AC Finals: The Mongrel

[Silence Sei]

Apologies for getting this up late. You have two weeks from 12:01 PM CST to complete this thread. The 24 hour rule has been waived for the finals. Will the Mongrel prove why she's Top Dog against a Forgotten One?! Good Luck!

[The Mongrel]

Unwoven


Long life our Father gave us,
He who watches from on high.
Good health our Mother gave us,
She who tends us in the night.
The seas were from the Rain Star,
So the world we could explore.
We have weapons from the Swift and Silver Stars,
To defend ourselves in war.
It was the gentle Sweet Star
Who gave us art and splendor bright.
And the youngest Star, who loved us best,
Gave song and memory to keep nigh. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHINPB_-wRA&ab_channel=TwoStepsFromHell)
Traditional Raiaeran Nursery Rhyme



Podë is lost. No one starts out meaning harm to others. At some point, her mind or soul or intentions must have been twisted into something she never wanted or foresaw. At some point, she must have had a reason for the things she did. At some point, she must have either gone completely mad… or completely sane.

I spent days in the Lindequalmë following the star-lit path.

Almost immediately after leaving the mausoleum, it manifested in a quiet tunnel underneath tangles of ancient roots. It twisted and turned deep into the bowels of the earth, drawing me inexorably along. In some places it was wide enough for five fully grown human males to pass abreast, in others it was so narrow that I had to shove my weapons and gear ahead of me and squeeze through jutting roots or long-entrenched boulders. Above, I could hear moans, shrieks, and crunching footsteps. Podë’s horde marched above my head, either utterly oblivious to my passage or utterly unable to reach me.

Whatever plans the path - no. Whatever plans the Stars had for me, they were concerned with preserving me from the relentless onslaught of the forest. I definitely heard the Death Song’s trills and refrains, but it did not touch me.

I had plenty of time during the walk to reflect. Why was I drawn inexorably forward, when people who were stronger, smarter, or more righteous than I had surely been overcome by the Lindequalmë and its mistress’s machinations? I was just a stray dog. What made me special?

I wouldn’t have returned to Raiaera but for my brother’s request. Why would he write for my aid when he knew I was just a petty criminal? Why the duality in throwing me to the wolves (well, Dur’Taigen, but same difference) and then being so concerned about the dangers of traveling with an orc? I hoped we'd both be alive later so I could ask him.

That turned my thoughts to Erirag. We’d both fallen prey to Podë’s deceptions at the mausoleum. For all I knew, this quiet path through silver-kissed gloom was just one more illusion. What had my former companion’s fate been? Had she named me urukhai, an orc, and then met her doom after we parted? Or had she safely returned to camp as intended? I hoped she’d find her way home, wherever home was.

What of the idiots I’d been assigned to when I first stepped into the Lindequalmë? The world would lose nothing if the Asshole and the Ape, in their infinite human hubris, had succumbed to the Witch’s wrath. The blonde who had stormed off in a huff, though, Alyssa, I wondered if she had survived the forest. Maybe that was only because I saw myself in her. Myself with half a century of life stripped away, anyway. I remember being unbalanced and uncertain. I remember being alone and afraid. I remember clawing and scrabbling for my place in the world. I hoped she’d find hers.

Without having to worry about stealth in my crypt-like corridor, I picked up speed. If I was going to die seeking my answers, I’d rather hurry up and get it over with.

More questions filtered through my mind with every step. Why had the Stars sat idle through the ravages of the Corpse War, but chosen to act now, when the elves were going out of their way to attack Podë? Was the loss of Belegwain i Beleg so much more offensive than the loss of so much of Raiaera and so many Raiaerans? Or was something present on the Day of Burning that wasn’t during those dark days?

If so, what?

I almost hoped my curiosity killed me. Then the questions would at least stop.

[The Mongrel]

Podë is misbegotten. Whatever she once was, what she is is made of anger and fear. She is isolated, not just from her kind, but from the world entire. She is a goddess who has been scorned and hunted like a rabid dog. Of course that makes her dangerous - perhaps even more dangerous than if we’d just left her alone.

The tunnel ended abruptly, shoving me unceremoniously into the sea of trunks. So far into the forest, the air didn’t reek of miasma and bitter blood. I breathed deep, drawing in the cool scent of night blossoms and welcoming the gentle breeze on my face. The dirt embedded in my pores rebelled against my freedom, itching like a firestorm now that I was out of those claustrophobic confines.

