Round lasts for 2 weeks! Good Luck!
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Round lasts for 2 weeks! Good Luck!
Lindqualme, the Red Forest, named as much for the sanguine trees drinking the blood of those felled by its magicks and monsters, as for the Red Witch Podë who cursed it. The trees grew in twisted shapes, their blanched bark seeming almost like pulsing flesh if your gaze settled too long on a knot in the wood. The beasts, too, drank in the dark witchcraft, and grew into grisly mutations, claws grown to talons, teeth to venomous fangs, and grown to dire proportions. And hungry.
Mushrooms lurked in the crevices of rocks, and a touch would burst them into choking toxic spores, at best. At worst, Podë’s witchery laced the air with figments, luring you deeper into the forest, or deeper into her mind.
Few safe paths made their way through the Red Forest, and rarely traveled despite the rare lumber to be found. Even on these paths, safety was relative. Woodsmen were like as not to leave the woods alive. Even living, Her curse had touched them. Some simply grew tumorous nodules and died in agony. Others returned from the forest untouched, unmolested, and happy. Their grins turned to rictus as their axes cleaved the support beams of their homes, the throats of their wives and children, and finally their own, their laughter turning to empty convulsive wheezing as their heads rolled on the ground.
But in the desperate times following war with one Forgotten One, the elves turned to the untouchable land of another. A call was put out for adventurers, sellswords, and freelancers to quell the violent magicks of their once-beloved Lindqualme, and save the blighted land for their blighted people. And who better to answer the call than Alma Waterstone?
A red witch now walked the cursed wilds of the Red Witch.
I was running. The footsteps were closer and closer with each beat of my heart. I could feel the fear rising in my gut with each step and knew that soon I would vomit. My breaths were short and unsatisfying. I had nothing left. Then, suddenly I hit the dirt with more force than I believed possible. I could feel the creature's claws tearing into my flesh, I could hear each and every bite ripping me apart. I was fading. I cried out for help as I desperately held onto the last images my eyes would ever see, the bright red leaves of the forest of red.
Someone, somewhere took pity. That is how the story goes.
Tankita could just see the edge of the red forest against the sunrise. If she had not seen it before she may have believed it just a trick of the light, but she was all too familiar with the blood-stained trees and foliage. It was the first time she’d laid eyes on it in quite some time, ever since that fateful day when she lost her humanity.
Pode had indeed taken pity, even saved her. If one could call what happened next saving. Her soul was preserved in a piece of scrap metal. She would live on, in whatever form. The piece was found several months later by a group of merchants. Any form of metal could sell in Alerar, where everyone seemed to be searching for the next great breakthrough in technology.
Indeed, the scrap did sell. A bright young engineer had an idea. He planned to create a fully functional war machine that with the touch of a button could clear a battlefield. His entire career had centered around this idea, and as of yet, he had nothing to show for it but an empty vessel that refused to move. The man plugged away, but his resources were growing thin. Soon, the dream would be over.
That is, until he placed a newly formed metal grate into the vehicle’s inner compartment.
Tankita eyed the forest with unrest. Yes, her soul lived on. But at what cost? Somewhere within this forest lived the forgotten one, Pode. No other had the power to create the tank in the first place. No other could undo the damage done. Tankita needed to find Pode, alive. She needed to be human again.
Christoph and Koko have been disqualified for not making the 24 hour deadline.
For two hours, Alma flitted between the towering oaks of the witch’s wood, dodging grasping branches and shrieking, desiccated ravens alike. She had tracked the strange, metallic beast from near the edge of the Lindqualme. Its rumbling, grunting noise was continuous and impossible to lose, even with the harsh screeching of the Red Witch’s ambient magic and accursed fowl keening in her ears. The witch pulled into a dive astride her staff, sunset hair whipping across her vision as knots and runes in the wood impressed on her palms.
