=WPC 2021= Field of The Current (Full Version)

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Chewy905 -> =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/23/2021 23:37:05)

Where are you, when you are nowhere? Where are you, when death and life are one and the same, when the endless shadows engulf the ceaseless light, leaving naught but an eternity of gray? Where are you, when time and space cease to have meaning, and fate watches with baited breath?

And what do you find there?

Black and white stones stretch endlessly over the twists and turns of the Chequered City. Stairways climb to blank walls, alleyways curve into dead ends, paths that lead nowhere at one moment and everywhere the next. This is the city for the lost. The city for those pulled from their homes and sent adrift. The spires above, the slums below, and the eternal city between: all stand with eerie perfection, inhabited only by the silent, ever-moving automations that are at once no one and everyone. Within this city, strangers will find food, rest, equipment- whatever they truly need. A final offering to those that march off to War.

An offering of anything… but a home. This city is not meant to house the chosen, but to guide them. To guide them to doors and gates, meant only for them to open. To guide them to shadows and pits, meant only for them to enter. To guide them to nothingness, where they find themselves stripped soundlessly from the city and brought to War.

For Pawns only belong in one place.

The Battlefield.


Water presses in from all sides, rushing forth and sweeping along in a rapid, ever-shifting current. It rushes in as the tide - its roar drowning out all sound, its grip of aquatic fury choking out any air. No breath, no stillness. Only the endless embrace of the river.

Until it was pierced by a cacophony of voices. Laughs and shouts and screams that split the water and bring with them a gust of wind that parts the water to reveal a swath of leaves in shades of brown and emerald alike. As they faded, the realms shifted, folding inwards until they suffocated all else before springing forth into a new world.

The roar of the river returned once more, a tidal wave of sky-blue water that the Pawns rose from, flanked by luscious, leaf-filled trees. The scent of maple drifted through the air as earth rumbled, branches shifted, and stone, dirt, and vines shot across the tides, forming a latticework of pathways that the Pawns alighted on.

Above each Pawn, a symbol flashed. A five-spoked circle. For some, the circle was white, with straight, pristine spokes. For others, the circle was black, the spokes curved inwards in a tumultuous spiral. The circles hovered above for a moment, their presence made known to all, before quickly winking out of existence.

Though the ground seemed solid, holes in the lattice revealed the ceaseless river below, ready to sweep away any foolish enough to misstep. And from those currents sprang layers upon layers of voices, singing a declaration for all those that could hear.

“Welcome to the Field of the Current. No Good can keep you afloat, no Evil can drag you below. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish to the flood of life.”



Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/25/2021 22:04:14)

"Parya Balurnae, Mother Tree, please!"

"No, Kunze. We do not get involved."

"Mother, people are dying - "

"Enough!" The single word cracked throughout the Hall as the Mother Tree rose off their throne, the immense trunk behind them creaking as if in a heavy storm. Its leaves trembled, sending patterns of dappled light across their weathered face as they stepped forward towards their willful son. Hard, emerald eyes bore into him as they spoke again. “Humans are dying. The Forest lives on.” Their voice gentled slightly as some faint emotion - perhaps sorrow, perhaps exasperation - flickered briefly across their visage. “It is time to accept your place in it, little flame."

"But - "

"No, Princeling. You are dismissed."


Kunze stormed through the pathways of the Living Palace, his incensed movements smashing the blossoms at his feet and sending clouds of golden pollen bursting into the air. He shoved his way through the hall, heedless of how the courtiers scattered from his path like leaves before an autumn wind. Snatches of frantic whispers tugged at his ear from the throng of dryads all seeking an audience from the Mother Tree, and he snarled viciously.

How could they not know; how could they not see?

The warmth inside the Living Palace dragged at his throat, stifling, smothering. Kunze picked up the pace, tearing through corridor after twisting corridor, breath coming faster and faster for each turn that brought him to yet more wooden halls. He had to get out, he had to do something, he had to -

The third prince burst through a door and out suddenly onto an upper balcony, cool air stinging at his face as he staggered to a halt before the guard rail. His own panting was loud in his ears as he struggled for some semblance of calm, struggled to regain control of his lungs, of his fury. How can the court expect him to sit by and do nothing when people were injured, starving, crying… Right in front of me, Kunze jerked himself out of his own thoughts, stomach churning as a thin wail reached the balcony. He leaned forward over the rail, golden eyes catching on the sickening, familiar sight of ash-streaked figures huddling together in the outer courtyards of the Living Palace. Their faces too faint to make out, their words too faint to hear, and yet...

How can they not see the bloodshed on our doorstep?


The princeling’s shoulders sagged, exhaustion suddenly tugging at his bones. Another day of humans begging for sanctuary in their halls. Another day where countless refugees staggered across their borders after being forced from their homes. Another day of mothers weeping for their lost children, children bawling for their dead mothers…

I just… don’t understand.

Kunze relaxed his grip on the rail, wincing slightly as he noticed how the wood had splintered beneath his fingertips. Servants, cloaked in the pale green of his kingdom, moved amongst the humans, distributing food and offering kind words. Those who received it expressed gratitude, and yet… he took another deep breath in a vain attempt to focus on something other than his anger. Platitudes are not enough, platitudes will never be -

“Prince Ka- Kunze?”

Kunze jumped and spun about, wincing as the scarlet blossoms at his feet burst to golden sparks at the motion. A human girl - was she a girl? How fast do they mature again? - stood at the top of the spiral steps leading onto the balcony. Her face had been cleaned of ash, though her ragged dress was still marred with streaks of black and grey. She stared at him with wide eyes, clutching some bundle of cloth tightly to her chest.

The prince blinked, then forced a smile as he dropped to one knee to put them at the same height. “Yes, little, uh, little one? Why are you up here?”

The girl pouted, giving him an exaggerated frown. “Sissy busy. Sissy said to find someone else to play with, and that you were the nice one.” Kunze had to stop himself from laughing in her face. He, the Flame of the Forest, was the nice one? She shoved the bundle of cloth into the dryad’s face. “This is Dolly. I’m Stella.”

Kunze blinked and squinted at the misshapen bundle in an attempt to make out a face or form of some sort, then gave up. “Well it’s, uh, lovely to meet the both of you, Stella.” He patted the girl on the head, then, emboldened by her giggle, reached over and picked her up as he stood. “Let’s find you some other humans to play with, alright?” Stella giggled again and started babbling - mostly nonsense - half to him and half to her ‘Dolly’, to which Kunze replied distractedly as he began the descent into the courtyard. His thoughts were still on her earlier words.

Sissy, she had said. Not mama, not papa - words he had heard often enough from the other human children he had passed by. Fire kindled at his core as his fury returned, but this time as something sharper, something stronger. Tempered into resolve with each step down the staircase and into the courtyard below. A descent away from his home, away from the edict given to him by the Mother Tree - but an approach towards what the princeling knew deep in his roots to be right. All people deserve Life. He swallowed as he set foot on the grassy floor at the base of the stairs, trying to push away the memory of his mother’s hard emerald eyes, of his sibling’s disappointed gazes as they watched his challenge. Trying to focus on the people before him, on the humans who deserved happiness in their homes beyond the reach of the forest.

You may not want to interfere, Mother Tree, Kunze thought to himself as he finally set Stella on the ground and watched her go running off into the waiting arms of a girl who looked barely older than her. But I do.


Parya Balurnae, Mother Tree of the Forest, insisted that all their children be, if not well versed in, at least familiar with the ancient rituals that a ruler could be called on to perform. Which is how Kunze found himself sneaking past the rooms of his elder siblings - out of the royal wing entirely - and into the caverns that stretched far beneath the Living Palace. Catacombs that had formed from the root systems of the first trees of the forest, within which dwelled secrets that even his tutors only spoke of in hushed whispers.

“A way to speak to the Gods,” one had told him. “A way to summon great Power,” said another. “A way to get Attention,” was how his eldest sibling had referred to it, followed quickly by, “And it’s never worth asking for Attention, Kunze, it never comes how you want it.” But… broken families had been turning up at the edges of the Forest for weeks. They spoke of nothing but war, of a tyrant, of men forced into armies and women forced into slavery. And not one of them could give a concrete reason as to why. That had to be a good enough reason to ask for attention, right?

Even if it’s not, Kunze thought as he struck his daggers to light the ceremonial braziers. Even if it’s not, I have nothing else left to try.

With the last brazier lit, Kunze moved to stand in the center of the deepest cavern, so old that the wooden walls had begun to turn to stone. Curling flames grew as the minutes passed, fully illuminating the intricately formed wooden altar that dominated the room and sent strange shadows flaring across the walls. Kunze waited until the fire grew bright enough to light up the thin veins of gold weaving their way through the grain of the altar, then drew the Ever Flaming - the fire of his spear bursting forth around the blade in a storm of golden sparks.

“I am Kunze, born of the blood of the Ancients. Third Prince to Parya Balurnae, Mother Tree. Hear me!”

Nothing.

Kunze frowned, swallowed, and tried again. “I am Kunze, born of the blood of the Ancients. Third Prince to Parya Balurnae, Mother Tree. Hear me! Answer me!”

Still, nothing.

Kunze swore, giving up all pretence of decorum and shouted at the altar. “I am Kunze! I am the Flame of the Forest! There is war along our borders, orphans crying at our gates, the winter freeze nearly upon us, and the Mother Tree will do nothing! ANSWER ME!”

And yet… nothing.

The dryad slammed the butt of his spear into the ground, disappointment bubbling up within him. Of course the Gods wouldn’t care for anything beyond their borders, of course they wouldn’t respond to a mere princeling. He turned bitterly, dismissing the flames of his spear with a flick of his hand as he returned it to its holder on his back, already plotting how best to gather support for an excursion -

The braziers went out.

The cavern plunged into a dark, freezing cold beyond anything Kunze had ever felt, even in the northernmost reaches where naught but pines could find a foothold.

A single voice wove through the roots, laughter tucked behind every word.

“Good luck, little flame.”

And the ground fell out from under him.


Cold… why is the ground this cold… the forest is warmth, the forest is Life, the forest is… the forest is…

Kunze jerked awake, pushing himself up off a floor of smooth, polished stone. His spear was in his hand, firelight dancing off the tiles of black and white before he even began to process his surroundings. Buildings - not of wood, but of the same black and white stone, crowded in on him. Paths branched off from all sides of the strange square he stood in, which curved away from his gaze as he spun around and prevented him from seeing where they led.

This... is not the forest.

A strange creation of twisted metal glided out of the nearest space between the structures, and Kunze jumped, turning to lower the spear right at the center of the… thing. It paused, tilting what might have been its head at him in an almost curious manner, until its blank visage flickered into that of Stella; ugly burns and gaping wounds covering her face and arms as she clutched Dolly to her chest. Before Kunze could do more than gasp and flinch away, she was gone, and the metallic creature turned, gliding soundlessly away through another opening between the buildings.

What…? Where…? Kunze turned slowly on the spot, trying to make sense of this strange location. A… a city, then. The humans spoke of stone cities, built by toil rather than sung out of the trees. Is this where they came from, before the war? More constructs occasionally entered or left through the trails, paying him no mind except to flicker briefly to maimed, tortured forms of the humans he had met in recent weeks. Kunze caught a glimpse of a woman with Lilly’s eyes and a torn, savaged throat, a man with Gerad’s easy smile and a bloody slash across the torso, and turned to bolt down a path at random - trying to put as much space between him and these… these things as possible.

But whichever passage he took, the creatures still appeared. Whichever way he turned, he was surrounded by tall, faceless buildings of black and white, encroaching upon the sky. Kunze’s breath grew ragged as he broke out into a sprint, structures closing in on either side of him as he sprinted for an opening up ahead. Close enough to touch with his arms outstretched, close enough for his spear to bang against the stone walls, too close…

He burst forth into another square, air harsh in his lungs and tearing at his throat as his foot caught on a ledge and sent him sprawling across the stone. Scarlet petals fluttered down against his cheek, catching Kunze’s attention enough to break his panicked scramble. He twisted to stare back the way he had come, the evidence of his passage clear in the golden pollen that coated every surface even as the blooms furthest from him withered and died. He forced himself to slow down, taking a single gulp of air and holding it for several counts, struggling to follow the breathing exercises taught by his tutors years ago. My tree grows even here…? Another, slower breath. How far from my tree..?

Kunze cut that thought off, using his spear to lever himself back to his feet. Calm, he exhaled, holding for several counts until he could focus on just that thought. I am the Flame. People are hurt, and I need to help them. Calm. He inhaled, steadying himself enough to warily look around him for signs of more of the metallic creatures. But there were none in this square. Or at least, none that were moving…

In the center of the plaza was a single creation, towering head and shoulders above the princeling. It simply stood, tall and unmoving, with blue light gleaming from where Kunze thought its eyes were supposed to be and casting strange reflections on the bronze material that made up its frame. Kunze approached cautiously, circling the statue with a hand tightly gripping his spear, yet it remained motionless. Unlike the others, its appearance remained unfamiliar, strange cables and devices lining its limbs and a set of instruments Kunze couldn’t name set within its chest.

Having recovered slightly from his panicked flight, Kunze eyed the statue, then shrugged. It’s as good a landmark as anything, I suppose. He pulled a tightly folded bud from the air, wincing as one of the markings on back went cold momentarily, and placed it upon the outstretched hand of the figure. “For luck, shall we say?” Kunze smiled, rolling his shoulders and straightening his spine. “Seems like we all need it here.” Wherever here is...

He turned away, fire and determination slowly returning to his stance. A strange place, this city, but there had to be answers here; there had to be something here that he could use to end the humans’ war.

“Oh no, little princeling” the same voice whispered, and Kunze froze - not even three steps away from the statue. “You have a different war to fight first.”

Kunze took a breath, to question, to demand answers, but instead his lungs filled with water, his eyes filled with darkness, his ears filled with the roar of a mighty river.

And the ground fell out from under him once more.


Water.

All around, on every side, so dark that Kunze could neither make out a surface nor even track the bubbles torn from his lips to determine which way to swim towards. He twisted and thrashed, trying to find something - anything - that he could grab onto as the current dragged him blindly forward. His lungs begged for air, his vision hazed darker than even the murk about him, and still Kunze clawed, struggled, fought. Fight, you have to fight, you promised you would fight. A wall of sound, of laughter and screams and incomprehensible voices slammed into him with the force of another tide, parting the river about him, and the dryad lunged forward -

To find himself standing in a forest once more. A forest full of the verdant leaves of summertime, with no hint of the yellows and reds and golds that now filled the canopy of his home. The river continued to roar, racing by on all sides, even beneath him as the island of vine and wood lattice work finally came into focus before him. Kunze looked around cautiously, his breath calm and steady as if he hadn’t nearly just drowned in that very river. He could feel the warmth of his spear across his back, and the slight metallic chill of his daggers at his waist, and…

And he wasn’t alone.