All lore I knew spoke of greater dangers this deep in the forest than the Dur'Taigen pack and the resurrected warriors I'd faced earlier. If the tales were to be believed, the very beat of my heart might summon my death in these parts. While that might have ordinarily been true, the commotion above my passage told me that Podë had sent most of them toward the edges to repel the intruders and keep them away from her heart. After my long walk beneath the Lindequalmë, though, I would have gladly faced a dragon just to breathe sweeter air than musty loam and mildewed fungus.

Impenetrable darkness shrouded the depths of the Lindequalmë; a member of a night-blind race would not have seen far beyond his arm span even with a torch. I could see myriad vines dangling and flowers opening as clearly as if they were lit by full sun. Snakes slithered through the leaf litter, hunting the smaller rodents and lizards that skittered over the forest floor. For once I was glad of my mixed heritage; I wouldn’t stumble blindly and brightly, drawing undue attention to myself.

Why am I here? Where am I? What now?

Buried underground for so long to push my way past the horde, I had no accurate measure of distance, direction, or even time. I might have been a hundred miles into the forest. I might have only been five miles from the edge. There was no sign either way.

After a moment of stillness, I caught sight of the path that had brought me thus far. Flecks of silver touched a twig here, or a leaf there, leaving a subtle trail. I’d followed it that far, and without any clue as to my location, I had no choice but to stay my course.

I stalked those woods for what seemed like ages. The path wound in curves and corkscrews, sometimes up trees and through thickets, sometimes over slick lichen or soft moss. Occasionally I saw a reason for the roundabout route. A smattering of giant constructs lumbered through the mists, and a few herds of undead deer and horses trotted through the grounds they’d known in life, and my path veered to avoid them. How old were they? Did they date back to the Durklan?

Gradually the smothering darkness broke. At first a few shards of moonlight lanced through tiny cracks in the branches and buried themselves in the forest floor. Then it carved a path like cobblestones and laid a road like flagstones, leading ever deeper into the woods.

As the trees spread out and the forest became less oppressive, the colors shifted. Silver birch, green poplar, and even blue liviol intermixed with the red. Delicate ivies replaced thorny vines. Glass mirrors and ornaments adorned many branches - the area looked more like a carefully-cultivated courtyard than part of a cursed forest, right down to the little table set up with wine and fruit beside a flowing fountain.

A woman stood beside the table. Her alabaster skin contrasted sharply with the luxurious purple of her dress. Her hair flowed like bloody waves over her shoulders and down her back. Her emerald eyes widened when she caught sight of me.

“Of all who entered my forest, you were one of the few I did expect to see again. But I did not expect to see you at this grove.”

[The Mongrel]

Podë is friendless. There were only five of her kind to begin with. Two of them have been banished from the Firmament, destroyed in their entirety. The other two haven’t been heard from in centuries. She alone is active. She has followers, yes, and people who crawl this forest even now seeking to preserve and protect her. But they are her pawns, not her companions, and the rest of the world marches against her.

My sword flashed into my hand, sparkling with a mythril fury all its own. I leveled the blade at Podë, who gave me the same amused, un-intimidated look I’d give to any Radasanthian urchin who dared threaten me with a pen knife. She was politely not laughing in my face, but the dismissive wave of her hand said that she wouldn’t tolerate my nonsense for long. “Put it away, child. You couldn’t kill me, and if you think – really think – you’ll find that you do not actually desire to.”

I kept my weapon between myself and the Red Witch. “You called my lover faithless, me foolish, and tried to kill me twice over. That’s a good reason to try.”

“But is it a good reason to die?” Podë tilted her head, challenging my mortality. “Honestly, if you’d rather do this the easy way, I can simply kill you now. But I think that you, Illara Alfheim, of all the beings on Althanas, might understand my side of this mess. I am not quite the monster your people have portrayed me as.” Her tone was patient, almost gentle.

