Among the Ruins, 400 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…

Current Version:

Lorea awoke from a dream of NIGHTfall. She’d had the same dream each night since the event itself, and still awoke with a sense of panic, a racing heartbeat, and a coating of sweat.

Where was she? A tent? The prior evening returned to her, as well as the week leading up to it and the mission she’d imposed on herself. Explanations and details lit the darkness of her waking awareness, and all the panic, her racing heartbeat, and her nervous sweat were more than justified.

From outside the tent came the clanking sound of plate armor. “Have you awoken?” asked a muffled voice.

“Yes,” Lorea replied. “Nothing attacked during the night?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Lorea emerged from the tent to find the elephant-sized body of a slain apocalypse beast in a puddle of glowing ichor. The knight’s armor and sword were coated in the goo, but the metal’s anti-magical properties had dulled the glow to a level that barely registered in the breaking dawn light.

“This…didn’t wake me up?” Lorea asked, horrified that she could have slept through such danger.

“Judging by your snores, I’d say not. Unless you were at it with a wood saw in your tent.” The knight raised their visor to get a better look at the ichor dripping from their sword. They tossed the weapon aside in disgust.

“You may need that,” said Lorea.

“Silver-coated blades are an anathema to my people. It pains me to hold the handle, even through this armored glove. And speaking of armor, I feel like I can hardly move. Barely able to walk, completely unable to shift, confined to a two-legged existence—no offsense.”

“None taken.”

“I understand why the armor is necessary, but couldn’t we have found a set to accommodate my four-legged form?”

“Your people have never made such armor for themselves.”

“Yes, and now I can understand why. I’m itchy and sore and need to bathe. Can’t I take the armor off for a while?”

Lorea shook her head. “Not while we’re this close to the village.” She put a hand on the armored warrior’s arm. “I appreciate all the effort and sacrifice you are making, Fast-Paw. It won’t be much longer.”

“And if I need to relieve myself?”

“As we discussed,” she told them.

They sighed and wandered off toward some bushes.

“I’ll strike camp and load up the cart,” Lorea called.

“Don’t bother,” Fast-Paw answered. “The horses are dead. We’ll have to proceed the rest of the way on foot. On two feet. Ugh.”

The Folk Wordler settled his affairs while Lorea salvaged their most important supplies into her pack. She checked the glyphs she’s set around the camp and confirmed that they’d all been broken by the beast, probably in just a few minutes. Although she was a full sorceress now, her best glyphs were still just the ones any apprentice could make. It would take more than a field promotion and fancy title to strengthen her magic.

“Onward to Wordler Village,” she stated.

“Onward to Wordler Village,” Fast-Paw agreed.

Lorea hadn’t been back home since NIGHTfall, but Fast-Paw had. They’d been hunting in the wilderness of the REALM when Wordler 388 had arrived for her bloody homecoming. They’d avoided the destruction, but had been drawn back into the village itself on the 393rd day of the curse, the day they’d become Wordler 393. Meeting them had given Lorea the final piece she’d needed for her plan.

“You want me to turn around and go back? With you?” Fast-Paw had asked. “You want me to wear human armor?”

“Enchanted armor. It has strong protective magic.”

“But why me?”

“Because you’ve already been selected by the curse, and you’ve beaten it. That gives you a certain immunity to its further effects, like when you survive a disease.”

“And this item you’re questing for, it’s important?”

“Very.”

“Then count me in,” they had said, and so there they were.

The empty ruins were eerie. Quiet. Heart-rending. Death had thrown itself a party in Wordler Village and then shuffled off without cleaning up after itself. The buildings were so badly damaged that Lorea could barely figure out which had been her home.

“This one. I think,” she said.

“Okay. Now what?”

“Now I dig while you stand guard.”

Fast-Paw groaned. “But I like digging better.”

“This is going to be the tricky part. I need to summon her to me, but only when I’m ready for her. So I’m going to dig like hell and you may still need to distract her a bit.” Lorea began moving what stones aside with her magic. The size of stones she could move that way convinced Fast-Paw to set off on a patrol of the perimeter, but of course they couldn’t know how quickly her magical reserves would run out or how much she’d have to rely on a simple shovel to complete the dig.

The monster. The demon. The once-human creature that called itself Wordler 388. The agent of the curse. The destroyer of the village. However one might refer to the flaming skeleton, she arrived on a predictable schedule.

“Good to see you again, 393,” Lorea heard the monster say to her travelling companion.

“Too early,” thought Lorea, as she redoubled her efforts to shift the rubble. “I need more time!”

“You’re looking lovely today,” said Fast-Paw. “Have you been polishing your skull?”

“Why yes,” said 388. “I use a Number 3 sandpaper and apply just a dab of bone brightener each night before I enter the crypt. And look at you, all armored up. Is that a magic-resistant metal?”

“It’s been enchanted somehow. I don’t really understand how it works.”

“Well, it’s impressive how quickly that paper-sorceress has been able to domesticate you. Most dogs take to a leash with more challenge than you’ve taken to an entire suit.”

“I’m not domesticated,” Fast-Paw protested.

“You can’t lie to me, Wordler 393. I’m the one who made you what you are.”

“I found your Word,” Fast-Paw reminded her. “I beat your curse. You have no power over me.”

“You are immune,” the skeleton admitted. “But she is not.”

The armored Folkman growled and launched themself at the skeleton with their sword unsheathed. She pushed them aside and sent them sprawling to the ground. “Lorea!” 388 called. “It was foolish for you to come back here.”

In the rubble of the magic academy, in the section that had once been the Supreme Sorcerer’s office, Lorea found the mahogany box she’d been looking for. The key around her neck fitted into the lock. She turned it until she heard the mechanism click.

The flaming skeleton approached. “Have you found yourself a toy? What will you find inside the box, I wonder. Will it be the Word of Protection you need to save yourself and those you love?”

The box opened. Inside was an ordinary-looking granite stone. Lorea took the stone in her right hand and discarded the box.

“Well, that’s an anticlimax,” 388 noted. “I dub thee Wordler 400, and if you survive—”

More strongly than most, Lorea could feel the moment when the curse was invoked. Its magic swirled around, entered her body, and altered her identity. It was at its strongest on this ground where it had been invoked, and the round number intensified it even further. The rock in her hand glowed with amber light.

“Don’t worry about my survival,” said the newly named Wordler 400. “Whatever Word you intended me to find is irrelevant now, because what I hold is POWER.”

“That’s not how the game works,” said 388 wearily.

“Begone!” Wordler 400 shouted, her voice amplified to an unnatural level. A beam of POWER shot from the stone, bathing the skeleton in its light, and dousing the green flames that surrounded its bones.

“What are you doing?” 388 demanded. “How are you doing this?” She took a step toward the Sorceress, but the metatarsals of her right foot separated from each other and she stumbled, losing her radius and ulna as well, and then her femur. She crawled desperately toward Wordler 400, shedding ribs and vertebrae, until all that remained was a pile of bones, a pleading skull, and a reaching arm that was the last to break apart.

Fast-Paw stumbled over. “You killed her.”

“She was already dead,” Wordler 400 stated.

“But you ended the curse, right? We can all return to the village now?”

Wordler 400 shook her head. “The curse remains for as long as the Word Wizard lives. But.” She threw the stone into the air and caught it again. “We have a new tool for fighting back.”

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Revision Notes:

To be added.