War & Peace
Can the Misfits find the source of corruption effecting the forest they woke up in during a di-lunar eclipse? Will they kill everything in sight, choose sides, or make peace?
Episode 2
The following are the words of Kingsley the Rex, son of Vigga of the Drakfjell tribe.
Saga of Vengeance
The day began with much debate about time, as if it were something that could be tamed or bartered with. I have little patience for such musings, yet I do not dismiss them outright. There is wisdom in understanding the fleeting nature of the present, but I am not one to linger. My road is set before me, straight and without diversion—I seek the beast that slew my brother. All else is but wind through the trees.
The night watch was arranged, and I took the first. Sleep does not press upon me as it does the others. In the stillness, strange visions came upon us—a dream shared among the company, or perhaps a memory not our own. The threads of fate are woven deep, and I must sit in silence to unravel their meaning.
There was talk of keeping a record, of shaping our tale in ink. I do not turn away from such things, but words alone do not forge destiny. Zoro, ever talkative, finds merit in such musings. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps not. The others seem without clear purpose, yet I will guide them and protect them as well as I can.
Blight Battle
The second watch brought ambush and a battle. Blights, twisted forms of wood and root, sought to entangle us. I do not fear the creeping things of this world, but there is an unease in fighting that which should not move. Steel met bark, and we stood victorious.
There is something within me that stirs in battle. A fire, a hunger—not for death, but for the clash, for the proving of strength. It is intoxicating, but I must master it, lest it master me.
Aodhan, the druid, is bold, placing himself upon the front lines where magic alone may not shield him. Zoro fought recklessly, and fate nearly claimed him. He is a curious one, filled with words and laughter I do not yet understand. There is something to him—luck clings to his steps like a shadow. Wraithfoot also fell. Too many among us are fragile. I must remember this.
The rage within me surged, but it did not carry me beyond my own strength. That is troubling. It is a beast I do not yet understand, one that may serve me—or consume me. The battle should have been harder, yet we stood unscathed. Either we are stronger than we know, or something unseen guides our hands. I will remain watchful.
Buried Citadel
We pressed on, following a creek as it wound up a bluff. The climb was simple for me, though the ever-reaching branches clawed at my passage. At the summit, we found old pillars, etched with markings of an age gone by. I am no scholar, but I do not turn away from wisdom. The others puzzled over their meaning. I listened, though my mind wanders forward to the path ahead.
There was mention of orcs and their writings. I have encountered their kind before. They are warriors, but their way is not mine. Still, even the words of foes may hold knowledge worth heeding. Then, we found it—a citadel buried beneath the earth. This place hums with something old, something restless. The others debated our course. I did not. My road is forward, always.
They spoke of a dragon, Elder Ashardalon. A name unknown to me, yet it stirs something in my thoughts. Aodhan questioned whether we must destroy the beast. I know my answer. He does not yet understand. Aodhan inscribed the dragon’s name upon cloth, preserving it as one might a fallen warrior’s deeds. A strange custom, yet I will not begrudge him his ways. We uncovered a hidden door, unlocked by an unknown key. This citadel holds more than ruin. I will find what lies beneath.
Troll Sarcophagus
A chamber lay before us, within it a sarcophagus, etched with draconic script. I do not know the words, but I feel their weight. The past lingers heavily in this place. Wraith Foot shattered the tomb. Reckless, but there is no undoing it now. Within was a troll, though it was unlike any I had seen. Fire coursed through its breath, a creature of old fury and unspent wrath. Why does it still walk? Some powers should have long since faded.
It fell, as all things must. Another figure, cloaked in mystery, turned to ash before us. The magic here is deep and strange. I do not claim to understand it, but I will not ignore it either. We descended further, deeper into the bones of the earth. Above a doorway, the dragon’s name was carved alongside the words “honor guard.” There is meaning here, though I do not yet see it clearly.
Quasit Quandary
A battle awaited us—a small quasit protector similar to Mars, a reflection made flesh. It did not last. The others hesitate where I do not. Wraithfoot broke another binding. He does not learn caution. The past may hold wisdom, but it also holds chains, and some bonds should not be loosed.
More debate, more discussion of the tombs and their secrets. There is much weight in this place, heavy with forgotten things. I do not dismiss them, yet I feel the pull of my own path more keenly than ever. Their voices grow restless, and so does my patience. We have lingered long enough among echoes of the past.
I will continue to carve my path with steel and fire. Soon, I will stand before the one who took my brother from this world. Soon, the reckoning will come.