Voices sang upwards from the river as Kunze took measure of those now stranded upon this… this Current. A human, of sorts, tall and covered in dark furs. An abomination, half human and half something Kunze wanted no part of, for all that the symbol over its head matched the one that had flickered to life over himself. A creature of stone, of man and beast that dwarfed everyone else upon the isle. Another human, red haired and bearded, with the rest of him just as scraggly to match. And a crowned lady in shining armor, clouds of snow swirling about her head.

As soon as the voices quieted, Kunze moved - wanting to put as much space between him and the unnatural thing as he could. And from the wolf-pelt, if her fangs match her fur… He advanced gradually across the uneven, latticed floor - half an eye on the ground below and half on the crowned warrior who he was now approaching. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that even here, his blossoms pushed their way upwards through the vines in the lattice - familiar flashes of scarlet that tugged a grin to his face as they bloomed and fell with his movements. Well, if it's a war the Gods want… He pulled the Ever Flaming from his back, twirling it to ready position even as brilliant orange fire burst to life at its tip.

It’s a war I will win.

Kunze called out to the figure from beyond the snowfall, his grin still in place even as his golden eyes turned hard and fierce. “If you’re anything like Mother, I know better than to ignore the one with the crown.” He shifted his stance, lowering the point of the blade until it centered on her chest. “Care to dance, Lady of the Storm?”



Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/27/2021 23:53:17)

“The spirits cry, Motherwolf. From Satherrung’s tears, we fashion you a Spark. With this, death shall not claim you today. Go forth, and speak for the forest.”

As Tear sat on the stone cavern floor, she closed her eyes, and when the darkness took her, they appeared. Without words, they filled that empty void. Her mind expanded beyond her pale flesh, her presence sprawling forth through the roots and frozen rivers of her domain. In that moment, all in the forest was made known to her. Their existence, their names, their purpose.

As the winds howled beyond her cave, its name had grown familiar to Tear. Blizzard. This was her third winter, and it seemed especially harsh this year. She figured that none would dare to venture into the cold. A violent storm, but a quiet day, Tear hoped. Her mind continued through the forest. Sure enough, the huntsmen and woodsmen were nowhere to be found. Instead, she could sense the animals that were her charge, many taking shelter from the storm.

Deer, Rabbits— Prey to the wolf and her kin. It brought a warm touch to her stomach as she thought of her victories.

Bears— Dangerous, not to be fought alone. Often, many of the pack would be wounded in such an attempt. Some would not survive.

Wolves— Tear wept for her nameless children. Many families roamed the forest, but none would know hers.

Human— There was just one here. Her.

Suddenly, her focus broke, and her mind snapped back to her physical form, now slump across the stone.

Why?

Since the beginning, the thought had slept within her being. It gnawed at the back of her mind, names of the last and first moments echoing stronger and stronger.

Wolves. Family.

Humans—

Metal. Blood. Death—

On that day, the spirits gave Tear her name. They fashioned for her a new mind so that she could understand and a new tongue so that she could speak.

“I—” I. Her mouth twisted to speak the alien word as Tear affirmed her new existence.

“I died. They . . . killed me. Why. . . am I like them?”

As Tear spoke her first words to the world around her, they were answered with silence. The spirits had never left her since that day, Tear understood; their presence was unmistakable. But though they gifted her names and powers, they refused to speak. The wolf understood; she was the Speaker, the voice of the forest. But the human. . . Tear had so many questions to ask.

With a snarl, Tear pushed against the stone and righted herself.

Again.

Once more, the druid took a deep breath and focused. As she closed her eyes, the darkness gave way to the forest and its name. Satherrung, the Forest of Steel. All Tear had to do was focus on its name, and all would be revealed to her.

But just as her mind’s eye had left for the outside world, Tear felt it. There was another — a human? No. It bore a name unknown to Tear. As she tried to examine it, the thing’s image was veiled from her sight like a hole torn in reality, and it was right at her home. Immediately, she recalled her spirit, but as it snapped back, the nameless thing reached out and caught her.

The colors of the forest faded to empty darkness. The fear, the cold— Tear knew this name. Death. It was as if she was dying again. She wanted to scream and struggle, but she was but a lone soul now, ripped away from Satherrung.

Then, the nameless being spoke. “You seek answers in the Forest, Tear—”

This voice. . . The spirits?! No. What was this?!

“Instead, look for the answers within. We will show you. We will make you understand.”

When Tear had finally come to her senses, it was if she had been roused from a deep sleep. Her head ached with a dull thud, her bones slow to respond. She realized that he was sitting down, legs crossed in her meditative pose. But as she opened her eyes, the familiar stone of her cave was nowhere to be found.

Where. . am I?

“The Chequered City.” Tear shuddered as the voice from earlier responded to her thoughts.

As she rose, Tear looked closer at her surroundings. All was grey around her. She was in the center of some sort of open area. At her feet were rows of uniform stone bound together. Some of the stone was placed into piles, fused together with sheets of metal that towered in the grey horizon. Buildings, her mind reasoned. She had seen similar structures just beyond the edge of her forest, where the humans dwelled. But even then, this was unnatural, so divorced from everything Tear knew. The voice had called it the Chequered City. But what did the spirits call it? What was its purpose?

Immediately, her chest grew numb as it dawned on her. Their names; she had no names for them, which meant- the spirits, there were gone! She closed her eyes and reached out for any sign of life, but only the faintest trace of their presence remained. They clinged to her bow, to her old skin, to the teeth around her neck. She sunk down into the floor, grasping desperately at her current state. It was if a part of her very being had vanished.

“I . .” For a moment, her golden eyes grew dim with fear. But then, Tear snarled and leap to her feet, cursing at the air around her.

“Who are you?! I am the Speaker of Satherrung. It needs me; take me back now!”

“Does it need you, or do you need it?”

The wolfkin gasped as she sought to speak, but she had no answer. She simply composed herself and asked again. “Who are you?”

“As you speak for the forest, We speak for the City. You seek answers to your nature, Tear, and We wish to know as well. Have no fear, you will return to your forest. . . if you obey.”

Tear gritted her teeth. As much as she wanted to object, Tear understood her position. “What do you want?”

“There are others like you, souls that we have taken aside. We wish to observe your potential. Some are friends, others foes. You will understand soon. For now, close your eyes, Tear.”

Tear could feel the cold running across her skin as the being spoke. At first she hesitated, but then, she did as it said, closing her eyes and stepping into the darkness.

“Reach out again.”

Tear nodded, praying to whomever could hear her.

Take me home.

Perhaps something had heard the wolfkin’s prayer; perhaps someone sought to mock her. Her boots touched upon the living floor. Like the City, this was a union of many parts, but this time it was familiar. The grey stone was replaced with hatches of emerald leaves with heaps of brown earth and stone. Tear basked in the warmth in the heavy air, the taste of spring on her tongue. She could feel the rushing water beneath her as much as she could hear it.

And yet, something was wrong. As Tear reached out with her spirit into the surroundings, everything was quiet, devoid of essence. This was not her forest. However uneasy, she still appreciated the lively surroundings. It brought her some comfort, if but for a moment.

Then, the field spoke. “Welcome. . . to the Field of the Current.” She could make out the voice from before, but now it was joined by another. The two rang out across the plane in harmony and discordance. She looked above as to gaze at the voices. Instead, a circle was drawn in the air above her. From its edges, five lines were drawn to the center.

Her eyes darted around to the others in the arena as more symbols were drawn into the air. Some bore the same mark, some instead were underneath a spiraling figure.

To her right, Tear could smell the rot of fungus and death well before she would see him. The man looked half-dead, pale and twisted with a grin on his face. Simple leathers, but different from those of the humans she had seen before. On his right, a Sword, a claw made of steel. On his left, an actual claw akin to the flesh of a bug. Unnatural. Sickly. Enemy—

Beyond him was something stranger. Towering above them was a mountain of stone, its earthly flesh carved into the shape of man. Shards of crystal and metal adorned the creature like scars. Tear thanked the spirits that it bore the same sign as her. She wouldn’t know how to begin comprehending it. Ancient. Unknown. Friend?—

As she sniffed the air, the scent of salt pierced through the rot. Across from her was another human. From what she could glimpse, the man had dark, scarred skin and tarnished brown hair. His fashion was akin to the plagued-man with a few stranger items. He bore a sword as well, yet Tear held no name for it. Survivor. Dangerous. Enemy—

Not too far away was another being, this time a woman adorned head to heel with plates of sharp metal. Above her was a living storm of snow, a sight not unfamiliar to her. Hints of gold streaked across the pale figure’s skin, subtly different from the brown she had expected. Something was off about her. Primordial. Unknown. Ally?—

Finally, Tear’s gaze shifted to the last of the combatants, and her eyes went wide. She saw before her a living tree, as if the being had its own spark. Oh how Tear wished that the spirits were here; there was no name that could encompass him. And yet, her mind understood the danger that the living tree posed, for above him was the sign of the enemy. Tear knew too well that nature was both loving and cruel. It promised life and death, nurture and starvation. She would have to wait and see. Nameless. Natural. Neither friend nor foe—

As she gathered her thoughts, the twin voices spoke once more. “No Good can keep you afloat, no Evil can drag you below. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish to the flood of life.”

Cries erupted from the battlefield as the combatants made their moves. Tear knew that with so many unknowns, the best course of action was to keep her distance and observe. Without hesitation, the druid reached for the longbow at her side and dashed away from the others. As Tear ran, she made only passing glances back; the last thing she would want is to fall into the river below. Finally, with enough ground between them, she spun around with Judgment notched, eyes trained on the next creature that moved.

I have killed giants before— I can do it again.



Riprose123 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/28/2021 22:49:50)

“Pull boys pull! Bring those sails around!”

Finn slapped his first mate on the back. He was a short and stout man, a good friend to his Captain for many years. His deep voice boomed out over the ship and disguised the nervousness that formed a pit in his stomach. Two sloops had appeared earlier this morning, flying white flags from their top mast. Finn had ordered that they be allowed to approach since they had only two cannons on each broadside and none of the sailors showed swords. They pulled near his brig, and delivered news. The Queen was coming for Captain O’Dinon, and she was coming quickly.

The sloops were sunk and the crew thrown to the drink with no regard for what they may have carried.

The crew knew the shift of their Captain’s mood. Just the night prior he had been cheery and light, partaking in their revelry with his usual care free attitude. Now they could feel the quiet rage he harbored beneath his calm exterior as he stood at the helm. They could feel the tension that filled the sails like a smooth northeast wind. They could smell the nerves that oozed out of every man on deck, mingling with the saltiness of the sea air. Ever since they pillaged their first merchant ship and tore down their first tavern, they had been wanted men. But this was the first time they had been actively pursued, the first time they were actually, dearly and deathly wanted. The men knew that their Captain was old hat at out witting pirate hunters and competitors but that had been many boats and many crewmates ago. It went on like that for a long while, until they all heard the same anguished cry from the crow’s nest.

A man of war had appeared on the horizon, flying the Queen’s colors. It was moving at an unnaturally swift pace, covering too much ground for such a heavy ship. The Captain swung himself up to the crow’s nest and surveyed the rapidly approaching hunters. The men could hear him swear and carry on as he spied on their pursuers. They wouldn’t know what it was that made that foul slew spew from their Captain’s mouth. It might have been the heavily armed marines mixed in with the royal sailors, or the mages that shoved wind into the sails one after the other, filling them to the brim with peak slew to push the warship along at an unnatural rate. What it was in fact was the Queen herself standing next to the admiral at the helm. The men didn’t know what it was that spurred the Captains next decisions, but they were all silently thankful for them once they were made. He made it back to the deck with a soft drop and a gust of wind, before whispering a few words to his mate. The first mate pointed to a group of sailors who disappeared below deck. 20 minutes passed, and they returned with a large, rune covered chest, which was hastily tied to an anchor and thrown overboard. The men then were made busy, pulling in cannons and hiding weapons below deck; they would give the royal ship any provocation. It wasn’t until they were idle once more that they noticed their captain was absent. They wondered silently to themselves where he had gone, the air still thick with tension, until the sailor in the crow’s nest called out that one of their dinghies was off towards the man of war. The last that the crew would see of their Captain was the sight of him being hauled on board, swords pointed at him and a wide grin on his face. The mate sighed once and called for them to haul for port, and the crew felt the Captain’s absence like a hole in their hull.



Finn’s grin was wide as he laid eyes on the fair Queen. He bowed low, sweeping his hat in a mockingly accurate portrayal of courtly etiquette, “Ahoy there, yar majesty. I be glad to be in your presence again.”

The Queen’s eyes showed nothing but sorrow and pity as she stared at Finn. The young girl he had known for many years had grown into a strong and callous young woman, one that made many decisions that had made her popular with the lords and nobles of her kingdom, but less so with the common folk. She had dressed for combat, seemingly not expecting Finn to bring himself to her instead of putting up a fight like many of his pirate kin.

Finn moved to the side quickly, throwing a soldier over the side of the ship who had been bringing a rifle down on his head for his sharp words to the Queen. The mages stopped their wind casting, and instead turned towards him as the rest of the crew drew weapons towards him. He merely unbuckled his belt and allowed a sergeant to lead him into the hold. There he was chained and there he sat well into the night. He had hoped the Queen might find her way into the hold to ask after him, but he knew deep in his heart that he held much stronger feelings for her than she had ever held for him.



Finn had been pleasantly asleep when he was woke by the sound of lightning and thunder. The sound of a cold Nor’easter warned him of their closeness to land. Not good islands, with chaos and wild, but tamed mainland. He could hear the cries of the crew above, running about as the hurricane pulled and threw at the ship. He wanted nothing more to rush atop and take command, leading these lesser men to safe haven with glorious leadership and swashbuckling courage. Before long, his day dream was interrupted by the sound of wood splitting in on itself. Water poured in as the ship split and Finn swallowed one last gulp of air before he was buried by the crushing salt of the sea. He was surprised by how quickly the chains binding him dragged him into the dark water and even more surprised at how long it was until his lungs quit and his voice screamed into the ocean for air. When his attempt to breath failed and his lungs of fire found only saltwater and brine, his last thoughts were of a pretty girl with no crown and duties brought to children long before they were grown enough for them.



Finn’s next feelings were of cold stone and stale air in his nose. Surprising as it was, he found it was the first in a long line of surprises for that morning. He opened his eye and looked about, a feeling he thought might never feel again. Stone of white and black trailed a long street before him, circling through buildings cluttered together in no uniform pattern. He was in a city, one of his least favorite places to be. He pulled himself up, wondering where and how he had got here, and where his cutlass and dirk had come from. He started down the street with earnest.

As the time passed and his feet grew weary with use, he knew he was short of food and drink. He called out to the streets, hoping to find anyone about. He had encountered motionless automatons earlier, jumping and hollering at them to try and illicit some reaction, just as he had done to the clockwork guard of the Castle of Western Al’ir. Finding no response from this maddening city, he wondered aloud to himself if there was any food and good water about. As he turned a corner, there a lone table sat in a café square. The table was the only one of its kind, with one chair. The café's front window was also empty, except for a dusty counter further into the building. The table itself was sat with fine silverware, a plate of steaming food and a clear decanter of cool water. He sat down a devoured the plate. Though the food was mostly tasteless, it stuck with him and filled him with strength and vigor. To finish the meal, he poured a large glass of water and drank deeply. He stood up to continue his exploration but as he stepped off, he stumbled once, twice and fell. Before the ground could meet him however, he was swallowed by darkness for the second time that day.



