AC 2021 - Final - Celandine

[Preston]

Round 3, The Final, will begin January 31th, 2022 at 10:00pm EST.

Round 2 will end February 16th, 2022 at 10pm EST

The only prompt is to write as well as you can to continue the story of the AC so far. Whoever wins will impact the future of Alerar, so please write as if an entire region depends on it.

[Celandine]

Through the thunderous booming, the sharp shrieking and the dischordant howling of the storm, she quietly sang her song of loneliness and isolation to herself, that should have been a melody of celebration but in the midst of an ongoing war, desolation and many unknowns, she murmured it to herself and herself alone.

"It's your birthday today. You were born on this day. Another year to say - it's your birthday today."

Plucking the pale pink petals from the single flower that her drow friend and companion Vaminar had managed to scavenge for her from the miles of rock, mountain and bracken around them in the small fort, Celandine thought of how she would be celebrating, were it not for the demon incursion. It was her tenth birthday after all - not significant for some, but for a being who was maturing many times faster than a normal mortal it was something momentous. Her mother would have thrown a mighty ceremony for her back at the old fortress, with cake and candles and drinking into the long hours of the dark night. Instead the young faun and scholar was within this elven fortress that had been claimed as an outpost for the dwarves, within a small and simple box room.

Soon all the petals of the flower lay on the rough blanket before her. Due to a lack of wool or any other substitute in the past few days Celandine had not been able to knit herself anything more comfortable. Thus, she had been stuck with a dwarf made cover that proved scratchy although was warm. The bearded beings had spoken of their fluffy goats that they had left back home, but the ones they had brought into the fort were short haired and unsuitable for shearing.

With a sigh she swept the petals carelessly onto the floor, and cast aside the naked stem. Shaking her head she looked up out of the window to observe the cloudy deep grey sky of the night outside, with the pinpricks of light from the camps within the fort like a blanket that had stolen the stars. Pursing her lips she thought about the days that had passed since she had said goodbye to Umbra, and the weeks that she had been in Alerar. She thought about the drow, and how he seemed to be consciously growing closer to her even though romance had never been a consideration before for her. And she thought about the possibility of their mission working alongside the wise dwarf Garrett, who was a mistress of history and culture, who was deadly keen at their ability to make a replacement sword for the one that had been claimed from the seal within the well, that had been magically holding closed a portal to demons realms which were now open and the denizens running havoc in the whole land.

A bright flash of lightning and a rolling boom preceded a surge of wind that slammed against the window, shaking the glass in its wooden frame. Celandine jumped, gasping in surprise. She seemed to have caught the storm in an ebb when she looked out, for now it was wild and back in force - the fires below blustering wildly, flags and standards bending and a lone few objects rattling down the street where they would be missed. By morning she was sure many trees and lamps or so would be upset and more than one building damaged. Or perhaps there would be more - but now was not to worry. She herself at least was in a stable building with four steady walls and thus she ran to the window, and slammed the shutters closed on the world and refused to acknowledge it.

Because things had changed. Because times had changed. No longer was she a princess in a fortress - she had chosen to come here to Alerar as a diplomatic representative for the state of Corone, and the brutal onslaught of demons had led her to become a rogue, a rescuer, and a revolutionary.

[Celandine]

When morning broke, the sunlight glinting hazily over the jagged horizon, it was clear the tempest had discharged every ounce of its righteous fury upon the unsuspecting fortress. At least three buildings had suffered considerable damage, and an entire avenue of lamps that led towards the main mess hall had been unsettled and upended, sending a rage of fire that had needed to be quickly dealt with amidst the savage wind and rain, else many of the basic supplies the dwarves had brought with them into the outpost would be lost. The largest tree also had lost a hefty major branch which now dominated a road and had killed outright two riding goats and a young guard. Chaos had descended, reigned supreme, bitten and caused injury and panic - yet despite that Celandine found the dwarves ever hardy and capable than most.

The young faun admired their tenacity and workmanship. There was something to be said for the dwarves' dedication to the mission, despite the fact they had laid claim to the dark elven outpost. Within just two hours of the early dawn they had organised the restoration of their camp, and at least set temporary measures in place. The buildings that had collapsed were, for now, impractical to try to mend, but the trees, lamps and smaller damages were promptly cleared. The young dwarf guard who had been killed was reverently attended to by the elders, and Celandine found herself caught up in the practice of learning dwarven funeral rights.

Gazing at the tomb, body now cleansed and laid in a shallow grave with stones piled high as an eternal memorial, the scholar was lost in the meaning of life. Of how it was fleeting, of how she, now only ten years old, would possibly be dead by a mere thirty or forty, compared to many others who could expect to live into their seventies, and some races hundreds of years. Was that the fate that awaited her? Indeed she had blossomed into full faun maturity at the age of eight and had seemed to stop altogether at that age. But then was not that the natural time to pause in one's development to some extent?

In all honesty, Celandine did not know. Biology was not a subject she had studied extensively.

Nibbling at her lip she hid her hands behind her, going silent and mimicked stance beside Mistress Garrett. They had been standing in reverence for some long moments now, but the elderly scholar was master of all ceremonies here, adviser and history-keeper for the army.

"Ahem, sorry," came a polite but light cough.

Looking over to the end of the pile of rocks and dirt, Celandine and Garrett were faced with the weary-looking but still determined dark elf Vanimar; his short crimson hair streaked with mud and his deep red eyes focused on the faun. Quickly, realising the situation before him, he descended into a bow. Celandine imagined that if Commander Raimneth of the Sanctuary - and currently de-facto leader of Alerar after he had declared martial law - had seen him he would be appalled.

"You're interruptin' a very sacred cere-mony," the heavily white haired and bearded dwarf grumbled, glaring at Vanimar with intelligent eyes.

"I apologise," Vanimar reverently, once more, bowed low, sweeping his tattered cloak to the side as he did. "However, I wondered if I might join you, Mistress. And Miss Celandine."

Join her. The nibbling went to chewing. Hitching in her breath the young faun tried to not let her emotions get away with her - whether it was sorrow for the young dwarf's death, distraught at another year of her life passing, or excitement at seeing the drow's face again. Deliberately bringing the thought of the ruined flower on the floor of her room to the forefront of her mind she pulled her eyes away from him and towards Mistress Garrett.