“Your side?” I hissed. “You destroyed the most beautiful part of Raiaera out of spite. You cursed and murdered-“

“That is the Raiaeran side.” Podë's voice turned to ice. “I am disappointed that you haven’t broadened your perspective beyond those petty lies. This forest was my homeland, in a far distant time. It was the cradle of a proud, fine civilization. Your ancestors stole our lands from my people, swarming like maggots on a corpse. When we fought back, they annihilated us. Yes, I destroyed what the elves wanted in this forest. Yes, it was purely for the sake of not letting them have it. If some stronger power than you came, killed everyone you loved, then moved to take your home, would you let them have it as the victors of war, or would you burn it to the ground?”

My sword lowered a fraction of an inch. She’d been in my head at least once; she knew I’d rather torch Unfounded than let someone else take it from me. “You’re drawing comparisons where they don’t work.” Podë was a manipulative bitch. I had to remember that.

“Don’t they? The elves spin themselves as blameless and morally superior, but they drove out this land's native peoples for the simple crime of existing in their way. They exiled much of their own population for a mere difference in ideology, rather than letting their minds and culture expand and strengthen. Even now, most of them look down their noses at anyone who isn’t exactly like them, so caught up in their vanity and venality that they ignore their own stagnation.”

Podë's eyes traveled over me with a strange mixture of sympathy and admiration. “Why are you here, Illara? Why have you come? Obviously you are strong, smart and brave. You have survived this far and come to me. But why is it not your brother here, in mortal peril? Why is it not some other Bard or Bladesinger, or a whole troop of them? If your motherland’s military felt strong enough to challenge me, why did they summon and send unwitting foreigners into the deadliest place on Althanas? Clearly, none of those lives were of value to them. Your life was of no value to the one who sent you. You were simply called for and used. What do you owe here, what do you owe them, that it is worth so much?”

I lowered my sword to my side, where the light on it rippled with murderous rage. I didn’t sheathe it or take my eyes from the demi-goddess. What did I owe? Why had I come?

[The Mongrel]

Podë is faithless. She watches outsiders march into her stronghold to ensure her demise. She knows the world is out to get her. There is no one to support her, no one strong enough to stop her impending death. Every power in the world has forsaken her. Every power but her own.

Podë stepped toward me, shimmering in the moonlight. She halted after a single stride when I whipped my sword back up. “You’ve come into my home exhausted and filthy. I would hardly be a hostess if I didn’t offer you the opportunity to refresh yourself.”

“Do you think I’d believe in your hospitality?” My muscles burned from the tension in my stance. Like a feral hound faced with the dog catcher, I was snarling and bristling, threatening to bite, because people aren’t just welcoming and accommodating to me. Ever. Not my kin, not strangers, not sweet little human grandmothers. Certainly not a demi-deity who held my ancestors responsible for her actions.

Her hands spread slightly, moving out to her sides with her palms out in a gesture of appeasement. "I would not expect you to simply trust me even if I was not me. Trust has never been your reality, Illara, and I understand that better than most. You've spent your life wanting nothing more than to be accepted, to be cradled and loved. But you've experienced rejection so much that you don’t know how to handle the thing you want most. You don’t know how to act. So when given the opportunity, you react wrong, get pushed aside, and then that deepens the pain you’ve always felt and justifies your sense that you will never belong."

Podë's tone, calm and almost warm, cut through a little bit of my wall. I didn't know if she was in my head again, digging for my secrets, but no one had ever vocalized that one. Not even me. My posture relaxed a little bit in response to her understanding, though I kept my sword out.

She stepped toward me again in the same way I'd seen my people approach many a terrified urchin on the streets, in the same way I'd approached many runaways and strays who had put up similar displays to my own: unthreatened, but unthreatening. The clover underfoot whispered in her wake, quietly urging me to be calm.

"What have you been greeted with in Raiaera to justify your aid to them? Your own blood sent you into exile, then called you back for their selfish cause. You were sent into the forest with ill intentions by your handlers, first with a group of violent and manipulative personalities, then with an orc. Never mind that you survived and triumphed, that is your doing. Your own people never meant you to survive, just as they do not mean me to survive. Would you allow yourself to so easily yield to their disrespect? Or will you rise above their machinations and be who you are?"

She reached out and put a fingertip beneath my sword, tilting it gently up so I caught sight of my reflection in the shining mythril. Dirt smeared my face so that I looked more like a mud-wrought construct than any type of elf, my hair had slipped from its braid and drooped like a wilting tree.