Finn awoke suddenly. He found himself laying haphazardly with rocks and dry vines poking his back. He stood quickly, getting his footing best he could. Finn’s hands danced at his belt as he searched every pocket and hole he had. He was sad to find that all his wonderful bits had disappeared and all that remained was his cutlass and dirk. He looked around hastily, covering his eye to give him a better view. His first note was the ground he stood on was made of rock and twisted vine. He wondered on what far aisle he found himself now. When the roar of the water finally, his heart did a small dance. So close! To his disappointment, he recognized the odorless stench of fresh water, but he knew where there was a river, there was hope for the open sea. If it weren’t for the symbols that suddenly appeared above him and those around him, he might have let himself get caught up in some plan to fashion a boat and sail himself down its rapid currents. Instead, he eyed the people around him. Farther off, moving away from the group was a figure wrapped in furs, much like the Skinwalkers of the Northern Straight. Finn’s eyes glanced over a giant of a thing, and he wondered aloud to himself if it were alive or a decoration. He tried his best not to look at the unholy abomination that sported the same symbol as him. The last two caught his attention the most. A young man moved towards the woman to his right, who sported a fair crown herself. He noted her royal exterior and studied the boy for as long as time allowed. He stood a fair bit shorter than Finn, with hair the color of royal coin. He was advancing toward the other side of the queenly looking woman, saying something that Finn paid little mind too, having noticed the path of flowers that followed the young man’s footsteps. Finn wondered to himself for a split second what might be in those flowers, personally hoping for join or jewels, before turning and facing the woman.

“Ahoy queenly wench. Ye not be the fairest lass me eyes have seen but allow me to relieve you of what valuables ye be carrying,” he ran a hand through his beard and rested the other on his cutlass, “I be thinking that we be here to decorate this place with each other, but who’s to say ye can’t give me what valuables ye be holding dear before that?"



roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/28/2021 23:05:07)

“We do this not out of hatred, but of mercy.” The deep voice echoed across the mountains, its strength unimpeded by the raging storm around it. “You have betrayed the trust of the drakonkind and jeopardized all that we have fought to keep safe. You should be executed for your crimes. But as the standing representative for the drakonic line, and your own flesh and blood, I have found it within myself to call upon our ancient rites and substitute death for a new life. Elarin, your weapon.”

Wind buffeted the mountaintop, grasping snow from the ground and whisking it up into the air in thick, swirling gusts. Two drakon perched atop the peak, their frames slender and majestic. Between them sat a third, the chains wrapped around her failing to conceal the majesty and regality of her form. She held her head high despite the weights around her neck, her amber eyes locked directly on the leftmost drake. He spoke with gusto, his body a mass of gnarled blue scales, his manelike array of horns curling down a strong, muscled neck. The third drake stood adjacent him, showing graying scales and a single slicked tail that seemed to hold pure darkness. It stepped forward at the spiked one’s cue, and thin, webbed wings folded into the drake’s limbs as its body shrunk into a humanoid figure. In its hands it held a slick, dark blade. The leftmost, after a similar transformation, took the blade with human hands, his now-pale skin enveloped in bronze armor covered in thin, brutal spikes. Together, the two turned to their charge, which now towered over them.

Fools. You chain me because you know you cannot defeat me. You placate the masses with your speeches of justice, but you are too cowardly to give those who would defend me a reason to rise.

Chainlinks scratched against hard silver scales as the drake flicked her three tails in unison. The spiked humanoid stepped behind her, raising his blade to the roiling sky. “With our Executioner’s sacred blade, I, Gaendriel, heir to the crown of the cryodrakon, officially sever your ties to our kind. May your remaining form grant you acceptance among the creatures of the earth, bring a mortal life both fulfilling and comforting.”

Silverine stomach rose and fell, its speed the only indication of the animalistic panic one would expect from such a ceremony. Amber eyes burned with silent anger, mouth twisting into a barely noticeable scowl. As the blade came down upon each of the dragon’s tails, there was naught but the swish of a blade, a chain’s rattle, and the soft drip of golden ichor onto the snow.



Weak. The lithe woman flicked her weapons behind her in a fluid motion, flecks of blood falling from the silver blades to the mud beneath the woman. Reduced to sloppy assassinations. These vermin aren’t even worth my time. At her feet lay a mighty chimera, its pelt wet with rain. She watched blankly as its tail, smooth and sharp like a scorpion’s, twitched one last time before limply falling into the grass. The animal had barely lasted 30 seconds- such weakness was better purged from this world, but Icarahael could not resist the frustrated growl that escaped her throat. The drizzle that fell over Icarahael and her prey began to rise to a heavy rain. She had traveled to the mountain base on a whim, following an intuition that had long since faded from her chest. The manticore had merely gotten in the way. It did not matter, though, in the end. This form is so limiting. My entire drakon horde could have easily scoured each inch of this earth by this point, and yet, I had barely made it out of the mountains only to return to a location I had missed. Icarahael huffed, and a light mist fled from her nostrils, floating slowly upwards until it melded into the cloud that billowed just above her. The rain’s tinny roar rose to a crescendo before receding once more.

Just as Icarahael was about to abandon her idea and turn back towards the valley, she felt a tug. It lay low in her stomach, a grasping pain that beckoned her forwards. Is this… Icarahael sheathed her glaives neatly in a crossed pattern on her back before proceeding towards the call with haste, her cloud brightening and rolling through the air as she strode. She ended at the mouth of a towering cave, the quenching of her intestines nearly reaching its peak as wind picked up around her. It has to be here. She could not help the spring in her step as she thrust herself into the cave -- and nearly plummeted as her boots scraped against the edge of a stone spire towering over a vast, colorless landscape. Icarahael’s hand shot out, grasping the thin point of her perch as a faded shingle slid from its place and spun towards the stone below. Several snowflakes followed suit, melting and disappearing long before they could kiss the ground. The dark square drew Icarahael’s eyes downward, and a twisted smile worked its way onto her face as she watched it shrink into an almost unnoticeable dot. It’s as if… She surveyed her surroundings, head tilted downwards, eyes alight. She was in a city that stretched to the horizon on all sides, the landscape dotted with spires, flat-topped towers, and lower buildings of all heights and sizes. It seemed utterly chaotic and confusing, and yet there was a sense of structure and order to the spread, as if the city knew exactly where everything inside it was supposed to be. Icarahael could spot flashes of movement within the complex; a long snake slithered between figures in the distance, and close by her, a mess of a creature with many limbs tore through several buildings. Icarahael regarded its matted hair and mangled limbs with distaste. I am thankful to be far enough away not to catch whatever smell that worm might release.

Movement immediately below Icarahael drew her eyes away from the gruesome sight. Before her was a metal man, one knee to the ground, waist and neck bent respectfully downwards. Icarahael’s satisfaction at the sight painted a twisted smile on her face. She watched as miniature manticores, drakon, giants, and wolves all emerged from the surrounding pathways, stopping before the original automaton. Each shone with the same metal sheen, and one by one, each lowered their head and prostrated themselves in front of her. Icarahael’s smile grew wide-- and though it faded as she composed herself, her cloud’s bright snowfall swirled around her in a satisfying breeze. She nodded once to the now still procession. The weaker bow to the strong. Finally, I have been recognized as I once was!

A strong wind not of her own blew past the queen, and much of her mist was blown away with it, though Icarahael was well used to her creation’s ability to disappear and reform. The queen stretched her shoulders up towards her ears, following the path of a long, slow inhale through a barely cracked mouth. The fresh sting of the cold against her tongue was untainted, even complimented, by the air around her. A welcome taste, indeed. Her amber eyes flitted shut as she exhaled through her nose, shoulders slowly dropping. She breathed a second time, and her free arm rose with her, elbow first, finally curling outwards to extend her forearm. But as she exhaled, lowering her free arm in a sweeping motion, she reflexively released her grip upon the spire’s point. Silver scraped against the rough shingles as Icarahael’s footing slipped from beneath her. Her stomach slammed into the base of the spire, and her arms struggled for grip, finally finding a break in the lining deep enough to dig her hands into. She flailed her legs frantically beneath her, trying to find a footing in thin air, and Icarahael once again cursed her limited form. “A Queen should have wings!”

With a strangled cry, Icarahael’s hold gave way, and she was swept up in the ever-increasing wind, the remaining wisps of her cloud dispersing. As the horde of creatures faded from her sight, they responded with one voice, strong and beautiful: “Then fight for them.”


Icarahael regained consciousness as the gust of wind dumped her into a raging river filled with the voices of all that were and all that would be, the same frozen river that ran through the ridges of Icarahael’s mountaintop kingdom. The queen basked in the moment of familiarity, and the river returned her feelings with a cool water that froze in a thin sheet over her body. It melted into her skin in just moments, leaving her with a chill that comforted her with its familiarity, and angered her with its severity. Had she her scales, the sheet would be merely protective; now, her fragile skin did little to lessen its sting. The words of the strange army of creatures echoed in her mind. They need not command her, for the path they asked was the one she had walked all along. Their show of loyalty had only emboldened the spark that had once been fading. I will reclaim the power once robbed from me, she resolved, for it is my right as ruler and as cryodrakon.

Matching symbols glared above the heads of her and two of the five other beings placed on the viney battlefield, clearly displaying two opposing sides. Hers barely brushed through the mass of fog that expanded back from nothingness, dropping its familiar soft snowflakes. Two shared her sign: a huntress and a spirit of the earth. So these are the servants you have sent me? They seemed capable enough. As the voices of the great River spoke, the Queen assessed her foes, three whose symbols were dark and twisted. Furthest from her was a being half human, half mutant, its side twisted and misshapen beyond recognition. Icarahael’s nose curled, imagining how desperate she would have to be to devour such a cursed form. In stark contrast, the foe next to her was a mere human, hairy and scarred, holding a blade with a design unfamiliar to Icarahael. This one would be easy prey- she had encountered several humans foolish enough to climb her frozen peaks, and none had lasted through nightfall. Their size similarity would make things slightly harder- humans were normally small enough to bat away with a tail’s tip- but he was clearly inferior to, and more pleasant to fight, than the mutant. The weakest must go first.

The third was peculiar, a humanoid made of pure wood: a dryad. His skin echoed that of the few pines that fought through the harsh environment of Icarahael’s lands, though his armor was a green of life which she had only seen on her quests past her mountains. His eyes, a beautiful gold, met hers intently. A disrespectful move- pray you will be saved by your ignorance. For though the dryad spoke of wisdom as he pointed his weapon towards her, he clearly lacked the knowledge of her title and authority. She imagined the multitudes of creatures knelt before her just moments before, and decided the dryad simply must be educated- a service she was proud to provide. “That’s Queen Icarahael, to you, boy. If you would like to dance, you’ll have to clear the ballroom, first.” The boy seemed heartfelt, but Icarahael’s discipline far surpassed the emotional temptation of a thinly veiled taunt. Yes, this battle must be won quickly and efficiently: weaker extras must be silenced before the tougher fight, and a human with missing teeth was a clear example of the former. His accent was thick as he addressed her, requesting something about giving her valuables away. Begging for me to give up without a fight- even he is aware of his own ineptitude..

“How about you surrender and pledge your services to me, instead, and we can begin negotiation?” With a flourish, Icarahael brought her clasped hands together and dug her longest glaive into the twisted vines at her feet. She took two quick steps, and as the hilt of the glaive passed behind her waist, Icarahael pushed with ease, launching her body forwards towards the wrinkly, bearded human of the bunch. Her head brushed the cloud above her as she called the winds beneath her, supplementing her momentum and pushing her into a wide arc. The weak have no place here. Your death will be but a small mercy to the horrors you might endure elsewhere.



deathlord45 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/28/2021 23:26:17)

“What’ll you do after this?” It was the ‘small long haired one’ that had spoken, a ‘human’ is what they were called or so the creator had said.

That was what they all called it, yes? ‘You burnt my hair,’ is what they all yelled when they had faced the power that Vigil could wield.

Raising and lowering what the old weathered warden had learned to be ‘shoulders’ as an answer seemed to frustrate the ‘human’ as if it wasn’t a satisfactory one. As if the small weak creature in front of Vigil clad in ‘sky’, ‘dirt’, and ‘tree’ had expected some other answer.

Though the question had stirred something deep in the stone this unlike any other. This was the first group that had truly bested the untiring sentinel this time out of all others, Vigil felt like this band would finally be able to free it and slay the maker’s long trapped enemy.

“Leave it be, Jema, and come get some rest. It is obviously a golem made long ago to guard this place and that is all. Nothing more nothing less.”

An ‘elf’ slighter of frame, deeper of voice and clad in shining ‘stone’, ‘dirt’, and ‘bone’ had come near and spoken to the ‘human’. Vigil disliked this one, they had an air about them that reminded the guardian of its charge; supercilious, fractious, cowardly. A worried expression overcame the normal stoic watcher as he looked between the two little creatures before it.

A ‘smile’ proudly spread wide across the face of the one called ‘Jema’ as they looked between the other two, before stating that they knew their companion was wrong and walking back to their ‘campsite’. Vigil watched ‘Jema’ wander away as the creature’s thoughts turned back to its’ creator and very similar words that they would say about it.

A reminiscence that was cut short by the endless cacophony of prattle that the ‘elf’ spewed forth at the silent warden. Turning its attention back to the creature that knew not silence, Vigil felt what it could only describe as tiredness for the first time in decades. As the ‘elf’ continued to blither on, the stalwart sentinel simply reached out and flicked the tiny one in the face breaking the ‘nose’ and dislodging several teeth from the ‘elf’.

Between sobs and the sputtering of blood the ‘elf’ called out to its companions ‘Jema’ and ‘Viviane’ about how Vigil had attacked unprovoked.

“TOLD YA SO!”

“Get your butt back here now, so I can heal you before I go to bed, you absolute buffoon!”

Vigil turned its attention back down the trail that led to this place, a long winding craggy path that spiraled around the mountain several times and inside of it even more. Having seen the path only once when the ever awake guardian had been first brought here and given the duty it has fulfilled ceaselessly since the beginning. Innumerable bones littered the mountain from base to summit, here near the apex in boredom Vigil had begun organizing the bones by type and shape so it looked less messy than further down. Though many of the bones at the summit were there because of it, either felling the unworthy by accident to preventing any that wished to from freeing the evil it guarded. Thinking of the bones and watching the trail, Vigil passed the night hour by hour, minute by minute wondering if those who slept only a few feet away would find success or join the countless bones at the apex of the world.