"Hmmm," the elderly scholar stroked her long beard. Hidden beads rattled together.

"Hmmm," she repeated, looking Vanimar up and down with all the clear signs of his assistance at reconstructing their camp despite the fact this was his country and it was the dwarves who were trespassing on Aleraran land.

"Hmmm," she voiced for a final time, and then grunted, lifting robes shoulders and then turning around. "Ah, we'ave perf'rmed all the rites any the way. There is really nae issue." She smiled grizzly and surprised both faun and drow by stomping away almost carelessly from the grave, as if the sacred ceremony had never been sacred in the first place.

"Come, both of yous. I wan' t'show you whit came las' night."

[Celandine]

Celandine was surprised to not see an object or a gift from the heavens during the storm, but rather a small group of dwarves sitting in the middle of the main room of the building claimed for studies and research, huddled and covered in numerous blankets, with their long, lank hair looking as if freshly washed and clean simple clothes. They were devouring food, as if they had not eaten well in months, and a large cask of ale was available to them.

Mistress Garrett moved directly over to them, nodding to each of the dwarves briefly before she gestured Celandine over. "Come," she grunted.

But the faun was already approaching. With respect she nodded her head to the group and waited until Vanimar was standing beside her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword out of sheer habit.

"Steadfast. Bolor. This be th' scholar who brough' us th' firs' samples."

Two of the dwarves, seeming to be leaders by the way they moved amongst their brethren, despite their weariness, looked directly over to the faun. One of them, a ginger fellow with azure eyes, gruffly nodded at her.

"You're the faun, huh?"

Celandine blinked a moment, lost in confusion before she agreed. "Indeed I am, dwarf …" Due to her original bad guess with Garrett's gender she had come to not assume anything about what was under a dwarf's beard.

"Steadfast," Steadfast smiled, although very briefly. "Male, mmm."

That certainly helped. Even Vanimar seemed to relax at the comment.

"Master Steadfast," Celandine once more nodded. "I am Celandine, of Corone, and this is my companion, Vanimar of Sanctuary."

"Th'drow bodyguard, hmm?" the dwarf beside him, one with a higher voice - so possibly female, but one must not make assumptions - and blonde hair braided back from their face seemed to giggle. Then they lowered the tankard in their hands and waved. "I'm Bolor. Steadfast's be'er half."

"Be'er half?" Steadfast raised an eyebrow.

"Bodyguard?" Vanimar whispered with caution, but he was cut off when Mistress Garrett came forward.

"Th'others Umbrian and Canin," she introduced quickly. "They are a scou'ing party, who'ave been followin' the directions you gave to the wee cave in."

It took Celandine a moment to understand. "Cave in? You mean in the old mines?" It seemed like another lifetime ago that she, Umbra, Vanimar and another few dark elves had tracked a route from Sanctuary to the Jagged Mountains, discovering the ancient mining tunnels that held a secret that just might win the war. Originally Celandine herself had researched and then found a rudimentary route through natural caves to the western coast of Alerar, with the idea that it could make an escape route for the dark elves still held hostage within Sanctuary. Further studies had led her to realise that the old dwarven mines were actually created to find the incredibly rare metal that could, if forged correctly, create a sword that could once more seal the portal through which the demons had originally come.

Surprised and aghast, realisation coming to her, the ten year old stared in earnest at the dwarves and placed the pieces of the conversation together.

"Wait - you have returned. And so that means -"

"Aye, we would've returned sooner bu' th'storm kept us undergroond fer some time. I'm afraid also tha' there been more collapses because of … fierceness." Steadfast grimaced, and shook his head. "We cannae get an army through there the now."

"You cannot get an army through the mines?" Vanimar said, alarmed, his eyes wide. "But that means -"

"Nay to worry," Mistress Garrett came to his aid. "We've been sendin' small groups o'troops through the last few days. Steadfast and a' can confirm their passage past the wee cave in."

"Aye," it was Bolor's turn to talk now. "They're all through. But af'er tha' storm. Af'er all that loose ground, it's no worth risking it."

So the dwarves had managed to send at least some reinforcements to Sanctuary. Glancing at Vanimar with a sigh of satisfaction, Celandine felt a little more hope. It meant that Commander Raimneth was more likely to be alive and capably holding his position. Vanimar responded with a pleased nod, agreeing with her perceptions.

"That is good to know, thank you," the young scholar held her hands together before her and did not hide the relief in her expression. "It means a lot to us. But the other news …"

"Aye. Ken." Bolor sat up straighter as the one called Umbrian leaned to the side of their box chair and brought up a large haversack to their lap.

"We managed t'mine and fin' more ore. Thanks to ye."

The cords of the sack were tugged upon, undoing the knot as Bolor spoke. Celandine caught her breath in her chest, unashamedly in her excitement patting at Vanimar's arm.

"Aye," Bolor nodded as the fabric fell open, revealing several large black rocks. One tumbled directly to the floor, showing the rich silvery veins inlaid into the grey stone. It landed at Celandine's feet as Vanimar breathed in sharply, and very lightly touched the faun's smallest finger.

"Jus' enough to forge," Umbrian whispered softly, picking one of the ores up and turning it so the metallic element glinted in the candlelight. "Jus' enough. Perfect. To reforge the sword of the First King."

[Celandine]

The rest of the day was sung to the tune of heavy hammers, ringing out a routine rhythm that was ages old and sacredly undertaken. The music was that of skilled artisans, sweating brows and grunts of labour, with keen eyes watching each strike, sharp ears listening to each note. The bass thudded in their hearts and the alto lifted their spirits, as the flames of the forge gave a source of inspiration and creation that spun the shimmering metal from the rocky ore like thread from a fleece.

Celandine watched in awe, the process moving without haste and also without hesitation, from heating the fires to pooling the molten metal into a sensible mould. The process took many long hours, well into the darkness of the night, and the smiths performed as many tasks simultaneously as was possible, with the first forms of metal being added to create the blade, and additional layers added as more silver was leaked from ore. It was a process that Celandine did not find familiar, but she noticed that as the smiths worked they also hummed softly, every so often pronouncing a single word in some ancient dwarven tongue. And when they did sparks would fly, a glow would come from their hammers and magic would undoubtedly be instilled into the making of the beautiful and fate-changing blade.

