363 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
On this day, it felt like Wordler Village was twice-cursed. In addition to the ordinary everyday curse, which required a daily quest to protect the populace from certain doom, the village also found itself in the path of an oncoming hurricane.
“All residents are advised to seek shelter until further notice,” said the newscaster, “except for Wordler 363, who is advised to brave the storm and recover the one and only word that will save us all.”
“No pressure there,” muttered Wordler 363. She switched off the TV, took a breath, and opened her front door. Immediately, the wind pelted her, not only with rain, but also with bits of dirt and gravel.
She took a few steps into the storm. Her jacket flapped like a desperate bird, and then, unexpectedly, her feet left the ground. She flailed her arms and legs, but there was no way to control her path in the fast-flowing currents of air.
“The word! I have it!” she shouted above the wailing wind. “Now I just have to survive long enough to deliver it.”
A building approached. It was the Village Hall, upside down from her perspective, and looking post-apocalyptic with its windows covered in plywood. 363 reached out as if her life depended on it, and grabbed the enormous weathervane atop the spire. For a moment, she became a living flag with her arms wrapped around the copper eagle and her legs flapping in the breeze. Then, with a few twists, she managed to wrap herself around the weathervane and held on tight until the winds abated.
Web3 Draft:
Revision Notes:
To be added.