The birds’ racket only grew as more of the feathered fiends leapt from their perches ahead. “A fucking murder of crows,” the witch muttered through clenched teeth, yanking on the gnarled rod to escape the ambush. “Wishful thinking!” With a kick to a passing elm, Alma ducked into a tumble through foliage, rolling over twice to escape the very same tree’s thorny embrace. A sweeping branch clipped her shoulder, however, and with a curse to Nikkal she was sent reeling straight into the trunk of a nearby tree, staff clattering to the undergrowth below.
Her breath left her on impact, and all thought of her steel quarry left her as she tumbled into bracken and darkness.
She still remembered how her flesh felt as the ravenous beast tore into her soft flesh. Her pleads for aid were left unanswered as she felt nerves and veins torn from her bones. The snarls of the beast were so primitive that she could feel the saliva as it fell upon her exposed back and straight into her freshly created wounds. It made her think that perhaps it would have been better to die than to exist as she did now; as a war machine whose only purpose was to bring death and mayhem wherever she traveled.
She rolled through the trees with an unusual ease, the smaller plants left crushed in her wake. Birds scattered to the heavens as she made her presence known through the Lindqualme, her engine a telltale giveaway of her location. It felt as though she had went through the Red Forest for hours with no hint of her goal in sight,
She paused when she came across a woman with a most peculiar orange hair color was knocked away by what seemed to be a sentient tree. Such things seemed as ridiculous as a sentient tank, which made it not out of the realm of possibility. Tankita released magical blast from her cannon straight towards the live tree, which resulted in a loud thunderous echo throughout the woods and a large tree that quickly disappeared from existence. Without hesitation, Tankita followed the injured girl in an attempt to rescue her. She would not see another person turned into what she had become because of Pode's 'mercy'.
A blur of light greeted the witch as eyes fluttered open, and fuzzy reds and browns swam above her. A loud blast nearby made her start, and her heart pounded in her chest. Her dress and cloak tangled in undergrowth, she flailed to free herself from the thorns and brush. For her uncoordinated efforts, she was rewarded threefold: cuts and scrapes all over her arms and legs were opened by harsh branches; upon freeing herself, she fell unceremoniously into the grassy earth below; and finally, as she rose from penance, she assumed for blaspheming the forest goddess, she convulsed once more and burning bile erupted onto the forest floor.
Retching on all fours, she still struggled to rise as her surroundings came into stark clarity. The rumbling she had been following for hours was still there. Not only that, she realized with a further wrench in her gut, but it was growing louder. She stumbled to her feet, an already pounding heart threatening to leap from her chest as she clutched same tree that she had been concussed against, presumably only minutes ago. Hands grasping through the bush quickly grasped on the gnarled wood of her staff. She felt too dizzy now to fly, but if nothing else she could land a few blows with the lead-filled head of her weapon before she died.
Then, she saw it. A behemoth of steel, shining in the red-filtered light, with strange oblong wheels for legs, and a long cannon swiveling around on top. Too much for her enfeebled mind, she stood stunned and wobbling, staff raised against a monstrosity she could not even hope to dent.
To experience death, True Death, was something few people on Althanas lived to tell about. The Citadel was home to its share of slain warriors, but there was always the notion in the back of their heads that they would be revived, returned to the world as if their fights to the finish never happened. True Death was different; there was an indescribable fear in the knowledge that you would never see your loved ones again, never get to laugh or cry or be angry or be able to use any of the five senses. The thought that you would become a rotting body in the ground and eventually forgotten by everybody. True Death was horrifying.
Tankita watched as the poor girl before her struggled to gain her bearings. The large roar machine rumbled as it advanced upon the witch, its cannon lowered to her as though she prepared to unload explosive justice upon the weakened woman. Instead of unleashing a fate not unlike her own, however, Tankita spoke to the poor soul.
"Rest now," she said as a fog began to roll in through the trees, a strange crimson midst that matched the horrific majesty of Lindqualme hue for hue. "I will not harm you, and you are safer with me. My name is Tankita, Tankita Bananas, and I am here to help." Despite her encouraging words, the tank could not help but feel drowsy as the red fog spread over her treads and seeped into her cockpit. She never saw whether or not her new friend decided to take her up on the offer, as the tank soon lost all consciousness.