It was dedication and focus. It was beauty and it was hardship. Smiths and acolytes and warriors came and went, going to rest and eat between shifts of work to come back fully restored and once more work upon the hopeful miracle. Yet through it all it was the young faun who remained a constant; watching in tireless wonder as her studious devotion was given life.

Mistress Garrett returned after twilight, alongside Steadfast, and sat with her beneath the canopy in the low chairs. Heat made their foreheads bead with sweat almost immediately, but it was little bother to them, for a true wonder was in the making. Silence was between the faun and the two dwarves, the former now used to others coming and going. Vanimar for example had not been seen by her since lunchtime and further dwarves, even those not related to the mission, had sat and had their meals with her for an hour or so before going back to their ordinary duties. Yet it was the three of them that were there when the smiths finally placed down their hammers and the final sizzle of cooling metal resounded around the well-ventilated tent. Careful eyes gazed over the blade, and a few more strokes of a sharpening stone was run across the length before the master of the ceremony nodded and slowly smiled beneath the firelight.

"I present," he strode forwards to the company, and paused before twisting the sword and offering the hilt to Mistress Garrett, "the remaking of a legend. Using silver steel, this magically inclined sword made with the strongest and most durable of metals known to exist to us may just hold hope for us all."

A single, collective breath. Shaking with anticipation and a lack of sleep Celandine stared in awe and leant towards Garrett. The dwarven elder though took the offer proferred to her and gently wrapped her half gloved hand around the leather bound hilt, slowly nodding.

"A work of art indeed, Master Drakju. You and your smiths and your mages have done well. Let us hope that this will work."

Steadfast gave a wince, hating the latter suggestion but the faun was still mesmerised. The blade itself was shorter and stockier than anything she was used to - definitely more so than the original sword. It had a thickness to the middle where the metal had been piled and folded numerous times, and a narrow edge on either side of the double fuller that would allow for an easier stab, should the sword ever need to be used for such a thing. But the idea was that this sword would never see battle or blood, for it's silvery sheen sung with many a beautiful glint, as if starlight itself had been captured, bottled and hidden in its materials.

"It's beautiful," Celandine whispered in utter fascination. "Even the hilt …"

It was delicately wrapped in dark leather, then bound with red twine. Three shining gems were tied into this cord to enhance the quality and entice the wielder to notice the brightness that sparkled in the straight blade.

"Aye," Mistress Garrett murmured. Then she sighed, but it was full of satisfaction and joy. With a quiet smile she nodded to the Master Smith and Drakju slipped over a plain looking sheath made of the same leather. Carefully, moving to hold the sword in her hands the elder dwarf paused, before turning to Celandine and holding out the sword.

"It is right you should carry this. I want you to guard it with your life."

A gasp uttered from the scholar's lips. "I will …" she whispered in reverence as her fingers wrapped around the beautiful sword that she had been the one to initially discover as a solution to all their problems.

"I know," Garrett agreed firmly, staring at her with solemnity and trust. "And I know you will try everything to return this to where it must go. I pray your journey will not meet any troubles."

Celandine nodded, biting her lip a little. "Of course. But - but Steadfast said that the caves were impossible to tread now, not without much work and time, which we don't have."

"Which is why he and his company will be taking you overland," Garrett confirmed. "It is the only way."

Overland. Through the fields and forests, through the lands now burnt and raided by countless demons. Danger at every crossroad and beyond each river bend.

"Oh," she murmured.

"Indeed," Garrett confirmed grimly. "And you leave at first light."

[Celandine]

Once more the trickle of pink-tinged light greeted the faun and her company, peeking nervously over the horizon as they set out upon the mission that would be fate-defying. Their names, if successful, would be immortalised in history books, and even the names of the goats they rode would be whispered in awe in the corners of tavern houses.

This was not the destiny Celandine had originally considered for herself. It was neither her intention of coming to this land of technology and mystery, nor the individual desire she had set. It was her mother, after all, who had firstly volunteered and then encouraged her as the diplomat for the Aleraran mission - a mission which had twisted emphatically from simple politics to fearsome fighting for one's life and honour.

With clattering hooves the shorthaired goats sped their easy way down the sharp inclines of the Jagged Mountains, hopping and racing from rock to rock without hesitation. Their ungulate toes perfectly gripped the crevices and cracks, allowing a pristine balance as they bore their riders deeper into Alerar. Looking back behind her Celandine found herself grinning at the panicked look still upon Vanimar's face - one which had been there since he had been told they were going by goat-back.

"But horses," he had whispered. "Horses or - or even a train …"

But the steam locomotives that connected the major cities of Alerar - true masterpieces of their revolutionary produce - had been silent and unseen for weeks. Where to even begin in discovering where one might be found, and then trusting that the rail lines were still entirely intact for the whole journey, was impossible to source fact for, let alone rumour. There was no track either that was known to go directly to Sanctuary, and without the knowledge it was hopeless to even suggest such a thing.

And so goats it had been, for goats was what steeds the dwarves possessed.

"You're fine," the young faun teased her companion. "Just grip with your hooves."

"Feet and ankles," Vanimar grumbled, sinking further down into his saddle.

"Ankles. Yes!" She responded, and didn't stop smiling as she turned ahead to view the leaders of their company.

Steadfast and Bolor kept close to one another, riding on matching black-coated steeds. Serene determination was upon their faces, as if nothing more could falter the hope they held in their hearts.

Celandine's goat loudly bleated as he took a great leap into the air, launching himself from a rocky outcrop. Gripping tightly she sharply dragged in her breath and then held it as her and it flew. Seconds harmlessly passed, silent as the wind, before coming down again with a heavy thump and then continuing to gallop over the next pathway. Excitement beat wildly at her chest, filling the faunish tendency to love a race in the open air. She felt free, and lacking in fear as if this was what she was meant to do.

But the old days of her adventuring desires were over. Despite finding this excursion exhilarating, Celandine knew that her passions still lay in books and legend. She felt the sword of destinies flat against her back, tied tight and then hidden under a large shawl. She thought back to when she had met Steadfast and his company earlier that day, and how she had recognised him directly as an adventuring type. It seemed her senses and instincts of people were becoming sharper; a hint of perhaps her blessing and ken growing.