Most strange and striking, though, were my eyes. They'd always been a deep green, but now they shone silver. A few legends spoke of elven warriors or prophets whose eye color had changed in the same manner. While it hadn't happened in the last four or five thousand years, we still had a name for the phenomenon: Elendethoa, Star-Chosen.

Why had it happened? And when?

I looked back at the Red Witch, who was rubbing her fingers as though wiping filth from them. She was more than correct that I didn't owe Raiaera one damned thing. Haide, I'd realized on the boat from Radasanth that I shouldn't have come. There seemed to be no reason to attack the Lindequalmë, not with so much of their farmlands and hearthlands still rotting beneath Xem'zûnd's curse. Should not their focus have been there, where it was needed, instead of engaging in this forest frivolity? Why waste their resources in an area where no elves have been able to live for over a thousand years, especially since she'd posed no immediate threat prior? Did the High Bard Council feel that the cleansing of the Red Forest would help them pick up momentum and aid for what was really important? Did they not have better ways?

[The Mongrel]

Podë is Forgotten.

I stood a little straighter and lowered my sword, still pointing it at Podë, but holding it loosely. "I owe Raiaera nothing, it is true. I owe its gods nothing, and its bards nothing. I owe nothing to the man who summoned me here. But you admit that I have no reason to trust you, nor do I have any ties to you. Why should I not at least try to kill you?"

Podë's eyebrows raised, though I couldn't tell if she was insulted that a mere mortal would demand further reasoning from her or impressed that I'd had the gall to ask. She held the expression for only a moment, then smiled.

"Oh, you are brave, child. Most would be content to simply walk away alive." She motioned me to the fountain. "Come here."

I stepped warily through the soft mosses and small plants that carpeted the grove. It was peaceful, despite practically being Podë's parlor. I didn't know what to expect if I ever met one of my people's ancient enemies, but a well-manicured ornamental courtyard was not one of the images I'd had in mind.

"This is my home. Why would it not be beautiful?" Her verbal response to my unspoken question laid musically over the soft chimes of swaying glass and the wind through the leaves. She was definitely in my head. But how far could she reach?

I sat on the fountain's lip as I was bidden, but refused the offer of wine or food. Never trust nourishment from a deity of destruction, just as a general rule. She didn't seem offended; trust had to be earned. Any trust. And I was a difficult subject at best. Instead, she soaked a cloth in the water that rushed over the fountain's smooth, cold marble and offered it to me. My hand didn't erupt in burns or boils on contact, so I wiped my face.

“Look at yourself.” Podë put a hand on my shoulder, despite my flinch, and directed my gaze into the gently rippling waters. “Have you not always felt that you could have been so much more if only you weren't hampered by how other people judged you? Have you not spent your entire life scratching and clawing for better than you have always had, but thwarted by what you cannot help but be? How about, to prove that I am not the monster you've been taught I am, I give you the chance your own people and gods would not?”

She knows. Why would she bring the Stars into it if she didn't know that I knew what the eye change meant? What was her angle? Survival, obviously; one does not become the Red Witch by being altruistic. But there were always exceptions to a con. Maybe she saw herself in me, as I'd seen myself in Alyssa - alone, abused, oppressed, desperately struggling to validate my existence and then angrily throwing it away. Was that her, as well? The Raiaeran elves paint the Alerian elves as monsters; as a half-breed, I was an abomination. But I didn't think of myself as a monster. Was she not, either?

"Let me show you the others who are challenging parts of me, in other parts of my forest." She reached past me and touched the water. It stilled, and four murky windows blossomed in the fountains depths. In them, I saw two faces I knew personally - Alyssa Snow and Erirag Songcrafter. Then there was Madison Freebird, whose paths had never (and hopefully would never) crossed my own, but whose visage was unmistakable. The last was a human male I didn't recognize.

"Vincent Cain," Podë supplied. "He wants to be more than what he is and desires what he cannot have, and so he faces my envy. Madison is so driven by bitterness and rage that it consumes her, and so she faces my hate. The orc struggles with the notion of beauty, and thus faces my vanity. All I am to them is a reflection of themselves."

I looked at her sharply. "What of Alyssa?"

A warm, almost indulgent smile crossed the Witch's face. "Alyssa is my daughter, and I am proud of her. Perhaps it is from my own attachment that she faces my pride."

"And me?"