The crimson fog spread over her before she could even register its approach in her addlepated state. Even so, as the droplets touched on her tongue, a far too familiar coppery taste told her what even her other senses couldn’t. “Bloodmist,” she whispered, recognizing the trademark of the Red Witch’s enchantment even as her nose filled with the sharp scent of blood, and her eyes clouded and became caked with the clotting fog.
—
“Alma!”
Blearily, the witch stirred, aware of large, rough hands about her shoulders, shaking her.
“Alma, wake up!” the voice cried again, familiar, like an old friend, and young. She shrugged off the hands, rubbing at her eyes to clear the dried blood and her vision. Peering sleepily up at the boy standing over her, there was something… She couldn’t place it, but she knew this strange boy, with flaming, curled locks atop a pale and freckled face. His features were long and sharp, with piercing blue eyes that seemed almost to glow in the dim light of the Red Forest. Glancing around, she saw no sign of the metal beast, Tankita, and so she returned her attention to the boy, pushing herself to sit up despite the ache in her back. Hempen overalls and a ruddy white shirt clad him, and even his broad, hands-on-hips stance was familiar as he leaned over her.
“Mal?” Alma ventured, slowly, hesitantly. She dared not hope. “Malakai? But…but you’re…”
“Dead? A rat, curled in a pouch at your hip? Buried in a grave across the world?” He laughed. “All of them at once?” He shook his head, orange and gold ringlets bouncing as he turned just a little away from her. “Aye, and yet here I am, whole and hale. And tall.” He groped at his ass like an idiot. “And tailless, I see!”
Impossible, she thought. A trick of witchcraft from the Red Witch herself, to torment me. She looked away from her dead older brother, now living. He’d died when she was but a child, burning with fever from pox. Young as she was, though, her budding witchcraft had yet to be honed or harnessed, and like all little girls, she never wanted to let her big brother go to that hungering god, Mot, swallowed to oblivion. Her powers, like those of many young witches in such desperate sorts, bound his soul as she felt his passing, and leashed it to the nearest life, a small rat under her bed, chaim burning bright and new. From that day on, her brother lived again as her familiar, doing her bidding, comforting her as constant companion, and never remembering the life he once lived. Until now, whatever the Witch had done.
She rose, carefully, and reached out to him, tears streaming down her face. Old wounds, thought healed and scarred over, reopened as she sobbed into his solid, boyish shoulder. He’d always been tall, and strong, and he looked nor sounded not a day older than when she’d last seen him seventeen years past. He stumbled a little, steadying himself against a tree with one hand, as she leaned into him, burying her face into his overalls. Her shoulders heaved shakily with each breath as she dug her fingers into his waist, and he wrapped his free arm around her slender shoulders.
“Mal,” she said, her voice muffled and nasal from snot running out her nose. “I missed you so much, Mal. I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
Tankita slowly opened up what many would consider her 'eyes' after her abrupt nap and found herself face to face with a person she never thought she would see again. A tall woman stood before the war machine with long blonde hair, hazel brown eyes, a red and white striped tank top and black pants. The woman craned her head top the side at the tank as if she attempted to gauge just what the large mass of steel was. After a few careful blinks, she shrugged her shoulders and walked off.
Tankita knew what the girl had to have thought because she would have thought the same thing; the large fixture was some sort of strange testament to Pode in this cursed forest, and would in no way harm her. The machine started to follow this woman, her treads a loud rumble upon the ground as she approached. The woman once known as Tamara Bananas turned her head to see the metallic monster come closer, and let out a shrill scream that could pierce the heavens.
"No!" Tankita tried to shout into the mind of the girl, "Wait! don't go that way! Tamara!" Her pleas were to no avail, and the woman darted off into the darkness of the forest, where the growls and grumbles of the creatures within soon fell silent. The innocent girl knew not what she headed into, but the death trap she would become knew all too well now the dangers of Lindqualme.
And so, Tankita Bananas followed her former self into both the unknown and the too well known.