Behind her a frightened cry told of Vanimar's beast of burden doing the same leap as hers. This time she did not turn to make comment - she just smiled again, knowing that her closeness to the dark elf was growing and that either it would all end in joy or heartbreak, such was the way of these things. Perhaps it was boring and/or stereotypical of her to find romance in the time of war, but all legends needed a romance, did they not? It made the story for the bards to sing more attractive. Or perhaps she was only dreaming of what could be. Of what her mother had never allowed herself to have. Of what was so typical, so seemingly apparent in every tale, but so hard to grasp in real life.

By midday they had descended down the sides of the mountains and were in the last stretches of wilderness that occupied much of northern Alerar. Farms and woods were also present, but they were all dead to the world currently, with burnt trees and abandoned fields. Without a thought for fence or wall or boundary the goats and their riders pressed ever onwards, for their journey was a vital role, their purpose determining empires.

[Celandine]

By nightfall they had come into the desolate landscape that had been left in the wake of the demon armies. Villages full of empty houses and woods plundered for every beast and berry, alongside the rivers that in some cases were still red with blood. Once Bolor waded upstream but returned only ten minutes later looking pale and frigid, as if frightened to the very core. What he had seen was only told to Steadfast; and the two of them seemed so horrified that it became forbidden to speak of what the experience had been.

They set up camp at the foot of a mighty crag, using the cliffside and ledges to provide some cover but also an advantage point. Celandine did not know what 'watch' meant as a noun and simply stared when it was suggested she do such a thing in a shift, but it was quickly decided that she should rest, and keep the silver sword upon her at all times. After all, she was it's guardian.

Around the fire they gathered, tents erected and a smattering of salted beef heating on the fire with some nuts and potatoes snuggled into the outside embers. A chill wind flew across the landscape, but the mountain's crag protected them to some extent. Still, Vanimar took the chance to sit beside her, his eyes still wild from the irregular ride and paused before extending his warm woollen cloak around her.

"I'll be taking watch around midnight," he murmured, his crimson eyes focused on her. "So I won't be …"

"I'll be sleeping," Celandine said, almost confused. "Just don't wake me up when you come back in from your … watching."

The drow paused a moment, and gently smiled with amusement. "My shift, but yes. All you do is remain alert on the ledge and make sure no trouble comes to the camp."

"I see," the faun replied. "I still don't quite get it, but good luck. Where are the goats?"

"Grazing on the hillside," Vanimar gestured with his chin.

"Good," she didn't look around at the crag behind them but did notice the way the flames danced as the coldness bit. Taking a corner of the cloak at her side she tugged it further around her. Slightly, she nibbled her lip, noticing how the other dwarves of the company were just casually talking and acting as if this was their daily normal lives.

"What's the matter?" Her companion murmured, noticing the stress in the forehead and other lines of her face.

"You would think I had not just spent three weeks living in sewers and mines," she whispered as a reply, a vague smile on her face. "But this - this camping is nothing I'm used to."

"You're used to a fortress?" He asked.

"Exactly," she nodded. "Not war, not wielding a sword that can save the world."

Vanimar gazed at her a moment and then leaned in closer. "You're the perfect person for the mission, Celandine Rameses," his voice was rich with admiration. "... You're perfect."

You're. You. You are. You.

The look of surprise on her face was astounding. The firelight exposed her eyes as they glistened, natural moisture making them dance.

"Vanimar - you're - I -"

"Beef anyone?"

Then all hell broke loose.

[Celandine]

It couldn't be the middle of the night. It couldn't be after they had eaten and were curled up in their tent and gazing into each other's eyes, not knowing their future or where you'd friendship would now go. No, it had to be then, right there, after he had said it …

But the story was never meant to be a romance. It was meant to be a mission on the edge of possibility, of defying the odds against everything fate had thrown at them. Reason dictated that all notice of affection or attraction could not last long, despite the steady build up in tension and suggestion. For both Celandine and Vanimar knew that the tale was really a tragedy.

Sweeeee - thump - hiss!

Fifteen arrows, dark, ugly and jagged, flew out from the shadows of the darkness surrounding the camp. With heavy thuds they landed right at where the company was resting, one shooting directly into the large steak that Umbrian was holding up fresh from the fire and savagely pinning it to his chest. The dwarf let out a loud and agonising scream as the other arrows landed in the ground, tents and fire. Hot and burning wood scattered, dangerously rolling towards the tents, but that did not concern any of the dwarves.

Immediately the three remaining leapt to their feet, now that Umbrian was left in the dirt, clutching at his chest that was quickly becoming covered in thick, dark and wet crimson. He was still screaming, and the shrill noise filled Celandine's ears, making her quake with sudden fear as Steadfast and Bolor ran out into the night to find whatever perpetrator had begun this terrible fight.

More arrows.

Celandine felt herself hit the ground, pain exploding in her back as she was thrown down. Suddenly, Vanimar was on top of her, straddling her with his deep red eyes boring into hers similarly filled with anxiety, but he was making no move on her. This was a powerful gesture of protection, covering her body with his as the arrows thudded into the ground around them.

Her breath was panting. She was frightened, lost, confused. Whimpered lightly she tried to push against the weight of the dark elf on top of her, but he was a warrior and she a simple scholar. There was no comparison.

"Vanimar," she whispered.

More screams of agony. Then one of anguish. Utter fear and hatred, and a thundering curse in dwarvish. Twisting her head to the side Celandine saw a sudden blazing fire as one of the tents caught alight, and standing in its silhouette was a disformed and horrid figure. Horns sprouted from its skull in an odd pattern, claws raked angrily at the air. And it's eyes glowed like coals as it pulled back its head and howled with devious laughter.

"Puncil!" Vanimar growled, in some elvish Celandine did not know. Quickly, he shoved her aside, not being gentle about it and swung to his feet. Drawing his short sabre he stood over her, baring his tall height, jet black skinned and bloody haired, then let out a thin hiss.

"Run, Celandine," he ordered her. "Run. Get to the Sanctuary and end this."

"Wh-what?" she breathed, shocked at his suggestion. She had kept the sword with her - it was a flat board against her back - but his words were alien to her.

"No, we were going to -"

"Run!" he screamed as the grotesque saw them, twisted and then began to run towards them on all four legs, it's horrid eyes glinting with nothing but savagery.

