The Mongrel
05-27-15, 12:17 PM
Dawn saw an odd tranquility settle over the Lindequalme. With the death of Pode, light didn’t struggle to stretch from canopy to floor. The bloodthirsty Ruilserk vines barely swayed throughout the forest, the remaining monsters hid away. A great shock seemed to fall upon the area’s dark forces; without their mistress to sustain them they were, momentarily, reeling.
More light flooded into one particular area than it had since before the forest was cursed; a dragon’s rampage had scattered ancient trees like twigs and dug deep furrows into the ground. Broken boulders and uprooted thorns littered the churned crimson soil. A tornado would have left a neater scene behind.
No living being had any business being that deep into the forest; less than five hours before it had been thick with danger. Even so, a troop of Bladesingers pressed on. They had fought for every inch of ground, hurrying through the Lindequalme on a mission to slay the Red Witch – the fifth grove had only been discovered at the eleventh hour. They’d had no guarantee of success, and when the night fell, they’d nearly despaired. The distance between them and their target had seemed insurmountable, and the time had run out. Now they kept marching out of duty – if they all died at the hands of Pode, then at least they’d mounted an effort. And they kept marching out of hope – silver light had washed through the woods in the early hours of the morning, silencing the cursed forest’s rage. Might some worthy hero have rushed in and stopped her in time?
A lone body lay for them to find amidst the carnage, leaning haphazardly against a stump.
More light flooded into one particular area than it had since before the forest was cursed; a dragon’s rampage had scattered ancient trees like twigs and dug deep furrows into the ground. Broken boulders and uprooted thorns littered the churned crimson soil. A tornado would have left a neater scene behind.
No living being had any business being that deep into the forest; less than five hours before it had been thick with danger. Even so, a troop of Bladesingers pressed on. They had fought for every inch of ground, hurrying through the Lindequalme on a mission to slay the Red Witch – the fifth grove had only been discovered at the eleventh hour. They’d had no guarantee of success, and when the night fell, they’d nearly despaired. The distance between them and their target had seemed insurmountable, and the time had run out. Now they kept marching out of duty – if they all died at the hands of Pode, then at least they’d mounted an effort. And they kept marching out of hope – silver light had washed through the woods in the early hours of the morning, silencing the cursed forest’s rage. Might some worthy hero have rushed in and stopped her in time?
A lone body lay for them to find amidst the carnage, leaning haphazardly against a stump.