Walking through the forest was difficult, between he dull ache in her back, the lacerations all over her limbs, and the brush and undergrowth entangling her feet or snagging on her dress. Leaning on her staff helped, leveraging herself forward with it on each step. And her golden-haired brother walking ahead made it all that much easier to bear. Strange, it seemed to her, that though he was once her older brother, she should now be ten years his senior. Time stood still for Mal in the state in which she had left him. He spoke some of their childhood together, and remembered small moments of his time as her familiar. Simple things, like chewing on bits of dried yogurt, watching her work in her Book of Shadows, and curling up in the pouch on her hip, peeking out to see with blurry rat’s eyes the world passing by.
As they rounded an enormous redwood, larger around than the home in which they were raised, a clearing opened before the siblings. Unfiltered sunlight shone down upon the small meadow, and wildflowers blossomed away from the towering trees and tainted illumination of the woods around them. Alma felt a warmth radiating from her brother as he dashed ahead into the field, likely the last vestiges of her familiar bond with him. Trickster though he had always been, there had as well been an innocence to Malakai, that shone through now in the way he rolled mirthfully through the grass and flowers, as comfortable in this temperate forest as in the jungles of home in Q’Dosh. She took the opportunity to sit back against the redwood and tend her wounds. Spreading a thick, pungent balm over the cuts and bruises eased their stinging and aching pain, and with regular treatments they wouldn’t scar.
Just as she began to think how strangely safe the Red Forest had become since finding Malakai, a shrill voice pierced the peaceful clearing. A young blonde woman stumbled over a root across the field, falling to the dirt before turning over and backing on her heels and elbows toward her brother and away from whatever sought her. Moments later, she heard it. That grunting, rumbling engine from before. Tankita Bananas!
The sounds of what natural animals remained in the nightmare forest grew fainter as the tank rolled through the lush environment.Her target quickly pulled her further and further into the depths of crimson terrain, her screams only stopped for the brief moments where she needed to catch her breath. As she stalked Tamara, the psychic war machine felt a sense of dread that would send shivers down a person's spine.
Something seemed off.
The trees of Podes home were quickly replaced with an open field, and in said field stood two figures. One of the people in the wide area was the familiar girl that Tankita met minutes before everything went to hell. The small witch turned and once she saw her new found 'friend', she quickly began to approach. In response, Tankita's cannon lowered towards Alma, then pointed at each of the other three people around them.
"Something is wrong," Tankita thought, her muzzle focused back on the young witch, "This is too perfect. Since this whole thing started when I came to rescue you, I need some answers, and I need them now. Why am I seeing myself?" The cannon 'nudged' ever so slightly to the fallen, screaming Tamara Bananas that stood with mouth agape in the field with finger pointed at her future self.
Almost as soon as she’d heard the rumbling crashing monster that was Tankita Bananas, Alma leapt to her feet and sprinted across the clearing, her pain, wounds, and ointment all forgotten in emergency. She swooped in to protect the blonde woman, even as her newfound brother lay dumbstruck in the flowers. There was little she could do against such a beast, to be sure, but even so, she pulled the woman to her feet even as Tankita’s cannon swiveled around to the three of them.
Then she heard it again, the ringing in her skull, shaped into word-like things. It clattered around in her head painfully, echoing to and fro before the message it bore began to come clear. One arm holding back her charge, she clutched her brow with the other. ”…rescue you…answers…seeing myself?”
”Why am I seeing myself?”
The witch’s eyes opened wide, staring at the steel creature, and then back at the blonde woman in her protection, and finally back at the barrel of the cannon. “This woman…is you?”
“Was, past tense. I died and became the thing you see today because of Pode's mercy. That girl, Tamara is the woman I used to be before all this happened to me.”
“By the gods,” breathed the witch. There was a way to test this claim, but… Screw it, she thought, grasping with each hand on the soft, flushed flesh of the blonde’s cheek and the hard, cold steel of the cannon’s muzzle, respectively. Reaching with her mind into the pair, drawing in mere tastes of their auras, she touched on their souls and felt the scars for the truth.