[Celandine]

Celandine was no warrior - she was a young scholar, a wealth of knowledge and recently a sneaky sneak. But not a warrior. Wisdom told her she would be nothing but a hindrance in this fight.

After scrabbling to her hooves she briefly looked for a last time at him. Locked into a vicious duel Vanimar was waging his own battle against the demon, striking when he could and defending where was needed. With sabre and long dagger in hand he was equally matched - for now.

A whistle and another arrow landed in the dirt at Celandine's feet. Fine. Fine. She was going.

Her hooves skittered on the looser rocks as she turned literal tail, pulling her knitted jacket around her tightly and again feeling the hardness of the sheath and blade. A comfort, if anything. Racing towards the cliffside she moved towards the straggling tents which had not yet burnt down. If she was to make this last stretch on her own she needed her satchel. After all, she had borrowed books from the Sanctuary library and -

"Wha' are yeh doin'?" came a surprised but appalled cry.

Celandine had just been at the fold of her and Vanimar's tent flap, her hand pulling it away. Twisting she was faced with the stocky and wide-eyed figure of Steadfast, his ginger beard streaked with blood.

"Ge' ou' of here, girl!" he roared. "Ge' yoursel' and tha' sword to Sanctuary! Yeh hear?"

"I was just getting …"

"Now!" the lead dwarf roared, turning around to batter a tiny but precise flying imp darting towards them, sharp fangs bared.

"Drys," Celandine cursed. But Steadfast was just as right as Vanimar. Grabbing the closest thing she could see - her oilskin wrapped books which at least had some of her precious manuals. Close by was also a small pouch of basic supplies +
- spark rocks, dry rations, a skin of water.

As she came out of the tent Steadfast pressed a hand at her shoulder and pushed her sharply towards the cliffside. There a goat had been tethered, partly up the slope and pulling desperately at the end of his rope with utter fear in its eyes. It was the runt of the bunch, but it was all she had.

Running over to it she was briefly reminded of the pygmy goat, Renegade, she had made friends with back in the woods of Corone, yet this beast was bigger and stronger. Her own hooves helped as she struggled up the slate and shale, to the feverishly petrified goat. Placing out her hands before her she begged it with a cry to calm down but it seemed to not hear her. The nosies of fighting, the fire raging, the whistling of deadly arrows seemed too much - and Celandine could honestly understand. Running forwards she aimed to grab it by the harness but as she did it fearfully thrashed, causing a wide and dangerous swing of its horns.

"Drys!" she cried again. She knew she needed to get out of here as others fought for her own freedom. Gave their lives for her potential. Umbrian. Steadfast. Vanimar.

Gritting her teeth the faun who's lonely birthday celebration seemed just a fantasy moved around and up the steep slope to get a good hoof above the mount. As she watched it continue to moan and thrust she calculated a position and distance above it, shaking herself to try to ignore the other sounds and -

Jump. Leaping through the air she crossed her fingers and prayed hard. But as a faun her skills and performance with climbing and leaping were higher than other mortals. Quite neatly she landed into the saddle of the goat, and though she slipped to the side a little as it reared she managed to hold on, gripping with knees and onto the harness directly. Then, grabbing her pocket knife she defiantly slashed down to break the rope that kept them attached to the cliffside.

Without hesitation the riding goat launched itself into the air. The rest of the flock had by now fled into the night, and she and her beast would join them. As the camp began to brighten with the spreading fire Celandine made her goat race away, faster and faster and more desperately as they took each hoofstep. Faster and faster, further away from the demon attack none of them had expected, away from the blood and heading back towards where this had all begun.

Sanctuary.

[Celandine]

Time could not be wasted. It was not a currency that the young faun could decide on her own to spend. Everything was now up to her - the destiny of Alerar and the friends she had made along the way was within her small hands, clutched in the palms that held no love for war, yet had passion for history and learning and culture.

Wildly, the goat ran across the country, veering at points and frustratingly clumsy, but she kept kicking. Indeed, she could feel the terror in the creature, and the exhaustion already as she bade it forwards, but there was nothing to be done. She could leave it behind and run herself - but the goat would still need to race to get away from the demons that likely were scattered throughout these lands. Perhaps thousands of them now were in the country - nobody knew - and perhaps they had already breached the walls of the fortress that made up Sanctuary, but Celandine had to hope. She had to risk herself as others had risked before her, and the goat had to push himself also.

"This is my land as much as yours," she whispered in its ear. "We are both strangers here but if we are to protect lives we have to get there. Keep going for me, dear one."

As if he understood her the goat, although foaming at the mouth, focused his eyes ahead and under her guidance leapt over the thinning river before them. Grassland stretched like an endless haven, bordered by a low series of hills. Using her mind and memory of the many maps she had studied, Celandine calculated the way to Sanctuary and set them towards it, opposite to the rising sun. It was a wide stretch of flat land, one which was easy to traverse and would allow a view if any enemies were to sneak up on them.

Run, run, she told herself. "Run."

And run they did. Kept running. All day, never stopping, away from the battle that had sprung up, towards more certain danger, but towards fate.

It was easily afternoon by the time she heard anything behind them. Twisting around, as weary as her mount, Celandine saw the cloud of dust on the horizon. It was a plume, far too small to be a dust storm, kicked up by some creature. Though she could not hear any obvious noise above the clattering of her own mount's hooves, the faun still could tell from the shouts that the cloud was not friendly. Or at least, not worth slowing down for. Grimacing, she shook her head, kicking the goat hard.

"South," she directed it. "South!"

It was too early really to turn that direction, from where she knew the gates of Sanctuary were, but Celandine was taking no risks. If an enemy was behind her from this distance she would need to get hidden - and fast. Through the previous weeks of hunting and searching she was sure she knew of a possible tunnel entrance here somewhere. There were a dozen or so across the land, hidden as outcrops or caves that no-one had really explored in the recent years.

This far away from the Jagged Mountains and the mines, and more specifically from where the storm had been she hoped truly that nothing would be improper and that the path would be clear. Cave-ins had been warned to her, but she needed to use her mind and memory.

And hope. Above all, hope.

Always hope. However much it was mentioned. It was worth mentioning again.