The light of a new day illuminated the backs of the swirling clouds high above as they spun faster and faster almost condensing solely here at the apex of the world in anticipation of the coming battle. Rain hammered down upon the area, the travelers who had come to face off with the ancient enemy. The ageless guardian could hear them preparing before the final ascent into the prison itself, seeing the warriors off Vigil stood guard over the campsite waiting either for their return or the calm of the storm after a battle lost.

Clouds swallowed the mountain, lightning and thunder lash out wildly in the midst of swirling wind with rain driven at such force to sting any other that could have found themselves out in the wrath of nature. Watching for an unknown length of time until the storm calmed but still swirled with life. The deep disappointment of those would be heroes failing welled up inside of the timeless warden.

Within a single bolt lightning and roar of thunder the wrath of the storm fell silent as Vigil found itself in a place of ‘bone’ and ‘night’. A faint whisper on the air speaking of war, of ‘order’, of ‘chaos’, and of a power to change the outcome of a conflict in his home found the sentinel in this strange place. Following the whisper through the pathways between towering pillars of ‘bone’ and ‘night’ Vigil found himself in water. A deep dark pool filled with what seemed like indiscriminate malice, braving the unknown, the guardian took steps forward into the water suddenly finding himself swallowed up by it.

A moment later the water pulled away revealing to Vigil a strange place of stone, dirt and what the sentinel could only think of as the trees it had heard of long ago. Standing near to the guardian were five other creatures that all looked to be some form of creature similar to a ‘human’ or ‘elf’ with symbols glowing above their heads. The one that caught Vigil’s attention the most was the one to its right, a warped and twisted being that gave the warden only ill feelings. Eyes narrowed, fists clenched, lightning crackled along hands and arms as it turned towards this monstrosity readying for battle.



Chewy905 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/29/2021 9:50:18)

As soon as the multitude of voices had left, they returned, sweeping through the air with the force of a violent gale, its chill freezing all present down to the bone. Their song became a laugh, a scream, weaving its way past and around each pawn to surround the man with the twisted arm. There was a brief silence before it gave way to a declaration, a command, and a warning.

”Krehgor, blessed by the Witch. We granted you passage to these trials, granted you an opportunity to overcome your woes. And yet, you lack both the movement of Chaos and the purpose of Order. As neither will have you, we retract our decision, and our blessing. You are Dismissed.”

The vines and stone rumbled, then shifted. A perfect hole opened, the clawed man fell, the river surged with a new strength; then all but the waters were still once more as the hole closed and the song drifted away.



Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/29/2021 22:00:11)

Queen Icarahael, huh? The princeling raised his eyebrows at her imperious tone as she turned away from him, and he snorted derisively under his breath. Queens should know better than to turn their back on an enemy, to disregard a threat. All rulers should know better than to disregard a threat… He could see movement out of the corner of his eye - the wolf-pelt breaking away from the pack - but Kunze’s main focus remained on the queen. She dug her longer blade into the earthen web only to launch herself skyward. The dryad’s eyes widened as she soared falcon-like through her own clouds and towards the bearded vagabond. Towards my apparent ally...

Kunze inhaled and sprang into action, straining as he sprinted forward at an angle to Icarahael. The cold of her storm engulfed the dryad - frozen flakes stinging at his exposed skin and fierce winds driving the chill into his core. Another hole in the lattice opened up before him, affording a brief glimpse of the still-raging river below. With a burst of speed, the dryad snagged the edge with his toes as he passed over the gap, using the change in leverage to push himself into a dive.

Orange and scarlet bloomed in his wake as Kunze skidded below Icarahael, the snow-slicked ground sending him hurtling beneath her graceful arc. Twisting mid-slide, Kunze dragged the point of the Ever Flaming behind him, gritting his teeth as the rough stone tore against his knuckles. Tightly furled blossoms burst open as the flanges of the partizan cut through them, flecks of golden pollen exploding upwards to dance between the falling snowflakes. An instant later the prince’s momentum pulled his blade through the swirling nebulae of white and gold - and they erupted into a wall of fire, flames clawing skywards up the ladder of glittering dust tossed even higher by the frigid wind. Heat clashed with cold as the blaze burned, fast and bright, hungrily devouring all it could before burning out.

Kunze grinned, warmth chasing away the frost at his fingertips. With luck, he’d catch the queen either mid-air or upon her descent. Even the falcon can’t fly forever, he thought, continuing his twist so that his shoulder struck the ground first and his armor took the brunt of the impact. But my fire burns as long as - the thought broke off as his slide carried him level with the red-bearded human. The prince took rapid stock of patched and stained clothing; of a single glinting green eye; of the numerous, brutal, disfiguring scars covering every inch of exposed skin…

Dryads did not scar.


The first group of human refugees had been children, stumbling into T’Rea just as the last traces of spring bloomed to verdant summer. Older children, Kunze assumed, to have survived their panicked flight at the first hints of unrest, but children all the same. They had fled before the war had grasped their village, and his people chose graciously to offer them sanctuary.

The second group… the war had reached them first.

Kunze stood in the middle of the courtyard, frozen in horror as he gaped at the people before him. Several were covered in burns, others had wounds bound with bloody, ragged bandages. One - the prince swallowed several times as his stomach turned and bile burned at the back of his throat - stood with a stained cloth wrapped around the stump of where his hand should be. Before he could begin to process the sight, the wind shifted and brought him the stench of sweat, of blood and charcoal and… and… Of burnt flesh, Kunze realized. He turned to stagger away before colliding with his sister; the Second Princess standing just behind him with her usually open face closed off into grim lines.

“Angina!”

Relief crashed through his distress, and he took a couple breaths to shove down the nausea before continuing. “Angina, you sing! You can sing for them, heal them, right?” A heavy pause followed as Angina gazed down at the younger dryad, the slightest hint of regret softening the tightness around her eyes. She shook her head.

“They’re humans, Kunze,” the princess murmured softly. Even as he opened his mouth to protest, she continued. “They have no tree for me to sing to.” Her eyes swept over the handful of strangers, servants now moving among them with water and fresh bandages. Kunze swallowed down his retort, muscles taught as he glared at his elder sibling. Angina ignored his scowl, instead observing the proceedings in silence for a few more moments before sighing, her breath the faintest rustle of leaves. “Our magic cannot help here, little flame. When humans are injured, the scars always remain.”

Kunze abandoned the idea of protesting - arguing with his siblings was about as effective as arguing with the Mother Tree - and returned to watching the refugees. Hands curled into fists, shoulders still tight with tension. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Repeat. The words burst forth before he could stop them, flaring out with quiet vehemence “Well, perhaps we shouldn’t be letting them get so hurt in the first place.”

Angina’s laughter startled him out of his budding anger. “Oh, perhaps, little flame. Perhaps…”


The lowered flange of Kunze’s spear caught the edge of yet another hole, yanking his slide to a jarring halt just beyond the one-eyed human. Droplets of golden blood scattered from scrapes along his hand and cheek, stinging in the still-cool air. Just enough to notice, not enough to hinder, the dryad judged as he turned to face Icarahael, hooking his spear along his back in the same motion. Let’s see what else she can d-

A song of screams and laughter, a solid wall of sound crashed into him as the stone rumbled beneath him. Words swirled around him, as if the river itself had risen up to roar its fury - and then the abomination plummeted to the depths below. Kunze could barely make out the splash; his ears were still ringing from the thunderous declaration.

Chaos and Order… is that what this is about?

Kunze pushed himself to his feet, memories of the symbols from earlier flashing through his mind. Chips of greenwood flaked off the side of his armor as he rose, slipping his karambits onto his fingers. Right hand curled around the hilt, left let the blade hang loosely to the side as the dryad summoned a blossom from his tree and to his empty palm. He called out to his ally as he straightened, ignoring the faint chill on the back of his neck marking another crimson bloom turning black, “Fight well, red-beard.”

The words pulled at the scrape on his cheek, and Kunze exhaled, ignoring the slight pain. Hopefully if he returned - When I return, Kunze corrected himself - Angina would still be willing to sing for him.

And the prince braced for the coming storm.



Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (1/31/2021 0:55:37)

The wolfkin swept her eyes across the verdant field. She pulled on the ancient string, and as the wood and bone creaked, it hummed with a familiar melody. A ray of white light passed between Tear’s fingers, and never before was she so thankful to ask for an arrow. The druid twisted her body, string taut, and the arrow was fashioned. Tear was ready. . . or so she thought, for as she traced her foes, the hunt was moving away.

The walking tree brandished a spear, its tip burning with brown and yellow fire. Embers crackled at his feet as he proudly charged forward. His intentions were clear; the woodkin would rip through his enemies like a purging forest fire.

Further beyond, a curtain of snow surrounded the jagged one as she gave her declaration. Two names, Queen Icarahael— neither had any meaning to Tear. With the cloud, it was hard to see, but Tear could hear the figure address the living tree and the brown-beard.

The three are one in their focus, the wolf realized. She could pounce on them right now. But what of the others? In the corner of her eye was the Mountain. Stormlight pulsed from its palms as he turned towards the last combatant—

You. You will be my prey.

Tear twisted her body towards the center of that infernal stench. But just as the diseased abomination came into view, their eyes locked for just a moment before a gust of cold wind swept underneath Tear’s arm, knocking her aim away. Before Tear could readjust, the Voices spoke again.

“. . . We retract our decision, and our blessing. You are Dismissed.”

At once the earth beneath him gave way. She felt a trembling in her bones as the river roared with fury, and the clawed one and his disease were cleansed from the field.

The wolf was pleased as she breathed in fresh, clean air. One threat was gone. Death had surely claimed him, and such was the way of nature. But the human— the human was scared. His death was anything but natural. Without warning, these voices declared the man unfit for life. And as much as Tear might agree, her arm was shaking now, her hair standing on end. What if they declared her unworthy? At any moment, the rulers here could claim her life. The wolf did not fear death for she had already died once. But to Tear, the thought of dying in this foriegn place, forever separated from Satherrung? From her nameless kin?

Tear cursed her human heart; it made her irrational, sentimental. In her old life, the wolf had wept at her family's passing, but she had moved on. Now, her heart refused to let go.

If I am to survive and return. . .

The wolfkin steadied her arm and looked back to the others from before. The jagged queen pushed against the plain and launched herself forward towards the bearded-one. At the same time, the woodkin disappeared beneath the cloud, and in his place a pillar of flame came forth. A wave of heat and the scent of pyre washed over the druid— such a powerful entity threatening her appointed ally. Could she stay her hand against him? Her stomach turned at the sacrilege. Perhaps it would come to that, but for now, the woodkin had emerged behind another, more apparent target. Tear drew the arrow against the bowstring once more and rushed forward, feet following her previous path. The queen was lunging against the bearded one. As he readied his defense, the woodkin would likely follow. There was no room for mistakes; any error, and her bolt could pierce the queen or the fire-wielder. She took aim at the bearded one’s chest—

Ancient spirits that dwell within this bow, guide my hands. Together we shall overcome all.

—and released, bowstring snapping back as the arrow hissed forward.



Riprose123 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/1/2021 2:04:37)

“How about you surrender and pledge your services to me, instead, and we can begin negotiation?”

Finn smiled at the woman, who had introduced herself as Queen Icarahael. He had tried to swear his life away once already in a desperate bid to keep things how he thought they should have been. In those days, his eyes were awful clouded with the passionate naivete that comes with youth. His unrequited love had blinded him to things that couldn’t be fixed by crushing duty and a call for loyalty that he didn’t understand yet. His eye glazed over as he was stuck in that faraway time and he nearly missed the disappearance of one of his teammates.

That leaves me and Autumn Leaves over there, he thought. He turned his head back to the Queen, who was already in motion, leaving him no room for a witty retort. With a flourish, the Queen brought her hands together and dug one of her glaives into the vines and stone. She took two quick steps, and as the hilt of the glaive passed behind her waist, the Queen pushed off, launching her body forwards towards Finn in a quick motion. She moved unnaturally fast and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as the wind screamed at him to move. He moved quickly backwards, putting steps between him and the tall woman wreathed with storms.

Finn moved to draw his blade but old autumn leaves caught his eye. In a move that mirrored the Queen’s, the Prince Kunze launched himself-These folks all must envy birds, Finn thought to himself- and slid underneath the Queen, dragging his spear and setting alight the curious flowers that followed behind him. He hooked the end of his spear to the ground to stop himself and Finn laid helping hands to set the boy to his feet, though he probably did not need them. He spied an arrow whizz by where he had stood and eyed the archer across the way, covered in furs. He drew his sword and bellowed across the way, “Oi! Be a right yellow thing to do, not giving no warning before you let fly there Skinwalker!”

Finn thumped his chest once, twice, three times as was customary among the Skinwalkers as a show of supremacy. Hopefully, if that was what she was, she would recognize it and follow him as the pack leader. However she figured into this thing, Finn had the sneaking suspicion she was from a far off place that he was unfamiliar with.

“Fight well, red-beard,” the Prince said with almost no inflection at all.

“Argh, Jim lad, that be Captain to you. Finn be fine as well if you be figuring us friends,” the Captain gave Kunze his best scallywag grin.

Finn turned back towards their opponents. The statue was beginning to move now and as he eyed it, he drew a deep breath into him and pictured the fog. Finn paused as the fog clouded his mind, building within him as it does over bays in the cold night. Finally, as it was close to bursting, Finn released his breath and with it the fog, exploding out from his nose and mouth and covering a circle around him in thick, dark fog. Finn lowered his voice and threw a few words to Kunze where he remembered him standing a second ago, “hope you have a plan, lad, because I be thinking we have but a minute.”

Finn smiled as he crept slightly towards Kunze. This arena was at last starting to feel like home.



roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/1/2021 15:07:27)

Pleasant cold turned to searing heat. Icarahael’s thigh erupted into almost unbearable pain, seeping through a fold in her armor revealed during her leap. Instinct took over as her breath caught, body instantly curling into a drop, arms flying forward to cross her glaives and catch her forward momentum. Surely it wasn’t--



Six manticores, and she had only suffered a single burn.

Six manticores, and all lay slain at the queen’s feet.

Six manticores traded for a single drake, a white breasted male stained red in the snow.

“That is one drake too many!” the queen bellowed, turning to the gathering behind her. The sting of each syllable echoed the pain that pulsed through her underside. “We are cryodrakon, masters of the Northern gale. We cannot allow these flying beasts to prey on us as if we are helpless doves!” The silverine drake paused in her address, listening as the last of her words echoed off the mountainside. The drakon before her numbered eighteen: two from the attacked patrol, tended to by three healers and two mates; a male and a youngling, knelt by the fallen drake; another nine that had joined the queen after the messenger arrived. Their coats, ranging from the brightest white to the darkest blue, reflected the shining sun as if they were mounds in the snow, but movement revealed their heads as some shook, while others dropped their jaws and let out a low growl. The cryodrakon did not take a death of their own lightly, and Icarahael could whip their anger into a blazing fury. She stepped forward and spread her wings behind her, two large, webbed structures bound both to her side and her front legs to allow for control even in surging winds. “We must fight back against the creatures foolish enough to attack our kind! Fly into their own territory and raze them to the ground! We will show them the true might of the cryodrakon!”