All at once, she felt the blood chilling fear of final death, as monstrous creatures tore at her flesh, and worried her bones. She felt her lifeblood spill onto cold soil, drank into the Red Forest’s roots. She felt herself die. Dagon, the Reaper, severed her bonds to mortal form, and she could all but taste the black approach of Mot, the Swallower of Souls, seeking yet another meal to cleanse from existence. As her oblivion approached, her soul was overcome by waves of relief at her coming fate and absolution, fear and anger stripped away by surety and peace.
But a woman’s voice, huskily singing in the distance, pulled slowly at first, and then more insistently, on her soul, tearing her away from her final rest. She was called more and more forcefully away from the site of her death, deeper into the forest, and finally thrust and bound into cold, inert, lifeless metal.
As Alma’s sense of self reasserted itself, reorienting herself, she released her hold on the young woman to hold Tankita’s cannon in both hands, stroking the muzzle softly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the lost soul bound within. “I’m so sorry for what she did to you, familiar.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell her the full truth. Tankita Bananas was crude practice.
The girl seemed truly sympathetic towards Tankita's plight. Humans typically were creatures far more in touch with their feelings than any other race; Dwarves focused on machines, elves on nature, and fauns on being absolutely filthy, but humans held themselves to a higher standard. Women were especially sensitive when it came to stuff such as tragic pasts, and the war machine could tell that she h\did not have to fear the orange haired witch before her.
The warm touch of a welcomed hand upon her cold steel was a feeling the tank missed desperately. How she longed to be made flesh and bone once more, to be able to feel such grazes with her own skin. The psychic woman stepped back and looked at the metallic creature with eyes that looked as though they were on the verge of sobs. She truly felt the plight of the tank.
"E-Excuse me.." a meek whisper came from behind Alma, and diverted the attention of both females to the source. Tamara stood just in front of the man that accompanied Tankita's new friend. Her clothes were different now, a blue sun dress with a print of daisies upon them The war machine would have taken a hard swallow if she could have, for Tamara changed into her favorite dress, her skinny dress. Her bare feet were remarkably clean for someone that just finished an adventure through a forest, and her hair was now up in a bun, held in place by two chop sticks. "Excuse me but....please don't let that... that thing hurt me."
It was an emotional plea, spoken with a change in tone. The former Tankita Bananas was afraid of what she would become, what Pode's alleged 'mercy' would make of her. The mechanical monster froze, unable to respond to the insult or the fear her original body seemed to have for her. Her exhaust seemed to grow louder almost as if the tank were hyperventilating.
She was an invention made for war, stopped in her tracks by a harmless weak woman.
Alma turned to regard Tamara, and stared as her eyes settled on the blonde. How, exactly, did her clothing change so drastically? Even as she thought it, she could feel her mind slipping off of the subject. She dug in, however, laying both hands on the girl, holding her shoulders as she closed her eyes and focused on Tamara alone. An aura was present, yes, but it began to repel her as she probed its nature. A subtle trick, to be sure, but not perfect. She focused on the aura's background feedback, scattering from past and future. But nothing changed. She, and her aura, were unaffected by the currents of magic flowing through the Lindqualme, radiating from everything and everyone. A fixed point, unchanging, and impossible to penetrate, and camouflaging itself against inspection. Opening her eyes once more, and taking her hands off of the blonde, she watched her carefully, the continued expression of fear unnerving, but telling.
"Alma, are you okay?" called Mal from a short ways off, his voice as sweet to her ears as ever. "Let's get going, we've got a long way to go, if we want to get out of here before nightfall."
"What?" she said, her attention snapping from the conundrum before her, and she felt a slow smile growing as she looked to her brother. She took a step toward him, as if pulled by some invisible force, then stopped. A tickle in the back of her mind wriggled, worm-like, just beyond the edge of her consciousness. "I-I'm not..." She searched for something, trying to remember why she needed to stay here. Something important. And the familiar, steadily growing, rumble behind her had something to do with it.