A whinny. A horse or some similar beast. Friend or foe, she could not know, but she had to be gone from here. Steering her goat down from the flat plain onto a slope she spied a splinter in the land before her and charged towards it. Eyes searching eagerly as they kept raising their speed, she scanned the exposed rock face. Grey and white, brown with a dappled texture from the many grasses and brackens within were obvious, but it was the shadows she needed. Growling at herself she guided the goat more directly towards the largest part of exposed rock and kept looking, chewing the inside of her lip until …

There. A deeper and darker shadow. A natural crack in the stone.

"There!" she yelled and pointed suddenly jubilant, and her mount obeyed.

[Celandine]

She left him at the base of the rock, patting his hind quarters to send him plundering off into the low hills alone. His hoof prints and presence would confuse her pursuers for some time as she made the rest of the way on foot. Now, she couldn't stop though - she had to keep on going and go underground to hide. She had to rely on her own stamina, not that of another animal.

But he had taken her across the land for almost a whole hard day's gallop, and she had to thank the beast for that. At least he was free now, and he would be able to drink, feed and rest soon if destiny was kind to him. Now though her journey had to continue, and despite the fact she was hungry, thirsty and exhausted, she simply had to go on.

Into the darkness and uncertainty.

Her instincts were correct. The shadows did hold a thin vein of a cave. Being skinny and small she was a perfect fit to squeeze between the jagged edges. Celandine angled herself around a sharp outcrop, gritting her teeth and ducking down under a ledge before managing to get into the darkness proper. Almost immediately she felt the dampness that clung to the inside of old cavern systems. Saltiness was heavy in the air, so close that she could feel it in the back of her throat, like a scratchiness that would not go away.

She squinted in the shadows, narrowing her eyes to try to see more, but she was not exactly accustomed to such a dim light. Yes, she had spent three weeks adventuring through the caves and mines initially to firstly rescue the sailors who had brought her to these shores, and then find a safe route to Sanctuary, but those times she had been prepared and had a torch. This adventure had given her no such choice, such as it was with the demon attack on the camp and the chaotic travel over the fields. She cursed quietly in faunish, which she rarely used, and tried taking a few steps but found her foot almost immediately slipping into a narrow stream.

"Drys," she growled and began to head back towards the crevice crack.

But then - the horse's hooves. Their whinnies, and the grunts of their riders. They had gotten much closer, perhaps only just out of the sight of the low hills. It made the young scholar stop dead in her tracks, knowing that where she was was safe, and going onwards was her only possible way forwards.

"Fine, fate," she grumbled to herself, and checked her belongings. Firstly - yes, the sword was still at her back. Secondly - the small bundle of books was at her waist. But she had a knife and some cloth …

Grabbing the closest thing to a torch she could find - a short and stumpy, old and very dead branch - she tore off some of her outer layer, wrapped it around the stick a couple of times and just hoped the air wasn't too damp. Grabbing one of the only things she knew to always have - spark rocks - she tried and -

Light. Brilliant light. That illuminated the wide cave around her, with a channel leading down and away deeper into the darkness, a meandering old stream as a guide. Luck was on her side.

Taking a deep breath, Celandine nodded to herself and began to walk.

Deeper. Darker. Into more danger.

But perhaps luck was with her.

Internally, the scholar followed the memories of the map, finding that she was almost able to precisely remember the routes that had been marked on Raimneth's old papers. The more she thought, the more the memories seemed to jump to her aid, as if by some deeper magic, or perhaps more of her blessing from the tree goddess Drys, the one whom her mother was a high priestess of and whom Celandine had seen many times in her dreams. The harder Celandine imagined the more the image came to her as clear as if the map was right in front of her. Suddenly, precisely, she knew where to go, the knowledge dawning like the break of day.

Grasping the base of her ridiculous torch the faun set ahead with full determination.

[Celandine]

She found natural light at where her memory had exactly told her to find it. An old well, long dried up and connected to the old systems via its channels. It came up in an old village at the edge of the land surrounding Sanctuary, no use to any demon army, for its inhabitants had departed many decades before.

Abandoning the torch in the damp ground and seizing the stones that made an awkward path Celandine clambered her way up the side of the widely based construction, finding like all sensible things in Alerar it was not a death trap if one fell in but a rudimentary narrow set of steps had been built into the curves. Using the hooves that had already served in clambering up the shale to get to the goat, and that had allowed her such good grip in the past few weeks and days, the scholar gained to the top of the shaft, her lip swelling with how much she was chewing on it. It was only at the top that a mighty flash of exhaustion threatened to overtake her. After all she had had barely any sleep, any rest, any time to stop and find water and food before she had needed to just keep going.

Just keep going. Just keep going . Just keep bloody going, van der Aart Rameses!

Unable to contain herself she cried out. The hours and hours of riding and then trawling through caves were impossible to comprehend. So little rest, so little peace. And all by herself now, with the dwarves and Vanimar long now behind her. Whatever had become of them she didn't know. Of course the dark elf stung the most, just when he had called her perfect.

"Damn it all," Celandine moaned. "Damn it all to high Tular!"

The wind seemed to pick up the word. It blustered at the lip of the well, whistling around as it caught up in the depths of the rounded walls. "Tular!" it replied, ghastily, "Tuuu-lllarrr!"

"Oh shut up," she rolled her eyes, and bit back the tears that had been so ready to roll down her face. Never mind the fact she had barely eaten. Never mind the fact she could be striding directly into doom. This was her mission, her task. She was the only one now who could complete this process, who could win the war.

But what if the Sanctuary had already been overtaken? What if the demons had effectively won? What if she couldn't even get from this distant well to the entrance of the sewers and clamber her way back up the poop and slime into the latrines, providing the demon army hadn't even found that entrance yet to it, provided Commander Raimneth was still alive, provided she could get past any squadrons of scouting fiery bastards. Provided.

"Ugh," she shook herself, sucking in her breath. She hadn't even looked yet. Growling past the shaking her body was threatening due to the lack of nutrients she forced her willpower to the forefront and used that to hoist herself up and over the final part of the stone.

What she saw was … exactly what she had expected. Emptiness. Nothing but scrub land and an old village overtaken by nature, nestled in some low hills. And beyond it, vast and unmoving in the middle distance was Sanctuary, with it's dark and granite monolithic structure standing whole and immortal.

