firey essence whipped up and down the short but elegant green metal. Like a wave of life it sliced through the air, cleaving breath in twaine as she swung out her main sword, still unnamed, to match it, and the two prepared to dance side by side, ready to free Rayleigh Aston from the worst of fates.

Veridian hissed, savagely, and then bounded forwards. As he did so the Behemoth of legends old filled his blood and fire bubbled from his pores. With the first pawstep he had quadrupled in size, and his jaws were capable of chomping throats from barbarians. It was an old spirit, an ancient being that filled him from nose-tip to swishing tail full of direst cruelty and power, and gave all he had in service to the fight. Roaring in rage he sprung forwards, as beside him Philomel raced, both of them armed with flames and both of them deadly to this battle.

Both of them capable of taking down several roots alone.

Bravely they lunged late in time into the fray, joining hands with the elves to save the young mechanic's soul.

[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!