A sly look crossed her face for a split second. Then kindness crept into her features. "You have fought all your life to be free, have you not? For you, I am a chance at freedom. Will you choose to fly, or will you remain stuck, where and as you are?"

Podë watched me carefully while I weighed my thoughts. If the Stars had chosen me, it was because I was the only creature available to them, but I was not so strong or arrogant to think I had a chance against the Red Witch on my own. She could have destroyed me as easily as blinking, but instead she was offering me a chance to be... to be more than myself. Would my brother and my people call me a traitor if I accepted? Perhaps. Probably. But I owed them nothing. There was no faith to betray.

I looked at our reflections in the fountain. She was glamorous and beautiful, splendid and desperate. I was filthy and impure, unguided and disillusioned. I still wasn't sure of her game, but it was presented honestly, with a modicum of respect.

No! Something screamed in my head, shrill and shattering and insistent. Do not trust the Witch!

What was this voice to command me?

I looked at my sword, which pulsated and gleamed with frustration, fear, and fury. Then I sheathed it and nodded to Podë. Damn the gods; I'd take the offer I could understand over the unclear imperatives from on high.

She put both hands on my shoulders, gripping firmly. “Breathe.”

I did, and white-hot agony lanced up my body. I couldn't move, I couldn't scream. I felt like I was being torn into shreds, body, mind, and soul. It went on forever.

The last thing I heard was hollow, mocking laughter that echoed from and faded into the trees.

And then I wasn't me.

[The Mongrel]

We are lost. For decades, cast to the wind, we have wandered without plan or ambition. Our only goal was to survive, even when our life was stable enough to take the world by the balls and make our existence mean something.

Darkness hung heavily in the Red Forest, drowning out all moonlight, all star light, and all radiance. In its tangles hid flowers beautiful enough to steal souls, vampire vines, shape-shifting wolves, and worse. In one grove, deep within the forest boundaries, a Raiaeran elf and an Alerian elf laid side by side, writhing in torment worse than death. The former’s screams bounced around a thick copse of trees that was as red and menacing as any other place in the forest. The latter clenched her jaw so hard that her teeth threatened to crack.

Gradually, the agony that pervaded every nerve in each of their bodies died down, leaving them exhausted and out of breath in the dirt and leaf litter. Ragged breaths tore from their throats, desperately pulling in the dank and fetid air. Like the adults they were, each more than a hundred and ten years of age, they had musculature and tone. Like infants, each body having been ripped into being only a few minutes prior, they lacked the coordination to stand.

While they tried to recover, the Raiaeran’s eyes probed the blackness of her surroundings, unable to understand the sudden shift in atmosphere. The grove had been breathtakingly exquisite. Had she been transported?

The world was clearer to the Alerian, who could see the brambles that had erupted up and ensnared both her and her former half in some sort of cocoon. Through the haze of memories from a life that felt like a bad dream, she dredged up one murky thought: it would not be safe in that space for much longer. Muscles twitching, she rolled herself over, gripping tepid dirt with a warm hand.

She reached to her belt for her sword, but grasped only air. Her daggers did come to hand, and she hacked at the rapidly-thickening vines with the sharp iron blades. “Get up if you value your life,” she snapped. Her voice sounded strange to her ears, too low, too harsh, too flat. “Peel these back so we can get out of here.”

The Raiaeran lumbered to her feet, staggering on new legs. Nearly sightless, she navigated by sound, stumbling to the other’s side and working with her to tear a small opening in the pod. They hacked and heaved with weak arms, struggling to free themselves.

At long last, they emerged into the weakly moonlit night. Cracked and crumbling glass littered the ground around the clearing, crimson overpowered any hints of silver or blue that some of the trees had displayed earlier. A stone table laid on the ground, covered in ivy and moss, and a weave of vines had almost entirely enveloped a once-glorious fountain.

Milky white fingers grasped for a bud forming on the pod, ripping it away before it could grow into a fully-formed, hungry Fealotë. They didn’t have the strength to handle a soul-stealer as they were.

The elven women turned to each other, inspecting and evaluating. They both wore the same clothing, boots, and armor they’d walked into the forest with. The Alerian had their daggers. The Raiaeran had the shortbow and eleven arrows. Neither of them had the mythril sword.