Letting out a satisfied sigh Celandine fell back, allowing herself just this moment to collapse in the grass. Despite the very hard diagonal brace at her back and the heavy oblong at her waist she felt far more comfortable and easy with herself than she had done in some time. A smile crept over her lips - so much worrying and she had not even celebrated the fact she had got this far. Sanctuary was just there - just there - and she had gotten so far by herself. She didn't need to panic, she didn't need to worry just now. Raimneth would have held the fortress, despite all odds. After all they had barely seen any demons in the Jagged Mountain camp, and it had all gone -

"Where did you hear it?" came a voice from overhead.

"Thataway!"

"Ff-" she scrambled to her hooves. Then, quick as her hungry self would allow Celandine darted into the mouth of the closest building. It still had most of its roof intact, and there were still the markings of rooms. Shadows were aplenty, and the faun found herself more than enough cover to duck down and pretend like she had never been.

"What did it say?" said the first voice, closer now. It came from the hills, the opposite side of where Sanctuary was. The accent was clear, very proper, but nothing was too distinct about it for Celandine to figure out any identity. Any simple civilisation, even demons, had a noble class, who spoke with received pronunciation.

"Uhh … I heard 'ugghhh' and 'Tular' …"

"Hmmm," the first paused for a moment, as if perusing around, perhaps looking for any signs of habitation. Celandine stayed where she was though, hidden and not daring to check where the probable enemy could be peering over the edge of the hills. She just hoped they did not have much sense of tracking to see her light impact in the dry ground.

"Eh, come on," the first decided after a horribly long pause. "It'll just be the old well there, not the first time we've had tricks played on us. It's the bitter wind and-"

The savage gale once more ripped across the small valley. It cut off the scout's words, and blew round and down the well. Echoing moans rose up, hungry and awakening the old myths of monsters, crying out, "hoowwlll!"

"Fine," the second grumbled after a long pause. "Fine."

[Celandine]

She gave herself another hour. The rest was very much needed, and she found at the bottom of a pocket some crumbs of dry, stale rations that at least would save her for just a small bit longer. Celandine hated to think what her mother would be wondering now - if she had sent out a full rescue parade and had summoned all the lords of Corone to go to war yet. Or perhaps the legendary Philomel van der Aart was stuck in arguments, trying everything to find a ship that would take her across the seas to the uncertain desolation that was now Alerar. Once upon a time the Matriarch had had a mighty boat herself, but it had long been claimed by a broken contingent of her Gilded Lily Society who preferred piracy above all.

Finally, the wind died down, and after ensuring she had not heard any more voices or footsteps for at least ten minutes, Celandine emerged from her hiding place. Tightening the buckles on all her burdens she glanced about before heading directly for the shadowy walls of Sanctuary. At least if she was closer she'd be able to gain more of an understanding of just what was going on there, and what cards fate had dealt. Struggling up the side of the hill she focused on the brief amount of stealth training she had had in the three weeks of hunting the tunnels. Head low to the ground, ears pricked for any sound the tiny girl fled from the old abandoned town to the walls of the huge fortress.

By the time she had gotten to the dark, looming cover of Sanctuary she heard wingbeats. There was no mistaking that sound, for there were no dark elves that she knew who could fly. They were much larger, denser and heavier than any normal bat or bird, and hit the air with a viciousness that only could speak of the power and blood hungry demons who had come to stake a claim on Alerar.

Pressing herself right against the solid stone Celandine was horrified to see a swarm of human-sized demonic bodies not fly towards her but rather from within the walls themselves. And they didn't seem to be bloodied, beaten or running away. Instead they were regrouping, or scouting. Around ten of them as lumpy shadowy things carousing as they swept into the sky, with nothing chasing them. Latter, wicked and deadly, came from their throats as they gathered as a pack of wolves might and then flew out towards the plains. No shouts or arrows followed them, nothing to suggest they were being chased away. Celandine's heart sank as she imagined the worst - that Sanctuary, after all, had been taken by the demons.

But it made her mission all the more important now. Whether Sanctuary had been completely overrun or partly overrun by demons her task was necessary. At least the attempt was. Small and slight and sneaky she was and getting into the fortress to finally place that new blade in the well was far more crucial. And if Vanimar had died, if those dwarves had given their lives for her …

She barely wanted to think about it. Simply - she had to make their sacrifices worth the blood that had been spilt.

Pulling in her breath the faun waited for the demons to be gone far away, off into the distance where they chittered and argued in their dark language. It was a stark contrast to that which she had in the abandoned village, with the well-spoken common tongue, but she could not afford to take any chances this close to the end.

Once they were determined to be far enough away she moved, as silent as amateur skills allowed and as quick as possible, taking her energy levels into account. Hooves moved, books quietly thudded against her hip. Onwards she went towards where the end of the sewer was, that which she had used so many a time now.

[Celandine]

Mud. Waste. Dire, horrid mess. But she had done this before and she was one of the only beings full of the willpower to travel this route.

Whomever had been winning the war recently within Sanctuary had taken care to make the sewer route difficult. At various locations there were grates now, ones firmly but quickly cemented and welded in, but those only hindered the skinny thing she was. A simple squeeze and an intake of breath and all four feet and a few inches of her could slither between those bars, although admittedly it got more difficult the further in she went. And the grates would not stop those like imps - the little vicious demons that were scarcely more than flying rats. But at least any ground based incursion would be halted, with muscular warriors no longer able to scale the tunnels. There was one time Celandine had to kick her way through a bar, but so hastily had it been put in place that it was easy to find the weakest one and continue up the pathway.

It was like the smelliest of labyrinths, but luckily this was one of the routes she knew all too well. The stink, after all, was by far the simplest thing to deal with in her misadventure. Fear and sacrifice lay behind her, exhaustion accompanied her, and dark uncertainties lay before her. Onwards she had to go, for it was only her now, that was the simply truth.

Strangely fortune was on her side when Celandine gained to the latrines. The hole created by the dark elf warriors who had originally accompanied her, Vanimar and their noble friend Umbra was still there. The shattered toilet was still broken, and the old concrete of the waste room was piled high in a corner. Quickly glancing around Celandine found that there was no obvious presence in this place - likely due to the stink to high heaven that was more exposed now. It was unlikely this dungeon-like latrine was even used now, either by the dark elves who still held out or the demons who had taken over - if demons did indeed use the toilet.

But she couldn't worry about that just now. She had gotten to Sanctuary, and the final task was within grasp. All she needed to do was get out of here, secretly make her way to the old hall of many steps and set the sword within the light of the well. Seal the portal, close it all, finish this all.

