Difference between revisions of "Outworld/The Wyrdwood"

Revision as of 18:26, 25 March 2017

A Dark Dream

Author: Vermillion

In the depths of the Wyrdwood, there stands a castle of bone and black marble.

In the highest tower of the castle, there stands a four-poster bed, adorned with golden skulls and hung with drapes of blazing crimson and midnight black.

In the bed a woman lies sleeping, red hair bright against her pillows, eyes twitching as she dreams.

Around the bed, an elaborate pattern of sigils and symbols shows this is no normal sleep; candles stand flickering, halted mid-flame, drops of wax paused halfway through rolling down their sides.

Vermilion sleeps, and dreams, and Shapes her realm. She is too young to remember Valtaria as it was in the beginning, before the games of light and shadow; but every child born to Valtaria knows the legends, brings them to life in their imagination. Vermilion sleeps, and dreams, and the world of her childhood fantasies takes shape once more within her mind, and flows out into the portion of reality that is hers to Shape.

Her dream-self walks the forests, hunts with the wolves; soars above the fields, hearing the cries of the birds that wheel about her; stands high upon the mountains, ruler of all she surveys, with the sound of great wings beating behind her. All is as it should be; wild and untamed, a land fit for heroes to rise in and stride through and prove themselves against, a land fit for villains to reign over briefly and gloriously, and be cast down from the high places of to nurture the woods with their blood…

Around the bed, a soft glow rises; drawn to the exercise of power, the Wyrdwood’s newest denizens gather, a clutter of ghostly spiders spinning ethereal webs between the bedposts. It is their nature to appear where there is danger, as a herald and a warning; and the Carrion-Queen is, after all, by far the most dangerous creature in her realm.

She stirs in her slumber, and looks up at the spiders, her Partner’s gift to her realm. A smile forms on her lips as she falls back into her dreams; eyes already closed, she whispers words that shiver through the air with power borrowed from the ongoing working.

“I will reshape the world in your image…”

One trailing hand reaches out and drowsily grasps a strand of spider-silk, drawing it back with her into the dream.

A shiver runs through the air, a flash of power rolling out from the Wyrdwood through the Crucible of Legends.

And where it passes, the forests of legend become haunted by spiders.

Comrade Wings

Author: Vermilion

Liberator Wings banks and turns over the Wyrdwood, angling himself for the light of the sunset to catch his golden scales just so for maximum inspiration. He sails majestically towards the red-and-golden banner of the Combine, dipping one wing in a reflexive salute, and draws a deep breath to echo its message.

“GLORY TO THE COMBINE!”

The proudly defiant roar echoes across the forest; below him the small figures of the locals pause in their own journeys, or in some cases scurry into cover. Ah well. They will learn. He has time.

The familiar glide beneath the banner; its own light catching his scales beautifully. He’s sure the sight will make a wonderful inspirational poster, once the RevCorps make it this far.

And then, something unfamiliar; a sudden flash of crimson light to his right, then to his left. Witchfire. An attack? No – the globes hang there, at a safe distance, glowing brightly. As he glides on, further pairs rise and illuminate in front of him, clearly marking out a trail. Landing lights, albeit of an unfamiliar nature; charting a path down to a clearing in the woods whose edges are marked out in the same crimson fire.

Well, then. If someone in this lair of villainy wants to speak with him, he is not about to miss a chance to spread his message.

He lands, flares his wings to reflect the sunset briefly, and looks around to get his bearings as he furls them. A simple clearing; one large rock set like a table and piled high with food; a second rock beside it; one seated human-

-no, one Shaper. And from the red tint of her hair and the skulls she wears proudly, he knows exactly which.

“YOU!”

The Carrion-Queen smiles. “Good evening, Comrade Wings.”

“CAN ANY EVENING BE DESCRIBED AS GOOD WHILE TYRANNY ENDURES?” He paws the earth in frustrated agitation. If she is at all disturbed at being this close to an angry dragon, it does not show.

“Well, that’s a matter of perspective. Would you care to discuss it over dinner?” She gestures towards the waiting food. It does, he has to admit, smell delicious. Still-

“I WILL NOT ABET YOUR EXPLOITATION OF THE PROLETARIAT.”

She glares at him, clearly insulted. “Cornucopia food, produce of my own magic. You people are all about sharing the fruits of your labours, right?”

He eyes her suspiciously, and decides to let ‘you people’ slide for the moment. “IS THIS SOME KIND OF TRAP?”

“If it was, would you expect me to admit it?”

“FROM WHAT I’VE HEARD ABOUT MONARCHS-IN-SHADOW...”