“You look like Mother, Illara,” the Alerian said after a long silence. Ellyerial Alfheim had been beautiful, tall and thin with skin the color of white gold, hair the color of rose gold, and eyes the color of the highest quality amber. With the exception of the eyes - this elf had one dark green and one silver - and the scars that lingered from their life on the streets, that image stood before the dark elf.

The Alerian, on the other hand, was shorter and a little stockier, with olive gray skin, raven black hair, and a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were also green and silver, she bore identical scars, but those were the only resemblances the two women had to each other.

“Zarae.” The new Illara dug through her memory for the Alerian name Podë had given them earlier. Her voice was music captured in a throat, light and delicate, but strong. “You must resemble-”

“The bastard who sired me, most likely.” She gave the Raiaeran another cursory glance, then indicated the grove. “We are an idiot.”

[The Mongrel]

We are misbegotten. Literally. That we exist at all is a war crime – one for which our punishment was ostracism to the point of exile. As one life, there was no way for us to atone for the defilement of our mother, for the poison in our blood. As two lives, separate, maybe… maybe.

Illara looked around the grove, letting Zarae’s assessment sink in. “I don’t understand. It was so-”

“Perfect?” Zarae mocked. “Must you always get so caught up in fairy tales? ‘Oh, if I could only be a real elf, mommy and daddy will love me and everything would be perfect.’ ‘Oh, if only I could be a real elf, then I wouldn’t feel so lost and alone and pathetic.’ We were a real elf. They didn’t like us because we were a rape-born little shit. And I will stress that we were a little shit.”

Illara’s mouth hardened. “You were a little shit. I tried to become an accepted and acceptable member of Raiaeran society. I learned how to sew, like mother, and I was good at it. I tried my hand at education. I learned our religion. You were the reason I failed. Skulking off, hiding, going and shaming our family name by getting us into trouble.”

Zarae rolled her eyes. “If you’ll recall, our Lord Stepfather hated us. I kept us out of his way and therefore alive. When you wanted out, I kept us alive on the streets of Eluriand, then of Radasanth. Who was it that wanted to just lay down and die?” She spread her arms, puffing up to challenge her taller accuser. “And who was it that insisted we get our ass up and keep going, again and again and again? Do you want to keep blaming, or do you want us both to get out of here? Because last I checked, we have no clue where the fuck we are, you can’t see a damn thing out here, and I’m not the one who can navigate the wilds.”

A shriek pierced the night somewhere distant, emphasizing the danger they found themselves in. Both looked around the crumbling courtyard, seeking the forest’s perils and any escape routes. All either of them could make out was dense, murderous vegetation as far as their eyes could see. There was no sign of their passage into the grove - if there had been, it would have required an extremely skilled ranger to find.

Illara sat down on the fragmented ruins of the fountain, putting her head in her hands and dragging her feet through the gravel. “Even if we could find our way back to the tunnel, we’d still have miles of hostile forest to traverse. We don’t have much water left. We don’t have food. I wouldn’t trust any in this place, anyway. There’s no way we-”

A crack like a gunshot filled the copse, leaving Illara holding her cheek while Zarae glared down on her. “Get. Your. Ass. Up. After we get close enough to the edge, I don’t care if you quit. But I’m not ready to die just yet. If I have to cut your eyes from your skull to use them, I will. But you might prefer it if you stopped whining, acted with some fucking dignity, and got us on our merry way.”

Illara glowered, but she shut her jaw and stood, holding her head high and throwing her shoulders haughtily back. As much as Zarae might not deserve to exist, she was at least right about two things: the noble elf was not acting according to her station, and there was no point in surrendering without at least making an attempt to escape.

“The Lindequalmë is the far south-west of Raiaera. We need to head north-east. If we survive, we’ll reach civilization eventually.” She cast her eyes up to the heavens, seeking direction from the faintly flickering stars above. She hadn’t examined the skies of her homeland for half her life, but they weren’t so far different from Corone’s. At length, she picked out what she hoped was the correct constellation and pointed to the darkest patch of trees.

“That way.”

[The Mongrel]

We are friendless. For decades now we have wandered between cities, not intimate even among our intimates, finding value only among the unvaluable. If we never return from Raiaera, we will not long be missed.