A mechanical snort from behind her broke the daze, and she turned to the woman once more, and the metallic Tankita beyond. Tankita and Tamara, she remembered, as if it had been years, not moments, since she had laid eyes on them. But something was wrong with Tamara, she knew. Something about her that didn't want to be known, hiding just beneath the surface.
In her moment of clarity, she tried the only thing she could think of, reaching for her belt, and the pouches there. She loosened a purse string and drew a pair of small pebbles, rolling them in her fingertips before hurling them at the woman.
When the pebbles hit the woman, the magical stones exploded as though they were water balloons. Tamara stood with wide eyes for a few moments, her wet hair matted to her face and her sundress absolutely soaked thanks to the attack. Her gaze shifted upwards towards Alma, her eyes now changed to a hue of crimson red.
"Why would you----that?!" The blonde screamed, though her words cut out as she sort of blinked in and out of their vision. "All ---- was some help an----" Tamara's body shifted between present and vanished between her words, though she carried on the conversation as like her words were clear.
"She...she's not real?" Tankita let the question lingered as it was just as much directed at Alma as to herself.
"Of course not," Alma responded as she watched the illusion wane, "Pode could sense your want to be human again and personified it. She's no more here than she a werebat." The witch made a few more pebbles and lobbed them at the malfunctioned spectre, and again soaked the fake spirit. When Tamara disappeared again she did not return. "Podes given up using that trick..."
Malakai now approached the two and gently grabbed his sister by the hand. He began to tug at the stoic Alma as though he wished for her to leave immediately. "This is all the more reason we need to get out of ere now, Alma. If that thing was so easy to fall for such tricks, whose to say she won't do it again? Whats going to stop her from killing us both in her confusion?"
Alma pulled her hand away from her kin and took a few steps back. "Mal, what has gotten into y--"
Before Alma could finish the sentence, Malakai transformed into a hole in the ground, courtesy of Tankita's smoking muzzle.
It warmed her heart when her brother took her hand in his, and his urging to leave the forest drew her in. Malakai would never hurt her, steer her wrong. Her big brother knew best how to keep her safe, like he always had. And what could be better than returning home to Q'Dosh with him, bringing him home again? Far from Podë, and her forest.
Podë.
With that thought, she looked her brother in the eye, seeing through the illusion for a moment. Solid black eyes stared back, boggling in excitement and fear, the eyes of a rat. Her rat. Her brother, as he truly was now. She recoiled from him, stumbling away and crying out at him only moments before he was reduced to ash and a small hole in the dirt, surrounded by smoldering blossoms. As the smoke rose from the crater, she could see something small and furry writhing there. "Malakai!" she exclaimed, throwing herself to the grass, and digging the small rat from its grave, charred and smoking.
She held the rodent to her chest, sobbing, muttering his name over and over. Her eyes stung from tears and ash, and she brought the creature to her face, nuzzling it. It wasn't until she felt a nip at her ear that she opened her eyes to find Malakai alive, though worse for the wear. Fear and confusion washed from the familiar into his mistress, and he squirmed from her hands to scamper into his hip-pouch to hide. Alma slumped down to sit in the grass, relieved but emotionally exhausted. In the back of her mind, she berated herself as well, having fallen for Podë's tricks as much as Tankita, if not more deeply.
"Just as I thought," Tankita said as she motioned her muzzle up and down, "Pode was using that guy as an illusion, just like he used Tamara against myself."
Alma turned to her mechanical ally with tears in her eyes. The witch fought back the urge to cry in front of the war machine and cuddled with the rodent, its body extremely close to her chest. "Thank you," the girl managed to eek out without allowing her voice to crack, "but that was extremely reckless. What if it was not an illusion? With you, we knew that Tamara was you, but we had no idea if Mal was real or not!"
"I'm sorry," Tankita said, her cannon leaned down in remorse, "I did not think yo--."
"You did not think," Alma retorted, her voice without a hint of anger or desperation, "you freed me from the illusion, Tankita, just as I freed you, but I do not think it wise we stay together in our endeavors."
She 'looked' up "Because of my disregard for life?"