Footsteps. Bloody footsteps.

"Drys," she cursed, and pulled herself properly into the room. Then, moving over to where the door was she partly hid behind the cover of the wall and the ruined concrete and waited. Silently, soaking and soiled.

The steps gained nearer. Thump, thump, they were the sound of boots. Heavy boots. Military boots. Warrior, a threat, danger!

The door swung open, revealing a tall being in full silver armour. Celandine wasted no chances though as the being began to glance around. She barely looked at them, and threw herself into a run, dodging behind and into the long stone corridor that was before her. Leaving the guard behind she pushed herself hard, each hoofstep almost a leap as she rushed away, away from the creature, whoever and whatever they were. She simply had to get to the room with the dias. Had to - it was the only thing left now.

She darted around a sharp corner, and this time came to direct contact with a warrior. But she gripped her will, and shoved an elbow into the unwitting beast, right where anyone who was anyone had some sensitivity. Her cry was loud and brutal, and the person groaned heavily, cursing loudly as she felt herself make contact with fabric and flesh. But still, she would not stop. She kept running, kept going. No matter what she had to keep going.

"Wha-wait!" cried the being.

But she was not going to be tricked by anyone else. Soon they would raise the alarm that she was here, and soon many foes would be at her heels. The room containing the well and the numerous steps leading to it was not too far away. She simply had to get up a flight of stairs, and then through a wooden door.

Grabbing her needles finally from her hair where they had been pinning it back for hours now Celandine focused only on forwards. Who cared if she gained the attention of every being here - Vanimar had given himself for her, and now she would give herself for this country who had taken her in. Gritting her teeth she took the stairs two at a time and met a fully helmed warrior whom she stabbed sharply in the eye and then a snarling black dog. She kicked it away and ignored it as it whimpered loudly in agony. The stairs were done then, now the corridor, then the door.

Which she slammed through, jeering, roaring, eyes ablaze.

Empty. It was bloody, luckily empty. Why - why? Why would demons - or dark elves for that matter - leave this room unguarded? The well lay in the middle of the room without any light, but blocked up with a new, heavy iron grate across it, but right before her.

Simple, open, unguarded. What - who - what?!

There was not even a noticeable magical aura. But it was the only place she knew to place the sword. Dropping her needles directly Celandine savagely threw off her coat and then dragged the short shining sword from its sheath. Running her tongue across her dry lips she faced the well and the series of stairs leading up to it, still confused but wondering why she was waiting. Why she had paused, why she had stumbled here, at the last. Why? What was it that was stopping her? Why?

A thud. The sound of the door behind her opening. Loud feet stopped short as they took in her presence, her stature, her sword.

"What - what -?!"

It was now or never.

She screamed. A terrifying, haunting scream. Racing forwards she did not give fate a chance. No enemy or traitor would stop her now, no one. Raising the sword above her head Celandine rushed up the steps, crying like there was no tomorrow, ignoring completely the being behind her. More feet suggested more warriors charging into the room, but they would not get her. They wouldn't. They couldn't. Because this was the moment, this was her moment, her destiny, the end of the tragedy. His loss wouldn't be in vain.

"What are you-"

"Drys!" Celandine cried, tears flooding from her eyes. She leapt. Fearlessly, desperately, manically. And, with the audience behind her she struck the blade down - down - down -

Right between the lattice work of the grate.

Right into the depths of the dark well.

Right down, so it hung heavily.

Right where the blade would now find home.

There was an unearthly, uncertain silence. Daintily, the blade swung slightly, the crossbars supporting the hilt as Celandine stood over it, her own hooves shaking as they stood on either side of the walls of the well, just staring down to where she had finally placed her burden.

All was still. All was quiet.

And then -

Suddenly - a blaze of light, like the birth of a new star springing up from the shaft of the well, as bright as anything she had ever seen. Full of energy, full of bright white wonder, full of power.

Celandine let out a cry. She fell back as her eyes were blasted with the light, and threw up a hand to cover her face. Collapsing back she prepared to hit the horrid hard floor of the granite steps. But instead something caught her. Something unyielding, firm, but with kind arms that surrounded her ...

As the shaft of light extended upwards into the sky, beyond the very roof of the ancient building and into the air like a resounding beacon, the young faun wearily gazed up at the being that had caught her. Friend or foe, she thought, at least she had completed her mission. At least if she was about to face a trial and then her death she had done it - found the metal, had the sword made and delivered it home. The portal was sealed, it was all …

"Hello young scholar," a most amused voice murmured, raising his brow as the white dreadlocks fell about his coal black features. Slightly, the Commander smiled - then he chuckled.

"Welcome back," Raimneth, the drow leader of Sanctuary told her.

"And well done."

[Preston]

Judgment: Celandine




Congratulations on getting to the Final’s of the 2021-2022 Adventurers Crown! I am excited to read your submission and compare it with your peers in this solo based round. If you have any questions, concerns, or would like to reach out to me please feel free to do so!



Plot - 24
Your setting was well written to start, with flowing descriptions attached to it. The focus of your solo was obviously the story element, and through that you did not disappoint. I feel that your writing had the most depth when it came to what you wanted to show, but at the same time did not attempt to fix everything in a single go.


Character - 22
You had a good way of showing your character through the narrative over just saying what your character is like or was doing in general. I enjoyed the character’s hints at budding maturity as well as her still juvenile nature. Your dialogue was well done and the accents for the dwarves were still easy to follow and read.


Prose - 23
From the start the sentence structure felt a little long-winded at times, with some that came off as run-ons. Additionally, there are some small mechanical errors here and there. The bulk of the thread, in the middle, was very well written overall - it was mainly the very start and very end that suffered a little with clarity and a smooth read.


Wild Card - 10

Score: 79

Rewards
3000 exp | 1500 gold

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP Added.

Congrats on Level 4!

As discussed, I am approving the special item below. You can change the name and properties, but let me know for approval:

Sunstone Chalk: A piece of chalk made of the remnants of ore that was used to forge the item to seal the portal. This chalk can be used to create portals which allow the user transport themselves or items to a different location. The location is linked to the user's intention and the image drawn. These portals remain open for a maximum of 2 minutes, but can be closed by breaking the design to close early.