They struggled through impossibly thick vegetation, pulling away from thorns that grasped at their faces, hair, and clothes and squeezing through openings that would have given a snake trouble. The Lindequalmë’s canopy quickly closed overhead, blocking out the sky and with it any hope of navigating by celestial compass. Illara and Zarae simply had to keep going as straight as possible and hope they weren’t already lost.

Illara lagged. Her slow, halting steps threatened each moment to stop forever. Zarae would have charged ahead, leaving the weaker elf behind, but sooner or later the blanket of branches above would open. The Raiaeran’s keen eyes were the only tool they had to read north from south, east from west, so she needed to keep the despondent woman moving.

Threats and cajoles rose easily to her lips, but she bit them down. Half a century of helping to guide a massive organization and the people therein had taught her that encouragement usually worked better than physical or verbal abuse. Illara, certainly, would sooner shut down under Zarae’s natural method of motivation than hasten her pace. The dark elf remembered the despair in her breast when she was belittled as a child, and she had no doubts that the emotion came from her paler, weaker half.

Fortunately, Illara’s experiences had not simply been similar to her own, they’d been exactly the same. While the Raiaeran hadn’t acknowledged her bullshit, keeping her alert and moving ought have been as easy as encouraging herself.

“When we get home, we’ll have a hell of a story to tell Knave and Rainbow. Then we’ll need to come up with new names.”

“I’m not going back to Corone.” Illara peered warily over a broad frond, softly murmuring her response.

Zarae halted in her tracks, turning and grabbing Illara by the arm. “You aren’t what? All we’ve wanted to do since we left Radasanth was to go back. We don’t belong here!”

The Raiaeran pulled away, stumbling slightly over a treacherous root. “Then why didn’t we just stay with my brother instead of going deeper into the forest? We never had to go further than the second camp.”

“Our half brother. And like I said before: we’re an idiot. We’re an idiot who won’t make it out if we don’t smarten up. We. Have. A. Home. Why aren’t you going back to it?”

Illara shook her head. “I do not condemn you or blame you for wanting to return, and I swear to you I will do what I can to get you back to Radasanth if we make it out alive. But… look at me, Zarae." She gestured, making a plea for understanding. "I finally have a chance to be who I want, without condemnation for something I cannot change. I don’t have to be a criminal anymore. I can leave that all behind and just be normal.”

Zarae’s jaw worked for a few moments while her mind tried to wrap around Illara’s wishes. “You would start over with nothing – no resources, no friends, no family, because the Illara Alfheim they all knew is gone forever – for a chance to stay in this shithole of a homeland? Why throw away the best part of yourself so that you can get the crumbs from a table that kicked you away like a dog?”

Illara turned away, brushing her long hair out of her face. “You aren’t my best part. You’re the weight that always hung around my neck.”

Zarae’s shoulders lowered and her posture tightened, almost like a viper preparing to strike. Though her hands clenched her daggers, she kept her weapons sheathed. “What of Unfounded? What of Mutt?”

The pale elf’s skin dimmed from orange to red as the blood drained from her face. “Stars above, you had us sharing a bed with an orc.”

“We – WE – loved him. And he loved us. Not you, not me, us. Hells below, if you can’t recognize the only good parts of our life, I’m glad we’re separate now.” Zarae whirled, furious, intent on finding her own path in the darkness. Damn the stuck-up Raiaeran whore that was her lesser half. Let her die. Let her rot.

“Shh.” A slender hand, less fragile than its appearance suggested, clamped down on her shoulder. Illara’s eyes pointed to their right, somewhere beyond her vision but not beyond her hearing. Zarae turned her gaze to follow, finding the blue-green shape of a humanoid some fifty yards away. As her old self, she would have heard it. As her old self, Illara would have seen it.

We’re weaker without each other.

“Ghoul,” she whispered. “Bow.” Illara unslung the shortbow from her back, nocking it and allowing the Alerian to guide her aim. The thing crashed ever closer, making no attempt to be silent in the crackling leaves. The elf pulled back her arrow, and when she could hear precisely where her target was, let fly.

There was a sound like a hammer on bone, then the hungry beast’s footsteps stopped.

“You got him,” the Alerian grumbled.

“And I see the path again.” She pointed and Zarae craned her neck to look. To her surprise, she could also pick out glints of starry silver winding through the trees. She wasn’t sure if she trusted it, but it had to lead somewhere. Maybe now that they were no longer the elf harangued by the Stars, it would guide them out.