"Because you're ten tons of mechanized terror!" she shouted, "Do you really think whoever you're helping won't become a target with you whirring and roaring through the Red Forest?! This, what you're doing here Tankita, I think it is better if you do it....alone."
The tank paused to reflect on her words. She was right. What good could she provide anybody she befriended when Pode could see them a mile out? She looked back down to her friend, then up, and then down again. She was unsure if Alma could recognize the motion, but the Lornius invention was nodding. "Thank you Alma...you are right. I think its best we go our separate ways."
The witch returned the nod and turned away as Tankita's engine roared and her massive body turned one-hundred and eighty degrees. The two left on their different paths; one to defeat Pode, and one to seek her mercy once more.
(Tankita Last post)
Tankita's engine faded into the background noise of the forest, and Alma crossed the clearing to retrieve her staff in the fading sunlight. Even there, without the towering trees to obscure the sky, deep scarlet light began to suffuse her surroundings, and darkness threatened more terror and confusion still. Picking up the knotched and carved rod, she turned it over in her hands, deep in thought. Her hand fell to her hip, where Malakai lay curled in his pouch vigorously grooming himself, and her eyes welled as she stroked the rat's soft fur.
"Alma," the familiar squeaked. She looked down to him, sure he barely remembered what had happened to him, if at all, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Alma. I love you, too."
She smiled weakly, and scratched his head for a moment before wiping her eyes with her bare forearm. Grasping her staff in both hands, the lead-filled knob atop it turned to the grass, she straddled it and kicked off against the tree behind her for momentum. Her sunset hair whipped behind her as she sped across the meadow, petals kicked up in her wake where she skimmed the forest floor before rising astride her staff. She barreled into the thick, twisted trees of the Red Forest, seeking shelter in the danger as she dodged once more between grasping branches, and kept low to avoid the Red Witch's crows.
She whispered a prayer to the moon god, Yarikh, that she find some safe place in the Lindqualme before Podë's night beasts emerged. Hurtling through the trees, her dress and cloak cracking in the air with every twist and turn, she glimpsed a glow in the distance, peek-a-booing amongst the timber. Tucking her torso against the staff harder still, and bracing her feet against the knob behind her, she pulled into a dive. As she approached, the glow became a fire, and silhouetted figures crossed its flickering warm light.
Out of Character:
Commentary is limited. If you have concerns, please contact me and I'll be happy to share my notes.
While it was nice to see some Althanas relevant back story for Tankita and to get glimpse of Zook's new character, this thread really felt rushed and secondary to your other endeavors on the site. Editing was minimal. There were countless spelling, grammar, usage and capitalization errors. There were multiple non-stylistic sentence fragments, run-ons and tense changes. These errors obviously hurt your pacing, mechanics and clarity scores respectively.
Storywise, your greatest strength was your description of the setting, particularly Zook's take on the clearing. It was beautiful and painted the Red Forest in a new and different light than I grew accustomed to reading these threads. In terms of interaction, persona was both of your strongest categories. As both Tankita and Alma are relatively new characters in the Althanas pantheon, it was good to see you giving them a proper introduction. That said, there were a few missed opportunities. Alma's alarm when Tankita killed Malakai was bizarre, particularly after Alma had just revealed Tamara as an illusion. Some explanation was provided, granted, but it seemed trite and out of place with the rest of your character's growth. Action wise, things moved, but there was never a definite hook. On the other hand, I did appreciate the minor actions you took that added depth to the thread. For example, Tankita's mechanical "tank like" motion and Malakai nipping at Alma's face.
Overall, with a bit of editing you could have taken a mediocre thread and turned it into a great one.
Judgment Group 9 (Tankita Bananas and Zook Murnig)
Story - 5
Setting - 6
Pacing - 4
Communication - 5
Action - 5
Persona - 6
Mechanics - 4
Technique - 5
Clarity - 4
Wildcard - 5
Total = 49/100
Tankita Bananas receives 575 EXP and 78 GP
Zook Murnig receives 764 EXP and 88 GP
EXP & GP Added!