At this declaration, several drakon roared, and the queen raised her head, her voice rising in unison with that of her kin. The manticores had been a nuisance for some time, flying about the peaks as if they themselves were drakon, but this was the first time they had actively trode upon the cryodrakon’s territory. They had murdered one of her kind with no pride, no dignity, overpowering the patrol not with strength, but with mere mass. Animals that needed such numbers just to kill a single drake did not deserve even the slightest victory. For their mistake, Queen Icarahael would have not only their heads, but the excuse to finally conquer their lands. She- the whole cryodrakon race- could rule over the entire Crean mountain range.

With her head risen to the sky, the queen did not notice those who did not roar with her. Those who looked around with uncertainty, or backed away in fear. She only knew the burning of her underbelly that fueled the fury and anticipation in her heart.



Pain shot through Icarahael’s ankle as her feet came down hard on the uneven terrain beneath her. Momentum carried her to her knees, but instinct swung her uninjured leg to her side; foot planted firmly into the ground, Icarahael twisted her waist to face the direction she had leapt from without conscious thought. Glaives swung ready, scattering droplets to the earth beneath her as they lifted, ready to strike. Her winds raged to support her movements, catching her braid and cape as they billowed beside her. A flame, sizzling at the tip of her two-tailed cape, emboldened into a flame at the wind’s coaxing. The drake that bore it remained unaware in the face of its new threat. As rain began to fall, chilled and harsh, the flame fought for life, before finally snuffing out not from the queen’s storm, but from a gale which came beyond it. The queen had barely registered her threat as the bold dryad from earlier before the River spoke.

”You are dismissed.” A wispy female voice rose above them all in Icarahael’s ears, cracking in pain, but strong in her words. The Queen’s breathing settled as her eyes trained on the subject of the River’s displeasure. The grotesque humanoid-- her given enemy. Vines opened at the voices’ decree, plunging the creature into the raging river beneath. Though the River had taken a foe, the voice spoke not of favor for Icarahael, but of greater powers.

Chaos and Order. Voices that command even the raging river and the wild foliage. So Icarahael was fighting under their call, then. An unexpected development. To be fighting under something- Icarahael’s scowl curled in confusion as the idea brought a displeasure she could not fully identify. They were not doing her work for her: she was doing theirs.

She must take time to ponder the implications of this; but at least for now, her objective seemed to align nicely with theirs. As the dryad moved to stand, Icarahael’s eyes turned back to him, to he who disrespected her and evoked the power of her enemies. He who stood as an obstacle to regaining the rule that was rightfully hers.

Flames did not live long in the mountains, and they would certainly not live long here.

Queen Icarahael stood steadily, careful not to strain the ankle that had pained simply from a hard landing: more evidence this form was not fit for a queen. Fog billowed behind her, a source not her own, likely the bearded human. She supposed the human had meant to blind her with the fog, to evoke confusion and fear. If only he’d seen her homeland; his fog would pale in comparison. It caught quickly in her storm’s growing, swirling winds, and soon the Queen was enveloped by wisps of fog and rain that circled around her untouched figure. She took one step forward, then a second, and the swirling storm moved with her, the harsh winds that warn of an incoming blizzard. Her prickling thigh served a reminder of her purpose. She must quell the urge to turn winds into a gale and race towards her target. She would have her way-- but recklessness was not befitting for royalty. As she had before, she must wait for the enemy to show its weak point. And then she would kill this impudent dryad six-fold.

“Learn your place, worm" the queen snarled, her features full of contempt. Left glaive flicked out, a thin line of water splashing down the dryad’s simmering trail. Icarahael straightened her arm to draw the cut through towards the dryad. It would be close- but a little splash was all she needed.

My priorities have changed. You must be taught a lesson, insolent boy. I will not rest until your lips touch my feet- either to kiss them, or to take your last breath.



deathlord45 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/1/2021 23:23:43)

Perplexed Vigil stared at the spot that the aberrant creature it was moving to fight had stood only a moment prior before the ‘ground’ had opened up and the ‘river’ swallowed it.

’Order’, ‘chaos’ what are those? Maker never spoke of them, must not be all that important if the Maker never taught me of them.

Beyond the now empty space, stood some ‘hairy’ ‘human’ with a ‘bow’ shooting at something behind the guardian. Following the angle of the shot Vigil turned to see a thick cloud as it formed here on the ground far from the sky or it’s eternal prisoner. Blocking line of sight on three others since the warden could also no longer see the ‘elf’ one.

The hairy one and the sky one both had the same symbol as I did. Guess that makes them my allies then. So the goal must be to slay the blood one and the other one in combat.

Pushing into the ground cloud Vigil felt slightly like it was back home for a moment but the lack of lightning and thunder did undo that. Though the lack of the cacophony allowed the guardian to hear the sounds of conflict within the cloud. Movement or at least the sounds of it pulled the sentinel’s attention reaching out trying to time it to grab whatever was making the noise to make sure it wasn’t the sky one; however the guardian missed and grasped nothing. A few more steps brought it close to the other one, it was the same size as a ‘human’ but may not be one. Pulling back its right hand Vigil balled up the hand into a fist and began the long journey of bring it into his enemy.



Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/2/2021 9:30:08)

As Kunze finished re-arming himself, Icarahael plummeted towards the ground - the maw of fire forcing the sky-borne queen to cut short her approach. Rain wept from the clouds above her, a deluge wasted merely to drown out the single tongue of flame that still licked along the hem of her cloak. The prince kept his face expressionless as she rose, dripping, a mix of pain and fury burning in her eyes as they met his from across the battlefield.

Then red-beard - Finn, Kunze corrected himself - made a sound somewhere between a snort and a sneeze, and a wall of swirling mists burst forth from the vagabond. Wisps piled fast upon each other, building swiftly from slight drifts to thick banks fog. Damp tendrils curled themselves about Kunze, cutting off his sight of Finn and Icarahael alike. The last flickers of fire burned eerily through the murk - a rapidly fading path marking where the dryad now stood shrouded in gloom.

But not muffled, Kunze thought with a slight grin. Leather scuffed loudly against the ground - Finn’s graceless shuffle towards him a far cry from the silent pads of equally ragged wildcats who prowled the forests. The accent is rather different, too. Finn’s mutter reached the prince as he emerged from the fog, but Kunze’s attention was instead caught by the furious snarl that pierced through the air like a wolf’s howl splitting the night . Worm?

Icarahael must be on the move already - embers hissing defiance as a loud splash smothered the last few remaining sparks of his blaze. Kunze’s eyes narrowed, before the dryad leaped backwards and away from movement in the mist. Water shot out towards him, striking the spot where he had stood a moment before. The resultant burst of spray still managed to soak one of his boots. Frigid tendrils wormed their way through the panels of leather, their touch shockingly cold against his bare skin. Uncomfortable, but hardly a hindrance…

Kunze stared at the rivulets dripping past his heel, mind turning over Icarahael’s words and tone. The contempt that cut through each snapped off consonant. The smug superiority of her address. The callous, blatant disdain in her expectation of surrender. Fire smouldered at his core. From within the embrace of fog, the prince laughed, low and mocking. With a hard flick, he sent the blossom he held flying back along the arc of the water that had struck at him. This is all the tribute you’ll receive from me. He spoke, voice echoing forth in proclamation as the flower left his fingertips.

“You are no queen.”


The only rulers recognized by the forest were of the line of the Mother Tree: born of seeds dropped by the earliest trees during the first Fall, blessed with tremendous power and the longevity needed to fully realize it. In turn, they were tasked with protecting the forest - to nurture the life within and to guard it against any danger. Those Mother Trees that did not fulfil their duties withered and died with frost on their boughs and disease in their roots.

Kunze learned early, from snatches of overhead conversations among human ambassadors sent to their land, that the human monarchs had no such blessings.

“They are like roses, little flame,” Parya Balurnae had told him, the child prince curled up tight in the roots that formed their throne. “They live and die so swiftly - and struggle valiantly all the more because of it. Such amusing creatures.”

But now as each wave of summer heat brought another wave of broken humans, Kunze found no amusement in the words whispered throughout the courtyard. The dryad slipped in amongst the humans each evening, calling many by name now as he lit their fires and listened to their stories. They spoke of soldiers sent to every village, seizing all of value before torching the remains. Of people forced into slavery, toiling away at mines or shoved into the front lines of battle to be slaughtered. Of kings who demanded more - always more - until the rivers of theirs and their neighbors’ lands ran red with blood. Each tale served as another piece of kindling, adding fuel to the outrage slowly building at his core.

“They’re monsters,” spat a young man. Gerard, Kunze recalled, who had shown up only yesterday with one little brother holding tight to his hand and the body of the other held tight to his chest. “And we’re nothing. Just arms to swing their swords. Just bodies to die for them.” He swallowed; raised his broken, bright blue eyes to Kunze’s golden ones. “Nothing more than worms beneath their feet.”


Kunze moved swiftly through the haze, silently looping around Finn and passing just close enough to shoot the human a quick grin. Another set of footsteps echoed out, covering his own with the booming crash of stone on stone. Glancing left, the dryad barely managed to choke back a shout of alarm. The massive form of the bull-man emerged scant feet away in the mist, a single massive fist outstretched. He felt his hair ruffle in the swipe of its passing as he ducked, dodging iron-grey fingertips by an inch before pressing forward. Unless he’s deaf, Finn should hear that thing coming - hopefully he can fight well. He may even have the advantage if Kunze could keep Icarahael’s focus off the vagabond.

Barely a step or two later, wind ripped his cover to shreds as the dryad plunged once more into the icy vortex. He had managed to outmaneuver Icarahael in the fog, the woman’s attention still on the burst of living fire as the prince broke into the relatively clear space off to her side. Kunze lunged forward: close enough to hinder the reach of her longer blades, close enough to strike first. Fingers curled about the hilts of his daggers, Kunze drew his left arm across his chest before plunging the blade towards the slit between armored plates at the queen’s shoulder joint.

Icarahael whirled about just in time, one silver pauldron catching the outer edge of his karambit and sending a spray of white-hot sparks towards her. Kunze braced, right dagger held out and low to protect his core from the potential retaliation. He bared his teeth, snarling, with all the rage of his fire alight in his eyes.

“You’re a tyrant.”



Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/3/2021 20:34:29)

Whatever injuries gave the bearded-one his scars, they certainly did not impede his form. Before him was the jagged queen. In the corner of her eye, Tear watched as she emerged from the curtain of bronze flames, her cloud torn from her being. Icarahael descended with glaives in hand, Tear’s arrow hurling towards the man’s flank, but with grace and form the scarred-one stepped back, easily avoiding both.

Swift prey. Too fast. Close the distance?

As the druid ran through her options, the prey turned to offer a hand to the woodkin. His bold move could have ended in disaster, and yet the queen was kneeling on the floor, glaives holding her firm as Tear saw her seize in pain. Her heart leapt with both joy and concern at the sight. The woodkin was safe, but her ally was now wounded.

Then, the scarred-one called out to Tear, his steel in hand.

“Oi! Be a right yellow thing to do, not giving no warning before you let fly there Skinwalker!”

The man wore his scars like a veteran, but he boasted like a newborn pup, barking and pounding his chest for all to see.

Are you taunting me?!

Tear gave a snarl as she clutched her bow, her hand growing dark with boiling blood. As she did, she could see the scarred-one step back, and at his command he breathed out a wave of thick fog.

Now, you even dare to call upon the winds for your own gain? I am the Speaker, I am the Alpha hunter!—

With a deep breath, Tear placed one step forward and leaned back.

And you are the prey. You will know fear—

They were afraid.

As the pack grew closer, the huntsmen clung to their rifles. Twenty or so pairs of golden eyes had surrounded the camp, their shadows drifting across the moonlit snow. The humans were huddled together against a makeshift barrier of wood.

They were afraid, the alpha female knew. Four animals against her entire family. For days they had searched for their next meal, stomachs full of nothing but hunger and acid. She had picked up the scent of flesh burning in the air. The humans had eaten their last meal; soon, they would feed the pack.

She turned to look at her husband as he slowly shuffled to the front. Age had weakened his stride and dulled one of his golden eyes. It would have been easy for a youngling to put him down and claim the role of Alpha, but none dared. Age had not sunk its teeth into her bones, and despite her many years, she was the strongest of them all.

The pack watched with anticipation as the husband brushed against his partner. She spoke without words to him.

Are they ready?

The alpha male looked away. They are too young, my love. They lack experience, eager to fight and die.

Then we shall teach them. They have known starvation long enough. Now, they will know the feast.

As you wish. The husband bowed his head.

The alpha female gave the signal. At once they rushed forward, a frenzy of feet tearing through the snow. They bore their fangs and growled, and then—

"Fire!"

With one word the humans rose together, and the pack was silenced. Thunder and sparks tearing through the air as metal tore through their flesh. When the fighting stopped, the snow was stained with rows of blood. Not a single wolf had made it around the barrier. As the men left the safety of their post, only one wolf still remained. The alpha female howled as she struggled to move. It was if the hunter’s shot had set her front leg on fire, blood pouring from where the metal pierced her flesh.

He. . . was right.

As one of the men drew close, she gave one last howl as she pushed off into a dive, barely covering any ground as she missed the hunter. There were no signs of fear left in the human. Instead, he laughed at the trembling wolf.

No! I will not die!

"Would you look at that, the dog still has some fight left in it!" She snarled at him as he pointed the barrel at her head. "It will all be over soon..."

I can fight! I will kill you all—

From her very depths, the wolfkin howled. Her voice echoed across the battlefield, the cry rising above the raging river and dwarfing all else. Without hesitation, Tear pushed off her feet, grinding the rocks beneath her boots as she bolted towards her prey and the others. As she did, the scarred-one's fog shifted and swirled into a storm. Pieces of dirt and water mixed with the heavy cloud. Tear made one quick glance to her side. The queen had risen, and with renewed fury her blizzard tore into the meager fog.

Amidst the barbed rock and vines were several pitfalls, but rather than weave around them, Tear leapt over them and into the air, eyes now fixed straight forward.

Hide in the storm, but you cannot reach me. It is only a matter of time.

As she came down, Tear drew her bowstring once more, and a cold pain pricked her finger as the arrow was formed. To her right was the Mountain, just now stepping into the storm. To her left, she could hear the woodkin and the queen dancing, his laughter and declaration bouncing through the air. That left the scarred-one somewhere in between. A single tear crept upon the wolfkin’s face as a human name came forth, a painful one. It would serve her well today. Volley. She would test just how fast her prey was.

Tear placed her foot forward and turned towards the giant, her arrow stopping just to the right of him. The air snapped once more with the sound of her bowstring, and as the arrow left her hand, she pulled on Judgement’s string again. She shifted her aim a few inches to the left, and the light had scarcely any time to sit as the arrow was formed and fired. Tear swept her bow across the stormcloud as arrow after arrow was fired, stopping just shy of the woodkin's voice before tracing back towards the mountain. The cold bit into her fingers with each shot, exhaustion seeping into her arms. But her heart pulsed with warm blood, and adrenaline pushed back against the pain. It would all be worth it to add one last scar to that wretch.