[The Mongrel]

We are faithless. The gods of our ancestors have spurned us from birth because we reeked of wrongness. The gods of Corone ignored us, but let death and ruin come to our compatriots like a typhoon among dinghies. And the one time we tried the god of thieves and vagrants? Our brother found us not a fortnight later. When the gods are only stumbling blocks, what use have we for them?

The night had been new when Illara Zarae Alfheim Rilynrahel had first stepped into Podë’s grove. The moon had just touched the eastern edge of the clearing when Illara Alfheim and Zarae Rilynrahel set out for the border. The branches at the western edge were grasping greedily at its middle when the silver path delivered them both, bleeding from dozens of tiny scratches, back into the mangled ruins of an ancient Durklan courtyard.

Zarae hung close to the edge, looking to see if the path they'd followed out of desperate desire to escape would lead them away again. But there was nothing, no glimmer of silver or hint of clear passage to guide them to safety.

She swore, viciously kicking a stump. If this was the work of the gods, then it was further proof those bastards hated her.

Illara wandered further into the open, looking around. There were the same shattered ornaments and mirrors littering the ground around the same gnarled and twisted trees. The same table laid next to the same ruined fountain. They had returned to the same place.

She sank to her knees in the rust red moss, gazing dolorously at the moon. “Why? I don't... I don't understand.”

“Why?” Zarae spat contemptuously on the ground. “Because the gods are assholes. That's why. We've just wasted half the night walking in a circle, getting back to this accursed ground. And of all ill luck, I've found the depths of my other half's weakness. We deserved the family we were born to, because you are just like them. Vain, disloyal, and blind to anything but what you want to see.”

Illara took the verbal blows without flinching. Had they not been the same accusations that had filtered through her own mind for much of her life? Had they not been her own beliefs? She looked down to her hands, and they were pale and alien to her own eyes. The golden hair, the beauty of her mother's face, that did not belong to her. Neither did Zarae's dark skin.

“Perhaps.” She looked at the Alerian – her sister... no, her self. “But you're also wrong about me. We left Nosse Alfheim because I wanted to live. You would have been contented to skulk forever in the shadows, bitter and resentful. I wanted to walk free and open in the wind and under the sun. Yes, I would have laid down and died so many times over the decades if not for you demanding that we get up, we fight, we keep trying. You're the reason we're still alive today. I'm the reason that just alive wasn't good enough. Not that it matters now. If Podë isn't defeated, there's no chance we can get out. And it seems she is long gone from here.”

Zarae's head lifted and her eyes locked with the Raiaeran's. “Why do you think the Red Witch wanted to separate us from ourself?”

Silence hung for a moment while both minds processed the implication of Podë's actions. Was her offer not to prove that she was not a monster, but to reaffirm it? Horror gripped both hearts with its silent, chilly hand.

Illara looked once more to the moon, mouth opening to form words that she hoped against hope would set right the wrongs. She never uttered the first syllable.

The ground shook with lethal fury. It split, it roared, and then it erupted. Boulders and clods of soil rained down, shattering the fountain and tearing trees from their roots. Both elven women scurried for cover, but a violent gale sent them tumbling out of control.

Red eyes glared down on them, and the massive, scaly maw opened wide, snapping down.

[The Mongrel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was what she wanted all along.

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

Zarae screamed.

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

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

She could rebuild.

She could revenge.

All because one woman was weak.

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

Podë’s eyes widened. Her skin paled.

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

[The Mongrel]

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


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

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

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

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

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

Let me be all, or let me be nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you hear them singing, Witch?”

[The Mongrel]

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

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

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

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

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

I just needed her distracted for a second.

Come on...

BOOM!

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

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

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like lightning let off leash, I lunged.

[The Mongrel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Made a promise. Had to come.”

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

I'm not fucking letting her win.

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

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

[The Mongrel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was time to save my own life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She squeezed harder.

[The Mongrel]

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

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

We'd tried.

We'd failed.

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

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

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

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

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

We'd done it. We'd won.

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

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

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

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

“Why, Mousie?”

“I'm the only whole elf who came.”

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


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

[Max Dirks]

Judgment

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

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

The Mongrel

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

Total- 63/100

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

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

[Lye]

Exp & gp added.