Fantasy The Fractured Lands: Story [CLOSED]

[Ayama]

fluticasone fluticasone

THE PIRATE LORD OF OTRECHT
Callum Thrym-Pennant​

The blond over by the window, who seemed consumed with distaste over the battle they'd just fought, made a guessing analysis as to why they'd been attacked by the Shade, and what might happen should they choose not to pursue this... Pilgrimage.

Despite his skepticism, Callum had to admit- the idea of being hunted down and cornered in a dark alley by these things, and then, without the reinforcement of the other 'Pilgrims', gutted like a fish was a prospect he didn't much care to contemplate.

The rogue made an unequivocal statement about following wherever Wolf would lead, despite refusing to give a name.

Not sure how much that blade of yours is worth if you're going to run and hide the second we get attacked, the pirate thought with a sardonic grimace.

The muscled warrior-woman dispatched their 'prisoner' with unsettling and bloody efficiency, retrieving her weapons and removing her headdress. The sharp, angular features of her face were quite striking, and Callum found himself curious about her story.

She efficiently dressed first Wolf's then her wounds, and he wondered if, like sharks in the water, the Shade would be drawn inexorably by their blood.

The way she introduced herself was original, to say the least, and Callum marveled at the obscure magic that let him somehow understand her.

Flower, huh? he thought, thinking the name strangely at odds with her clearly war-like demeanor.

He chuckled softly at her appellation for him. It was true he'd always enjoyed leading people in a good tune, but found it funny that it seemed to her to somehow be his defining characteristic.

He watched her dance, wide-eyed. When she seemed to offer (was he misunderstanding?) to literally put her blood on their hands, he stepped back with a nervous smile.

"Uhh, no thanks- just got my sword clean and all," he said as he backed away slowly, not wanting to offend.

The man with the salt-colored hair (Vergil, he'd said) he found more unnerving still, as his eyes seemed fixed on the corpse of the shade with an energy Callum couldn't quite define but definitely did not like.

He turned back to Wolf with some relief as the man evenly laid out answers to his questions- what answers he had, at least.

At the mention of 'something that can take us out of this cursed land', he garnered the pirate's undivided attention. A way out? Is there really? he wondered, trying to control the spark of hope in his heart.

He wasn't sure how much the words 'strong' or 'desperate' applied to him, but try as he might he couldn't quell the longing that he felt, even though he knew it was almost certainly a fool's hope.

Well, even if it is, I suppose I've got no choice, he thought upon confirmation that the Shade would hunt them down whether they pursued this Pilgrimage or not- the notion was bleakly comforting.

Wolf, apparently, had been accumulating information about this for quite some time, judging by the precision of his answers and the fact that he had an entire notebook seemingly dedicated to it.

Callum didn't like the sound of that forest one bit, but it didn't sound like any of them had much of an alternative.

At the mention of a mirror, the pirate's eyes lit up.

"This what you had in mind?" he asked, pulling a small one from the pouch at his waist- being dead and in purgatory had not deprived him of his vanity.

"Or perhaps I could lull the monster to sleep with a lullaby?" he joked, plucking a few notes on his lute. "In any case, it seems as though we are bound together on this journey, so we'd better make ready to leave."

At that he promptly flitted away to turn over the place with practiced efficiency, grabbing food from the larder, rope from the storage shed, and bedding from one of the rooms upstairs, rolling it up into an easy traveling pack with the rope and slinging it over his back.

"Lead the way, Wolf," he nodded at the warrior, wanting to get out of there before the innkeeper came back to find his stores empty.

 

[Wayne]

Narration

location.

Forest of Silver Tears

tags.

@BuggaBoo @Goonfire Ayama

CHAPTER TWO: SILVER TEARS
Destiny had drawn them together, though they were little more than strangers when they gathered beneath the dim light of the fading moon. The pilgrims of light, as they called themselves, set off before the first stars had fully vanished, their path leading north toward the forest of silver tears. It was said a monster lurked in those haunted waters, its name whispered like a curse, and within the tower of flame beyond it, they hoped to find the answers they sought. Yet, for all the grand purpose that bound them, they were no more than a ragged collection of misfits. They lacked the trust of comrades, the rhythm of true travelers; what they had in abundance was fear, and the silence that comes with it.

Leaving Hedra behind was a bittersweet thing. The streets were no longer empty, survivors wandered among the ruins, sifting through ash and stone, searching for remnants of what was lost. A few of the pilgrims hesitated, looking back as if they might offer aid, but there was no time for such things. There never was, not in the fractured lands. Here, moments of peace were fleeting, always snatched away by some new cruelty, some fresh terror. They knew that well enough. A city attacked was nothing remarkable. Life in the fractured lands was a perpetual state of ruin and rebuilding, and the journey northward was one more attempt to outrun the inevitable.