Her voice bellowed once more as she reached out, baring her teeth to her prey. “Come out, human! Afraid to die? Who is the coward now?!”



roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/5/2021 14:53:46)

“You are no queen.”
“You are no queen of mine, Mother.”

Her title did not rely on the words of an insignificant dryad boy. Yet as they reached her, her nostrils flared. Icarahael had done nothing to deserve such insults. She had merely taken advantage of the strength given to her; used it to take what was rightfully hers and defend what she held dear. Surely they would do the same were they in her place! She growled a low insult, the lash of each syllable echoed her temptation to strike. “Your lack of understanding would almost be pitiful if I found you worthy of such an emotion.”

At the next hint of movement - a break in the air in front of her - Icarahael lashed out intently. Her glaives crossed downwards to cleave through the boy’s skull-- yet they met naught but the winds of her own storm. Instead of her dryad target, a small, curled flower fluttered in front of the queen. It tumbled across her vision, subject to the whims of the winds around her; yet the blossom itself remained whole and unharmed. It bore a brilliant orange foreign to Icarahael’s harsh homeland, and she watched, intrigued, as it danced in her winds. It was like a token for her collection...




Stones and leaves scattered as the spined drake’s tails made contact with one of the Queen’s trophy piles. Several other tokens - a manticore’s tail and golden flower petals the most notable among them - already lay on the ground, kicked about the spacious cavern by the drake’s violent movements. Queen Icarahael stood watching him, determined not to let his efforts provoke her into action. Her words echoed through her spacious cavern as she reprimanded his tantrum. “You speak nonsense! I am just as distraught as you, Gaendriel, but that is not an excuse for such baseless accusations!” Queen Icarahael’s words echoed through the spacious cavern. The drake pacing in front of her bore dark blue scales and an impressive mane of horns. At the queen’s harsh tone, his head snapped to face her, his voice seething with contempt.

“Every word that comes out of my mouth is nonsense to you! You may fool the others with your speeches of love and kinship, but you deny your own blood even the slightest affections! Your soul is as harsh and violent as the manticores’ breath!” The Queen’s maw opened to protest, but the drake ignored her, pacing about the cavern and slamming his dual tails into the stone. “You flaunt your position around like you’re god of the mountains and we’re all just playthings. I will not take it any longer!”

“Gaendriel!” The queen’s voice flared with shock and hurt.The cryodrakon were her comrades, her kin, and this drake was her own flesh and blood! “To call yourself a plaything is to forgo your strength as future king!”

Gaendriel scoffed, his words seeping with contempt. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” The drake took one last swing at her collections and knocked free a large crystalline crown, its intricate swirls and diamonds reflecting the silver and blue of the two drakon’s scales. It clanged to the floor and rolled towards the cavern’s center. As it came to a stop with one last musical ring, both drakon stared at it, their argument paused. They knew the crown rarely left Icarahael’s head.

The younger broke their silence first, moving his dark eyes from the crown to his Mother’s face. “You’re right, I should take my position seriously.” Icarahael felt her stomach turn, fearful of the viciousness she saw in her son’s eyes. “I know what really happened to Father. And I will ensure every drake this side of the mountain knows what you’ve done.”




Flames erupted from the ground as the flower plummeted into the vines beside Icarahael’s feet. She let out a growl, stomping her boot into the flames to put them out. Curse this incessant fire!

She was almost too late to notice the body that had crept up behind her. Her pauldron alighted as she swung to face it, sizzling sparks splattering across her face. Icarahael let out a hiss and flinched away from the white hot pain. The dryad had skirted around her without her noticing-- why must humans have such a terrible sense of smell? She would have caught his stench a mile away with her normal senses, yet in this form he was upon her in seconds. The dagger in his grasp ripped a simmering, melting gash in her pauldron. His body felt like a warm sunbeam against the biting winds; Icarahael’s stomach lurched at the sensation. Barely distinguishable from the hot sparks, the accent on his words threw a drop of spit against her neck.

“You are a tyrant.”
”You are a murderer.”

“No!” Icarahael snarled at the remark, tensing at the brutal accusation and the venom in his eyes. She felt as if she was a cornered animal. Roughly, she threw out an elbow, anxious to force the dryad away. “Freeze!”

Whether the command was issued out of panic or unconscious knowledge, Queen Icarahael’s crown chilled against her skin. Baby blue light erupted from her forehead, highlighting two ugly, malformed scars. The malformed circlet caught the light, spreading it down its stark black curls as a diamond shape alighted within its center. Icarahael strained her neck, remembering the harsh weight of the horns that had once bloomed from her head in splendor. Her lips revealed the hint of a twisted smile. The little dryad's boot, splashed with her initial strike, would surely be surrounded by stinging ice. Though his fire could easily destroy it, Icarahael took the slightest bit of pleasure in knowing the dryad would feel the sting of her power. Thrown by her rough strike, the dryad’s back slammed into the scarlet flowers that littered the ground, scattering golden pollen into the winds like shimmering snowflakes in a blizzard. Mouth in a snarl, Icarahael brought her glaives downward to stab through the dryad’s thin chest.

“You know nothing of me. Die!”
You know I could never hurt you.



deathlord45 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/5/2021 22:15:07)

As the mighty fist of the stoneborn warden slammed down onto wear the target once was, Vigil felt the grow desire to swear as it had heard many challengers do over the it's time as a guardian. Pulling back to full height the sentinel swiveled its head around to try to find where its target had run off too.

Blast! Where did that little creature scamper away to? Not that it will do much knowing if I can’t hit it. This strange ground cloud is far more limiting than normal. There is no ‘lightning’ or ‘thunder’ to show the area. If this cloud shall refuse to be proper then I shall correct it.

As Vigil brought its fists together in front of its chest thousands of tiny arcs of electricity were born; crawling across the fleshless body of stone only to die and be reborn seconds apart. A solid and solemn thud emanated from the fists as they met, sending the now millions of tiny electric arcs to spring from Vigil in all the directions they could.


It had been late or early in the warden’s career, Vigil wasn’t ever that good with the concept of time and the passage of years at his station. It had been a rather swift team of fighters using their superior speed against the stone sentinel, alongside the aid of a somewhat distant caster tossing lightning at Vigil when they thought they wouldn’t hurt an ally.

The group had come to free the ancient enemy from its long imprisonment by the magics of Vigil’s maker. One of the few such bands that had been able to damage the stalwart sentinel in any meaningful manner. One strike in particular had revealed some of the metal ‘bones’ that dwelt beneath stone ‘skin’.

Having inadvertently put said ‘wound’ in the way of a lightning attack from the mage, Vigil had felt the surge of energy of the attacks pulse through its body. Focusing in on the sudden energy spike throughout the body the sentinel eventually forced out some of the energy outwards from itself. Not only did the outward burst physically stun the enemies that were in melee with the guardian but the suddenness of it had stunned them mentally. Between recovering physically and mental Vigil had created an opening for it to grasp one of the foes to use as a tool for vanquishing this rabble of fools.



Riprose123 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/5/2021 23:32:04)

Finn nodded to Kunze as he took off after the Queen. Loud, heavy footsteps approached his tenuous position in the fog, and he was glad of the height of the cloud as large stone feet appeared before him. He could hear Kunze and Icey going back and forth from outside the cloud and wondered why royalty tended to stray to the dramatic. It was one of the things he had detested of his time in court, though it seemed to go hand and hand with the way things were done. Fair courtiers and penny lords loved gossip, especially gossip involving red haired boys and princesses that cared more for birds and flowers than she did politics. His favorite rumors were ones started by that same princess, ones that framed him in a mysterious and dangerous light. These rumors were hurtful, but not in any way that young minds would know.

He wondered a second at the large man, who was seemingly unaware of his presence. His hand reached out to touch the large calf and thigh of stone before him, before an arrow plunged into the ground farther to his right. He smiled to himself as the Skinwalkers voice cut through the air as more arrows plunged down around him. He sensed a slight pattern to them and stepped lightly around the left side of giant, using his mass as cover before focusing on the wind. He could barely perceive arrows flying towards him and was thankful for the warning as he dropped his weight quickly to the ground, arrows flying over his head where he had just stood.

He swore to himself as his head cracked on the ground and rolled a bit to put distance between himself and the statue. The ground shook with a rumble as the giant stone man clapped his hands together and Finn could feel an unpleasant shock in his feet as he stood up on the outer edge of the fog, his toes spasming slightly of their own will. He was used to wounds and disfigurement of a body he cared little for some days, but open rebellion from his muscles was a new feeling for Finn, one he hoped wouldn’t continue.

“Come out, human! Afraid to die? Who is the coward now?!”

I be not a coward, Finn thought as he turned towards the Skinwalker, now visible as he stepped out of the fog and started to run towards her, cutlass in hand.

Her frame and skins reminded Finn of the barbarians and Skinwalkers of the Northern Straight. As it was the only seaworthy roundabout to get to the far east side of the Continent, many sailors had braved it. The violent storms tore at the ships and sank many more, snow often filling the sails until they could no longer hold wind. The passage was dangerous, but it was often done in one go, crews staying up for days at a time for fear of stopping to rest. Stopping at sea was asking to be sank by a storm. Some ships tried to camp out the storms on shore, but it was almost more dangerous than staying at sea. Tribals with axes and swords painted themselves from head and toe and attacked the sailors as they slept. Druids led these war parties, morphing into animals and monsters alike, and calling nature itself to their aid. Finn himself had lost two ships to the Straight and many more crewmen to the vicious tribals that inhabited the far northern tundra. He had traded with one tribe and fought another in the same day, with little knowledge of the difference between either group. All the same, he had respect for their way of life, free and without the burden of society. Their existence was a pure one, one he craved but knew he would never have.

Finn quickly advanced on the Skinwalker, at a rather surprising speed for a seafaring Captain. Once he was in range and before she could draw her bow back, Finn snapped his hand out, pushing the wind hard against her frame to make her stumble and allow him to close the distance between them without an arrow in the head. As he drew into melee range, he flourished his sword and held it ready in a dueler’s stance, comfortable and easily maintained from decades of practice. He bowed slightly to the Skinwalker, showing a wide toothed grin that would startle an Alpha Wolf. “Ye called me lass, and here I be. Argh, but ye may call me Captain or Finn, not coward. Know it tah be yer reckoning, Skinwalker.”



Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/6/2021 21:01:19)

Icarahael roared in response to his words, her icy beauty marred with vicious fury. Kunze felt a deep curl of satisfaction. While his blade had missed its mark, he had still clearly struck her deeply. Pressing onwards, the dryad drove his other dagger towards the opening at her neck. The queen moved faster, her armored elbow slamming into his side and knocking him off balance. Should have paid more attention to Angina in dancing lessons…

A wolf howled out across the battlefield as he stumbled - anger reverberating in each piercing note. It thrust Kunze back to the depths of winter, the scent of pine tickling at his nose as the forest starved around him. He wanted to turn; he wanted to help, the instinct to shield those under his protection clawing at his core. Icarahael’s shout forced his attention back to her instead, smug calm replaced with frenzied, wild rage. She snarled, eyes blazing...

“Tell me, dryad,” the human spat at him. Servants scrambled about her, tending to the blistering burns across her arms, her chest, her face. “Why does one of nature wield fire? What life does fire bring?”

“Fire birthed the first seeds of this forest,” he replied slowly, eyes caught on the scarlet blemishes bubbling beneath her skin. “It kills, yes, but it nourishes too. What matters is not the blaze, but its intent.”


Blue light, pale and ghostly, poured forth from the queen’s crown as Kunze regained his footing. Before he could pressure her further, sparks of frost zipped across his soaked leg. Trails of water turned to ice as cold bit deep into his skin. Slick stone froze to the sole of his boot mid-lunge, and the dryad pitched forward gracelessly, unprepared for the sudden resistance. He twisted violently, torso turning to keep his eyes on his foe even as he crashed heavily to the ground. Golden dust exploded about him, the delicate blossoms crushed beneath his back as eddies of wind caught and tossed their petals about like leaves helpless upon a raging current.

One arm plunged through a hole in the stone, wrist and blade caught in thick curls of vine. Ice hardened about his foot, nerves prickling as the chill spread. It burned not with blistering heat but with frigid cold. Kunze forced himself to breathe, to focus through the pain. It was as if he had caught himself with his own fire, searing agony clinging to his skin...

“Tell me, dryad,” the woman asked a few days later, bandages about her body and anger dulled to wariness in her exhaustion. “What is your intent when you wield that flame?”

“To protect,” the prince stated simply. Her eyes narrowed at him, and he elaborated. “The forest gives us each a life. All within deserve a chance to actually live it. When that chance is threatened, I defend it.”

Twin blades flashed above him as Icarahael stabbed downwards, screaming. The dryad contorted, his neck turned to an unnatural angle as the first of her blades sliced several of his braids free. Strands of golden hair dragged through his eyes as he swung his untrapped arm at the second - too slow. The karambit skidded along the wooden shaft, just enough to knock its aim off from the dryad’s heart. Instead, it bit through the edge of his armor, cleanly slicing through his side. The wound throbbed as Kunze swallowed his scream, breath rapid and ragged. Numbness spread from his encaptured foot, icy prickles making the muscles ache and spasm as they crept their way up his shin. Golden blood oozed from his side, wound stinging in the chill air as the queen yanked back her weapons for another strike.

Helpless… Kunze lay upon the ground, muffled sounds reaching him through the fog invading his head. He could make out Finn’s voice, and another’s whose timbre rang with echoes of the wolf’s howl. The air prickled uncomfortably, his side throbbed, his foot burned. A single drop of golden ichor fell as Icarahael raised her blades high, his own blood dripping to land upon his cheek, death following in its path...

“Tell me, dryad,” she said, voice soft and hard as they stood together on a balcony, watching another wave of refugees stumble into the courtyard. “What is the punishment here when intent turns to murder and destruction?”

“If one were to kill,” he replied, equally soft, as he watched crimson blood drip across yellowing grass. His horror at the injuries never fully faded, though he held it tight to his chest now.“Not for necessity, but for the sake of death, then they themselves have lost their right to Life.”


Kunze bent his wrist backward to slash his dagger through the vines encircling it and yanked his arm free. His core screamed in protest as he lunged upright, forcing a gasp out from between clenched teeth. Inhale. He loosened his grip on his karambit, hilt sliding free from his palm and spinning in a twirl of gold about his thumb to thunk against the backs of his knuckles. Blossoms burst to life in his empty hand, their summoning causing further cold to knife into his chest as their markings died upon his skin. Hold. He ducked under the approaching blade, then curled in on himself to hurl the handful of buds upon the broken flowers that littered the ground at his feet.

Like life bursting forth from seeds after a frozen winter, flames bloomed into the air, hungrily consuming the pollen that fell like gentle rain in the stilled winds about them. Ice shattered, cracking and melting as he pulled his boot from the blaze. Icarahael was yelling above him, stumbling as he rolled away and pushed himself back to his feet. Exhale, FOCUS. Kunze winced hard in pain as his left foot came in contact with the ground, leather burned and curling as the greenwood filled his eyes with smoke. First frozen, then burnt, his foot now barely held up under his weight. Eyes watered as he spun his karambits back into his palms - the queen seemed to only have the use of one glaive. He could not risk giving her time to recover it.

The prince shifted his weight to his uninjured foot, left hand slashing high towards Icarahael’s face. His side throbbed at the motion and Kunze half curled into it, changing the direction of the blow to aim at the seam between plated skirt and armored torso. I will not fall here.


“Tell me, Kunze.” Lilly’s hands shook, cradling a helpless, lifeless form in her arms. “Will you help us?

The child had entered the forest alive. He had not reached the Living Palace in time. He had lost his chance with no one to fight for it.

“I will try.”



Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/8/2021 18:04:19)

I will not fail.

With Tear’s first assault, five arrows pierced through the swirling clouds. She could picture the sweet sound of the metal slipping into his hide. Five arrows, five attempts at the scarred-one’s life. And yet, they all disappeared into the cloud without a trace.

Where. Are. You?!

Tear gritted her teeth as she pivoted away from the woodkin and the jagged one. He was there; Tear knew it. The scarred-one could only hide for so long. Five more arrows hissed through the air, five more failures. She could feel her fingers grow cold, the deathly chill running down her veins as she exhausted more and more of her strength. But this was nothing to Tear. She would outlast him, overcome him as she had overcome so many others.

I will not fail.

As the final arrow left her grasp, Tear reached out for the bowstring once more, but as she turned, she could make out the outline of the Mountain in the fog as white light hummed around him. The rays scattered across the cloud, growing brighter as the sparks wrapped around his form like a cloak of stormlight.

Lightning. Thunder. Noise. Tear’s eyes went wide as the names flashed with danger. She reached for her ears and shut her eyes. The behemoth crashed his fists together, and the stormlight leapt forth, illuminating the darkness behind her closed eyes. A wave of searing heat washed over her form. The scent of verdant leaves and fresh water were stained with a burning metallic. The scarred air tasted like the blood of some unknown creature, as if the elemental had wounded the planet itself. It made her nauseous.

But the sound— Tear’s entire body seized as she braced for the thunder, for the deafening thorns in her ears. And there was a brief crackling, louder than the roar of the river. . . but there was no thunder. No ringing in her ears.

Tear stood dumbstruck for a moment before she lifted one eye. At first everything seemed alright, but just as she did, the wind turned, whistling as an invisible hand pushed at her side.

What?!— Tear hopped once, twice, scrambling for balance before falling flat. Her cloak and leathers provided only the barest comfort as the rocks scraped into her back. Her bow bounced before clattering against the ground. It teetered on the edge of a gap, barely beyond Tear’s reach.

Tear groaned as she leaned forward and brushed the back of her temple. A trace of warmth met her fingers. Blood. It was not enough to be concerned with, but its presence made her aches all the more noticeable.

As Tear gathered her wits, she pulled herself to her knees, only to find a familiar blade before her eyes.

“Ye called me lass, and here I be. . . ”

The scarred-one bowed as Tear shuffled back, the edge swaying through the air as the human adjusted his blade accordingly.

“. . . Ye may call me Captain or Finn, not coward. Know it tah be yer reckoning, Skinwalker.”

Skinwalker. The scarred-one had called her the name before, then falling on deaf ears. Now, It gnawed at her core.

I am nothing like you humans.

As the wolfkin stared at the man, he seemed to disappear. His leathers changed to furs stained with red snow, the long metal blade now twisted into a rifle barrel. All that remained was that haunting grin. Whatever intent the scarred-one had, it didn’t matter. All Tear could see was the hunter. The howls and deathrattles of her kin filled her ears as Tear made her intent known. She seemed to look past the man as she leaned towards her bow. With death in her eyes, Tear slowly took Judgment in hand and raised it towards him. Her hand was shaking as she reached for her bowstring—

“I will avenge them. All of them. So help me, I will not—”

Suddenly, the delusion was ripped away as a massive column of flame swept through the air. Tear recoiled as she was dragged back to reality, the scent of burning wood in the air. Tear looked away from the scarred-one. To her horror, she saw it.

The woodkin!

Tear watched as he struggled against the jagged queen. Golden sap dripped from his wounds. Tear could see his frayed hair, his damaged armor, his frost and fire burnt flesh. . .

He was in danger. He could die—

She could not avoid it any longer. She had to make a choice. There was the human, the so-called Finn. The spirits were clear; they had marked the two as sworn enemies. Even now, the wolf cried out, ready to pounce and sink its teeth into his scarred flesh. But the woodkin needed her. The power was within Tear’s grasp, and all she would have to do is reach out and touch him. He would live! But what were the consequences of saving him, of going against the will of the spirits? At any moment, they could kill her like they did with the rotting man from before.

“You will return to your forest. . . only if you obey.”

Whatever I choose, I will lose everything. . .

It tore her apart, like every fiber of her being ripped in half as her eyes darted back and forth between the two.

Kill him! We have to go home!

Save him! The woodkin needs us!

What. . . What do I do?—

Every time she looked at the scarred-one, she could not help but turn back. Her heart— her human heart— could not look away. Was her revenge worth the woodkins' life? Even if the scarred-one died right now, would she be satisfied? How many humans would it take? Could she live with the woodkin’s death, knowing that it was her fault?

This feeling— Tear had no name for it, this burden of hers. It reminded Tear of her family. It filled her heart with grief, but more so, it filled her heart with resolve.

I. . . I will not fail again.

“Captain. . .Finn.” Tear choked on the unnatural words as she forced them out. “I am Tear, killer of humans. We are enemies. I want to tear you apart, but—” Her whole body shook as she watched the woodkin fighting for his life, all while Tear pleaded for hers. She couldn’t even look at Finn anymore.

“—He must live. Let me go.”

"Yargh, I be right behind ye, so don't try anything funny."

The wolfkin gave a nod as she stumbled to her feet and wiped the dust from her cloak.

“Likewise. Remember, next time—”

There was no turning back as Tear surged towards the woodkin and his tormenter. With each step, her bones flared with heat, but it could not stop her. Tear only hoped that she could make it in time.



deathlord45 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/9/2021 20:44:11)

Vigil would have grumbled had the sentinel been capable of utterance like any creature of flesh as it swept its hands through the cloud nearby and found nothing. One of the few grievances the creature had had with its maker since the start of its existence more so after the beginning of its duty.

Why was I created lacking proper communication abilities? Was the creator worried that I’d relate to or aid the bound one if I could truly communicate? One day after I am free of my duty I shall seek a way to speak to them about it. Yes that sounds like a great idea.

The violent birth of illumination ripped the stalwart guardian out of its thoughts and back into the battle at hand. Turning and moving left Vigil began the journey towards the source of such a sudden illumination, the warden quickly found itself outside of the earth bound cloud. Immediately outside of the cloud, the sentinel saw the ‘hairy’ ally moving from the non-’elf’ enemy and towards the ‘elf’ who had its back to the ‘hairy’ one. The ‘elf’ looked injured, the ‘sky’ ally looked off kilter and open.

I see, ‘hairy’ must be trying to quickly slay the ‘elf’ and assist our other ally. Though they may be attacked from the back by the other foe. I am much too slow to solve both issues. However yes I can do as I have done before.

Leaning left and outstretching its left hand Vigil aimed to sweep up the ‘other’ foe with its hand with enough force to send them flying into their own ally.

Two problems solved with one direct action. Hopefully this works.



Riprose123 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/9/2021 23:15:36)

Finn smiled at the She-wolf, her forced words showing some sense of sincerity. He let her lead the way, following close behind with his sword drawn. He knew from the large burst of fire that Kunze was in a bad way. Though he hardly knew the boy, he had grown to like him through their brief exchanges. He greatly appreciated the willingness the Prince showed in jumping to his rescue. Loyalty meant a lot to Finn and he treated it as the best quality for judging someone’s character. Loyalty meant everything at sea; without it a ship would fall apart.

Finn almost missed the warning the wind screamed at him. He knew the impact was coming a split second before it did and dropped quickly to the ground in an effort to avoid it. He was partially successful, avoiding a blow to his back that would have sent him flying into his teammate. Instead, it hit him square in the hip, sending him sailing through the air for a solid second and rolling short of his intended path of travel. He knew it had to have been the lumbering giant that had done it and its giant fist felt like a, well a brick wall. He swore at himself for losing focus; he should have seen something that big coming from a mile away. Finn grunted as a sharp pain gripped his side. His ribs were on fire for a short time and he looked over to a small, roughly curved stone he had landed just right on. He knew this pain was less than broken ribs, but he knew at least one was bruised or maybe even cracked. He labored for breath as he picked himself up, inspecting the rest of his body quickly. His long coat having protected his limbs from most of the cuts and scrapes he would have gotten from the roll. His eye glassed over slightly from the pain his side brought every time he moved too quickly, the arena disappearing as his vision tunneled slightly. He closed his eye and breathed, each draw of air bringing pain that allowed his mind to return itself to focus.



A much younger Finn cried out in pain. His weak arms had given up on him as he reached for the upper branches of one of the many maple trees that lined the keep’s courtyard. He had fallen fast after that, leaves of red and orange falling past as branches whipped him from all angles in punishment for his reckless climbing. Normally Finn would have conquered this tree, but this wasn’t a normal day. He struck the ground with his side and the wind left his chest the moment he hit the grassy turf.

Tears filled his eyes as he lay there. He heard a rustling from the next tree over, followed by the sweet sound of a young girl’s laughter. “Fall a little quickly, love?”

“Rosie, it hurts!” he gasped out, his breath returning to him in short gasps, like a fish pulled from a lake.

The girl swung down from her tree and landed lightly next to him, aided by the air she called to break her fall. Rosella Angellise of House Ardenn was a year his younger and next in line for her father’s throne. She was the last living child of the King’s and she had little knowledge of her importance to the political maelstrom of the Empire. From the age of 6 when she had been sent to this far away castle the two had been inseparable. They had learned together and grown together, sharing everything they could as they were the only two children in the keep. What she learned of etiquette and history she taught him, while he taught her everything he learned of warfare and knighthood. Now that they were approaching young adulthood, feelings that Finn was unfamiliar with had stirred in him, going beyond the childhood crush he had harbored for many years. Now as she knelt beside him and helped him to his feet, those feelings stirred inside Finn once more. “How could a wee tumble hurt you so bad?” she asked, poking at his side.

Finn gasped at her jabs. His body was tender today, his arms and torso riddled with bruises. He hid these the best he could, brushing off her question with one of his own, “You’re awful curious about a meager squire, your highness. Tis unbefitting of a young lady of your standing.”

He tried to give her a strong laugh to show he was fine, but it came out weak and helpless. Rosella quickly sat him down on a nearby marble bench, one of many that sat in the courtyard. She looked at him with a concerned eye and rolled his tunic up far enough to expose his abdomen. There a dark purple bruise winked up at her, much too developed to have happened from his recent fall. She gasped, dropping his tunic quickly, “it’s the lord again, isn’t it?”

Finn turned away quickly, “it’s not your concern, Rosie.”

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, then pulled it away quickly as he sucked in through his gritted teeth. She knew not to pry after the years of fighting that stemmed from Finn not sharing what went on behind the closed doors of his Lord’s suite. The man was a famous knight, known for ferocity on the battlefield. Finn had long ago learned that this ferocity continued far off the battlefield as well. He looked to Rosie with a forced smile, trying to be reassuring.

“You might think your smile looks good in the mirror, love, but it’s much less charming in person,” Rosie laughed at her own joke.

The merriment slowly left her eyes as they sat on the bench in the crisp autumn air. They could both feel the wind changing but ignored it the best they could. The wind was a knowing they had shared for many years, a love they both had. They knew it better than they knew themselves sometimes and they had long felt comfort in it together. Rosie looked far off for a moment before saying what they were both thinking, “the servants have been saying my father is dead. Your Lord hasn’t come for me, but they say that an entourage will be here soon to take me away.”

Finn stared at the ground. He knew the rumors were true, as the Lord had told him several hours ago. The news had been used as a way to goad him into stupid action, and it had worked, leading to the bruises that now covered most of his body. He looked at Rosie with misty eyes, “you’ll be fine in the Capital. Think of how much fun it’ll be, another adventure.”

“Without you?” Rosie said, looking at him suddenly.

“Without me,” Finn said, not meeting her eyes.

She laid a hand on his gently, timidly. He didn’t pull away, but he yearned to leave the keep. To remove himself so that what he felt might be more in line with what was expected of him. After a long minute, she pulled her hand away and sighed deeply. He looked at her as she stood up and dusted off her grass-stained dress. Offering her hand, she said in her usual confident tone, “not without you, no. I’ll come back for you Finn, even if it’s years. You’ll see, I’ll always come back for you. The wind will show me the way.”



Finn opened his eye again, misty as it was from painful memories and the pain in his side. He saw Kunze moving in a flash of collision and violence with the queen. “I am here, Flower Child,” he called, his voice crisp and authoritative, hoping to at least give the boy a modicum of comfort and comradeship.

His voice sounded strange in his mouth, but he had neither the focus or the strength to keep up his pirate masque. He drew his sword and faced towards the statue. “What are you?” he shouted to the tall stone man, “can you not speak? Or at least warn someone before you smack'em in the back?”

Finn kept an eye on Vigil as he stood with his sword held lightly in front of him, his other hand pressed to his hurting ribs, keeping what focus he could on the wind for any warning of incoming strikes.



roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/10/2021 0:11:31)

Despite her frosty curse upon the dryad’s boot, Icarahael’s glaives missed their mark as the foe at her feet moved. His body curled unnaturally, his chest contorting in ways Icarahael knew hers could not. Her left glaive sliced a clean cut through one of the dryad’s dark, intricate braids. The dryad’s knife brushed against her right’s blade, throwing a shower of sparks as he swung a flimsy deflection. It sliced down his side, instead, gouging through his wooden armor and opening a deep wound through which golden liquid began to seep through. It shone against the pale green of the dryad’s armor, glistening in the battlefield’s bright sunlight.

Icarahael’s own golden blood glistened amidst the vicious storm. Her eyes stared at it, adjusting to their new limits, processing the gravity of what they saw before them.


Icarahael scowled, baring her teeth in frustration as she fought to contain the anger that threatened to spill from her mouth. Why should he move his body in such a way, contort and react as if not confined to the restrictions of a mortal form? She could sense every joint in her body, every small mortal appendage that served little purpose and held little strength. They could not bend in such a way, though they looked the same as the boy’s. Coward- you cannot win just by dodging away! Fight or die! She raised her arms again, acutely aware of each small finger that trembled with her grip. He taunted her with his weird contortions- she would finally put this insolent boy in his place. The weak could not become her equal with simple tricks! She plunged her glaives downwards towards him. Die, die, die!