The path was ancient and worn, not paved, but ground into the earth by countless feet that had traveled before them. Grass, sickly and faded, barely clung to the dirt, its color more gray than green, as if the sun had long forgotten this corner of the world. Even now, as the first orange light of dawn began to crest the horizon, there was little warmth in it. The fractured lands had a way of dimming even the sun, smothering its glow with heavy clouds. The cold of night slowly gave way, but the sense of dread clung to them as stubbornly as the fog.

Their silence along the road spoke louder than words. Now and then, a question was posed to Wolf, the most seasoned among them, but answers came sparingly. Around them, the landscape was as grim as their mood. Mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks lost in the clouds, indifferent and immovable. Odd relics littered the path, a half-buried statue of a woman, her face long eroded by wind and time, a solitary farmhouse standing alone in a field, watched over by a leaning scarecrow that seemed more a warning than a guardian.

When the sun dipped again, casting the land in a fleeting red haze, they arrived at the edge of the forest of silver tears. It was no forest in the traditional sense, but a vast swamp, where twisted willows reached out with long fingers to obscure the way forward. At its entrance stood a statue, weathered and broken, its form hunched and clawing at the earth as if it had once tried to escape. Some said the statues were once men, petrified by whatever cursed magic clung to this forsaken place. But the pilgrims had come too far to entertain doubts now.

As they stepped forward, the mud sucked at their legs, rising past their knees in some places, threatening to pull them down into the black water below. Ruins jutted from the mire, half-swallowed by the swamp, offering no sanctuary, only the promise of further decay. Great stone arches loomed in the distance, their tops barely visible through the canopy of tangled branches. They were ancient, older than the ruins themselves, and stretched like the bones of some long-dead giant.

The forest, it seemed, had already claimed them, and they had no choice but to press forward into its cold embrace.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wayne]

Wolf

mood.

Curious

location.

Fallen Church

tags.

@Goonfire @BuggaBoo Ayama @yokai. @yana

"Careful now," Wolf muttered, his voice low, as though the very air of the forest could eavesdrop on his warning. "My knowledge of this place is close to none. We are entering dangerous ground. May we respect the fallen, and be quick on our feet. With luck, all of us might leave this cursed place unharmed."

His boots were the first to break the still surface of the swamp’s murky waters, ripples spreading as he moved forward with measured caution. Statues loomed out of the gloom, worn and weathered figures of men who once carried themselves with pride. They stood clad in battered armor, their stone hands gripping weapons that now seemed nothing more than relics of desperation. Each one a silent testament to the futility of their struggle, and yet, they did not stand alone. Whatever had taken their lives still lurked here, hidden in the shadows beneath the twisted canopy of the forest. Wolf felt a prickle of unease dance up his spine, a chill unrelated to the cold mud clinging to his legs.

The path to the Tower of Flame was not drawn on any map, but crude markings on the bark of certain trees guided their way, small carvings of castles, with arrows etched beneath, pointing to where they should step next.

Wolf paused for a moment, eyes narrowing at the sight of one such mark. "Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "How they had the time to carve these. These alchemists… must be something else." His breath hung in the damp air, thick with the smell of rot and decay.

The fog swirled and parted ahead, revealing the hulking silhouette of a ruined church. Its once-grand stone walls, now broken and pitted by time’s relentless assault, or perhaps the strange, twisting magic that clung to the fractured lands. The roof had long since collapsed, stained glass windows shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving jagged edges that caught the fading light. The air within felt thick, as though the walls still held some long-forgotten sorrow, but they had little choice. The forest was growing darker by the second, and the mists offered no comfort, only confusion.

“I say we set camp here for the night," Wolf said, his gaze lingering on the crumbling structure. "If the creature finds us now, I doubt we’d stand a chance. Mirror or not.”

Inside the church, remnants of a life once lived lingered, wooden pews rotting under the weight of time, water-stained parchments strewn across the floor like forgotten memories. Vines snaked their way through the cracks in the stone, the only signs of life amidst the decay. Still, even their vibrant green could not mask the stench of rot that filled the air.

“If the monster doesn’t get us," Wolf said with a grim chuckle, "the cold surely will." He glanced around, his eyes settling on a pile of dry wood in the corner, mercifully spared from the damp. "I’ll get a fire going."

Soon, flames flickered to life, small but warm, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The fire’s heat was a brief respite from the cold that clung to their bones, and the light chased away the worst of the gloom. Wolf crossed his arms, standing watch over the fire, though his gaze was distant, caught between the present danger and whatever lay ahead. They were exposed with the fire, but freezing to death wasn’t much of an alternative.

"So," he said at last, breaking the silence, "how long have you lot been wandering these lands? Or have you given up trying to keep track of time altogether?"

♡coded by uxie♡