From the dryad’s hands flew a blossom, a copy of the vibrant one from earlier.

Cradled gently in his wing was a circular flower, its thin petals melting from red to orange, its center ringed in a dark pink. “I found this on my rounds, and thought of you, my love.


Fire burst from the dryad’s feet as his flower landed on the frozen boot. The flames climbed up to the queen’s face with ease, alighting upon specks of pollen which floated freely in the queen’s slowed winds. Icarahael cursed as it seared her face, scarlet welts rising from her skin. It was too late to stop the momentum of her glaives; both careened into the ground as Icarahael’s arms flailed from the sudden flames. Her body struggled for balance, confused by the momentary blindness as the Queen shut her eyes to avoid the flames. As they puttered out, Icarahael realized one glaive had found a home in one of the arena’s holes. She pulled at it haphazardly as the dryad leapt up towards her, taking advantage of her compromised position. Icarahael roared, her mouth wide open- were she in her true form, the dryad would be frozen solid before his knife could whisper a hope of making contact. Yet her human form possessed no such boon.

Icarahael screamed as the sharp metal carved through her stomach. The dryad had been precise, cutting a smooth line right where her chainmail top gave way to metal plating around the waist. Golden blood trickled down her armor as the queen struggled for air. Curse… you! With a stangled grunt, Icarahael slammed the handle of her free glaive into her attacker, sending him flying across the battlefield. She watched him as she yanked her glaive free from the vines; he tumbled towards the huntress and the human, who seemed locked in a heated discussion. One ally, one foe. Agony pulsed once more through her torso, stealing her breath and oozing more shimmering liquid. Her vision clouded with black and white. The weak must… I cannot be…

Instinct had temporarily replaced the anger that had fueled her recklessness. Breath in; rain trickled from Icarahael’s cloud, washing away the tears of pain that swelled from Icarahael’s eyes. Breath out; the rain became a downpour, washing away the reckless abandon Icarahael had released before .

One glaive seemed smaller and sharper, its blade adorned with an intricate circlet of spikes.


She pressed her left glaive to her stomach, the cold calmed her screaming pain. Golden liquid mixing with white as it froze in fractures that crawled across her wound. It would hold, for now, if she was careful.

The other was longer, its circlet larger and decorated with randomly-crossing lines


With her right arm, Icarahael swung twice towards her foes in a circling pattern, water flying from the silver tip to accentuate the downpour around her.

To get the human and huntress involved was inevitable. One ally, one enemy. Icarahael’s mortal body pulsed with strain; ankle, thigh, stomach, and face all screamed for respite. But she would not back down. Fight for them.

The dagger lay between, the smallest of the trio.
She reached for it with pale hands, but Gaendriel was faster- his tail swiped across the snow, and Icarahael watched as the weapons disappeared down the mountainside.
“You’d best get started, Mother. Those legs won’t last you very long.”


You underestimate the strength of a queen,
Little dryad boy.
Gaendriel.



Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/10/2021 23:15:09)

A piercing scream, shriller than the cry of any eagle, cleaved through the storm as Kunze’s dagger bit into Icarahael’s torso. The dryad flinched at the shriek, fumbled backwards and yanked his blade away. What kind of creature makes that high a - wood cracked against wood, and a blade handle slammed into his stomach. His chest spasmed, breath forced out of him as the prince was launched skywards, ears still ringing. Cold winds rushed over his skin, warmth seeping back into the air as his flight carried him further from Icarahael and instead back towards… Finn!

The prince pivoted mid-air, arms spread wide and knees tucked close to his stomach in an attempt to gain control over his momentum. Not enough - he slammed hard into the ground, pain flaring up frostbitten tendons before his ankle buckled under the weight and sent him crashing to the uneven ground, gasping for breath. With no holes nearby, Kunze dug the tips of both daggers into the softer dirt intermingled with the stone, stopping his slide just shy of sweeping the legs out from under the figure standing over him. He glanced upward - and found himself looking into the face of the Wolf-Pelt. Wolf-Spirit, he realized, staring up into her golden eyes - matching his own shade for shade. They were full of guilt, of indecision, but… not of anger. None of the fury that had torn at his heart when she first cried out was visible in her gaze now. She held her bow loosely in one hand, the other extended towards him.

“You’re really not afraid of the monsters I told yah about? Or their armies? Their weapons?” Gerard asked one evening. He, Lilly, and Kunze huddled close to the fire; the first chills of autumn heralded by the rustle of cool winds through leaf-filled branches overhead.

“No,” the dryad replied, without hesitation. “For all its inventions, humanity cannot win in a fight against the entirety of nature. The Forest protects its own.”

Her gentle hand touched his shoulder. Agony spiked in his injured foot, a tide of pain that crashed through him and receded so quickly Kunze had no time to even scream. Only a dull ache remained in its wake. Still, he shook as the Wolf-Spirit spoke to him. He had ignored his earlier instinct to protect her and instead… She came to aid me. Shame burned in his throat, and he swallowed it down where it churned bitter and hot in his gut instead. I will not repeat my mistake. “Thank you.”

The stone beneath his palms trembled as a heavy thud echoed behind the pair. A heavy grunt followed; Finn - it turned out - was even less graceful in flight than Kunze had been. The dryad shoved himself to his feet; jerked his grime-covered daggers free and slammed them back into their sheathes. Pelting rain swept over him, a herald of Icarahael’s approach, the downpour fierce enough to raise welts on his exposed skin as she closed on him again.

Kunze swept the Ever Flaming from his back, turning to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Wolf-Spirit. Fire burst from its tip in a dance of scarlet and gold, twists of flame spitting and spluttering steam as the rain struck them. He could hear Finn scrabbling up behind him, the vagabond’s voice crisp and clear, filled with enough confidence to straighten Kunze’s spine even further. But really, Flowerchild?

“Call me Kunze.”

Gerard snorted, cutting off Lilly’s excited rambling mid-word as he gestured at his torn and dirt-stained clothes. “Nice plan, girly. But no ruler, even this Mother Tree, is gonna listen to the likes of us.”

The dryad rose from his spot between Gerard and Lilly. He looked down at the humans, the light of their campfire dancing in his eyes. “I am Kunze. I am the Flame of the Forest. She will listen to me.”

A half-glimpsed shimmer slashed through the torrent of rain and steam, drawing the prince’s attention. Kunze stepped forward swiftly to shield the Wolf-Spirit from the arc of water now sailing towards them at the sweep of Icarahael’s glaive. He mirrored her motion with his spear - making up for the unfamiliarity of her movements with absolute certainty in his own. His burning blade met the deluge, flame and water bursting into clouds of steam amid a draconic hiss. Curls of water splattered around his blade, soaking his injured side and drawing a sharp snarl of pain at the sting of cold water upon the open wound. I cannot halt an entire river alone…

He felt more than heard the Wolf-Spirit spring into action. She darted nimbly around the circle of the storm, bow raised and arrows flying towards Icarahael. Any noise she did make was masked by Finn hurling insults - a swift glance behind showed the vagabond squaring off with the mountain of moving stone, who had emerged from the mists with frustration simmering in its eyes. Two allies, one assigned by fate, the other joining him in spite of it. Two people that Kunze would not fail. He could not halt a river… But I can divert its course.

“We will not die today.”Not while I still stand.

Kunze lunged forward, spear dipping to meet Icarahael’s glaive as she began to reverse its arc. The motion stretched his injured side, and he gritted his teeth against the sharp sting as warm blood trickled across his skin. His flaring blade met the frozen steel, and the clash of metal on metal rang out over the roaring of the current below. Kunze twisted the partizan, catching its flange behind one of the spikes that encircled the base of the glaive’s blade. He blocked out the pounding rain, the shouts and clashes across the field, the ache of his side and the chill of the storm. Water cascaded between them as golden eyes met amber - the flame in his coming straight from his core while the glow in hers merely reflected the firelight still blazing beneath the darkened clouds.

Then the prince heaved down on his spear, twisting its haft and bearing his weight behind it in the hope to force the queen’s weapon away - or even to wrench it from her entirely. His injured foot twinged, but held strong. The Wolf-Spirit had mended it well. He would trust her aim at his side to strike true; trust Finn’s sword at his back to stay strong.

Lilly’s hand on Gerard’s arm did nothing to soften the man’s words. “Why should we trust you, Prince? You’re a noble, like them that burned our homes and killed our families. Why should a woodland prince be any different?”

Kunze met his eyes in silence for several long moments, the only sound between the three the crackling of the fire at his feet. Then he bowed low, ignoring the gasp that came from both humans as he did so. “Because this wood prince values life. I see no difference between the life granted to me - and the one granted to you.”



Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/13/2021 0:51:57)

“Woodkin!”

Tear’s chest burned as she called out to the living-one. A single gasp was all the druid could offer as she raced towards him and his jagged assailant. The wolfkins' steps suddenly grew short as the primordial queen cried out. Tear clutched the side of her head, her whole body tightening. She could feel the queen’s anger, her pain, her force of will tearing through the wind as it pierced her ears. Tear lurched forward, stress seeping into her mind. With a deep breath, Tear gritted her teeth and pushed back against the pain.

I can’t stop now. He needs me—

Much to her surprise and horror, Tear would not need to go any further. Her eyes went wide as the queen bashed her glaive against the woodkin’s frame, knocking him into the air. Tear could feel her own body shudder as the woodkin skidded across the cruel earth. It tore into the woodkin as his daggers tore into the ground, slowing the warrior until he stopped right before Tear.

“Woodkin, I’m here!”

Tear dropped to one knee, and time seemed to grow still as she looked over the being of pure nature. She had glimpsed him earlier, but now Tear could appreciate all of his details up close. If only they had met under better circumstances— his armor was not just any armor; it was made of wood, of a kind she had never seen before, its quality akin to the trees of steel in her own forest! Parts were now cracked, some scarred by the woodkin’s own flames. The smell of smoked wood and blood clung to his form, the sensation burning in her mouth and nose.

Tears eyes traced the golden blood down to his foot. To call it wounded would have been an understatement; the queen— her supposedly ordained ally— had crippled this beauty entity. Her heart sunk in her chest as the woodkin’s eyes met hers. He bore that same golden shade. . .

The queen would pay. But first, Tear had to make this right. With her free arm, the druid placed her hand between a gap in his armored shoulder, her fingers placed against his skin. It felt like ordinary flesh. To think of how close they were on the inside. . .

Tear closed her eyes as she reached out to the spirits of this place, to those who clung to her, to any that would answer. To those who watched, it seemed as if nothing had happened. But to Tear, she could feel them.

Heal. Cauterize.

A warm sensation swept across Tear’s body like a small invisible spark. It was all they could offer. The rest would be up to Tear.

Take it.

She surrendered herself to fire. Her whole body grew cold as the heat leapt from her arm and flowed into the woodkin. Tear could feel her arm ignite on fire as the magic tugged at the blood in her veins. The woodkin’s muscles grew tense for an instant before relaxing.

With her work done, Tear clutched her chest gasped for air. She had offered most of her strength as kindling for the healing. As she kneeled against the ground, the woodkin spoke.

“Thank you.”

Tear looked up, and the living-one was now standing firm. His eyes gleamed with solemn resolve. Her heart leapt with joy as a pained smile crept across her face.

“I have made my choice, Woodkin.”

She had saved him— for now. The queen still remained. As Tear staggered to her feet, fighting for her breath, the woodkin slashed at the air. She had completely missed the jagged one’s assault. Flames leapt from the tip of the woodkin’s glaive. There was a splash, and the air sizzled as burning heat met primordial water. Tear turned to look at the queen. Tears and dropped golden blood swirled into the storm around her. It raged with unnatural fury as if to mirror the queen’s cries. Golden ice covered her wounds like armor.

For once, the wolf and the human agreed. Tear was out of her league. A lone wolf could not survive such a monster. But Tear was not alone. Like a pack, together they would stop this madness. She could hear scarred-one behind them as Finn yelled with pained bravado.

“I am here, Flower Child!”

Without glancing back, Tear understood. The scarred-one had watched their rear, standing his ground against the stone behemoth. Deep inside, Tear was thankful that he had kept his word. The woodkin responded in turn with a spark of his own.

“Call me Kunze.”

Kunze. His name.

The word lingered on Tear’s lips as she traced the sound with her mouth. She had his name now, and with names came purpose. With her weakened powers and remaining strength, how could Tear hope to challenge the storm before her? No, she knew her place in this pack. Only one had shown the bravery to lead, the skill and tenacity to end the queen. All Tear had to do was give Kunze the opening.

“We will not die today!”

They moved at once. The woodkin lunged forward with his spear. At the same time, Tear mustered what remaining power she had and ran, rushing to the side in a path against the queen. The world seemed to wobble as her eyes grew heavy, her whole body teetering on the edge of collapse. She couldn’t even feel her legs press against the ground. Even so, all it took was an ounce of strength to draw Judgement’s string. She was still worthy in its eyes.

Once more, fire met with water as Kunze and the queen clashed. Both their eyes and their weapons were locked together as they struggled for ground. This was her moment. With a scream, Tear willed the arrows into being with jagged tips, suitable for piercing ice. As Kunze twisted his flaming weapon, the wolfkin fired at the monster, once at her wounded side and another right for her eyes.

Together, we shall not fail.



roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of The Current (2/13/2021 22:57:04)

The queen’s rain battered the form of her woodland foe, his dagger replaced by a flaming spear that flickered in Icarahael’s bright eyes. Though she willed the downpour to strengthen, the flames did not go out.
The drakon queen snarled in the storm. She willed the clouds before her to burst, pelting the manticores with stinging sleet.


Icarahael took a deep breath in, aware of the tingling freeze that began to coat her stomach. She would push through- she was capable of much more than this body could convey. With a flick, the boy caught her glaive in his, yanking her limbs in an attempt to disarm her. Icarahael muttered a command as it moved, and her crown alit once more. Instantly, the water falling from above turned to ice on her hand, forming a ring that bound her grip on the weapon. She allowed her body to pull with the boy’s momentum, top jerking to the side as the glaive almost fell from her grasp.
Teeth dug into her foreleg, tugging her towards the ground.


Ice shattered, but her grip remained. You will not take these from me! They are my only hope!

The queen caught the flick of movement to her side, raising a glaive to slash an arrow from the sky as a second one scraped against her pleated skirt. Her wounded stomach lurched in pain at the sudden movement, shards of ice cracking and digging into her skin. The Huntress- you traitor! Even her supposed allies were turning against her, now? She would pick them off one by one!

The queen brought her second glaive forwards, water falling to the ground with her rain as she prepared a slash across the dryad’s waist. Payment for your disrespect. Her crown’s light faded only to alight once more as she barked a barely intelligible command. The pain in her forehead grew stronger as she focused on the dryad’s chest.
The drake screeched as the beast latched onto her head, its claws curled tight around her horns.


She wondered whether his body would absorb water as well as wooden armor might.




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