“Alright, point taken.” Her lips quirk upwards in amusement. “Full disclosure, then; the food is enchanted.” She raises a hand to forestall his response. “Nothing harmful – a little wanderlust, an urge for adventure. Given you’re a Combine creature operating solo in Crucible lands, I don’t imagine that’s at all alien to your nature – honestly, I’d be surprised if there’s a noticeable effect. But, since you had the sense to ask...” A shrug. A smile. She reaches for the food herself, bites deep into a leg of meat with no apparent hesitation.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT, TYRANT?” He shoots her a baleful glare. She smiles, and shrugs again.

“To talk to you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“FRANKLY, YES.”

“Well, maybe not so much ‘talk to’ as ‘argue with’. Debate, that’s the word. I want to debate philosophy with you.”

He tilts his head to one side. “ARE YOU CONSIDERING ACCEPTING THE INEVITABLE LIBERATION OF THE COMBINE?” It seems unlikely, but he has to ask.

The Carrion-Queen almost chokes with laughter. “Hardly, dear boy. Are you likely to abandon this Combine nonsense and try being a proper noble dragon any time soon?”

“DON’T BE RIDICULOUS. AND IT IS NOT NONSENSE.”

“Good.” He blinks in surprise. She flashes an impish grin. “Wouldn’t want it to be too easy.”

“DO YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME?”

“Of course it’s a game! Which doesn’t mean it’s just a game, of course...” She smiles again. It’s rapidly becoming annoying. “You people take these things far too seriously, you know that?”

“THE LIBERATION OF THE OPPRESSED IS SOMETHING I TAKE EXTREMELY SERIOUSLY, YES. I WOULDN’T EXPECT YOU TO UNDERSTAND.”

“Pure and noble heroism, believe me, I understand quite well. Conquest by fire and the sword, forcing compliance to your own ideals by violence and bloodshed and brainwashing, I understand that too. The way your lot conflate the two, however-”

“ENOUGH!” He rises, roaring, flames flickering about his jaw.

“Oh, we’re just getting started.” She rises also, crimson witchfire whirling about her in an obvious shield. “You do realise my people are more afraid of you than me?”

He stares at her, looking for signs of obvious deceit. Nothing. She appears to genuinely believe what she is saying.

“WHAT? BUT WHY WOULD THEY-”

“Firstly – dragon. They’re a little concerned that you might eat them. Some dragons do, you know.”

“I WOULD NEVER! I WANT TO SAVE THEM, NOT-”

“I didn’t say I thought it likely, but you take the point. Secondly – Combine. Fire and the sword, like I said – some of yours think liberation through death is preferable to allowing those who won’t convert to live.” A moment’s hesitation. “Well, some of yours on Homeworld did, at least, and this place was shaped in part from my memories, so... Admittedly, those this side of the breach haven’t even tried to kill me yet.”

“NO-ONE IS IRREDEEMABLE. EVEN YOU COULD YET BE SAVED IN TIME.”

“...an argument for another time, perhaps. And lastly...” She sighs, shield flickering away into nothingness as his own fire dies away. “I’d taken care of it before you came, but your people put something in my territory that was whispering in their heads, trying to force them to conversion. They’re afraid you’ll do the same. They’ll get over it once they get to know you, I expect.”

“THE CLARION CALL OF FREEDOM MUST BE HEARD.”

“Ah, but is it truly freedom if one never has a choice about accepting it?”

“TO REFUSE THAT CALL IS UNTHINKABLE. ALL SOULS CRY OUT FOR LIBERATION.”

“Unthinkable to you, perhaps.” A softer, sadder smile as she retakes her seat. “Perhaps in time, you might come to understand why it is not so for us. Freedom means different things to different people, you see.”

“BUT ONLY ONE OF THOSE DEFINITIONS IS CORRECT.” His stomach growls. Somewhat against his better judgement, he investigates the food, which tastes as good as it smells.

“Where Shapers are involved, dear boy? We can disagree on what colour the sky is, and both sides of the argument will simultaneously be correct. And that, after all, is the root of the problem. Of many problems.”

“THEN WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS CONVERSATION?”

“Well.” She shrugs elegantly. “We won’t be Shapers forever. And who knows what shape the world will have by then? So – I want to understand the other side of the argument. If there’s one thing spending time in the Nexus has taught me, it’s that one should never be afraid to learn, even from one’s enemies. Or to teach.”

“I HAVE NO DESIRE TO LEARN THE WAYS OF TYRANNY.”

“Understanding does not imply endorsement. The siege engineer and the castle architect have great understanding of each other’s thinking – it doesn’t mean they are not enemies.”

“HMPH.”

“And if you persist in thinking of our ways as nothing more than tyranny, you’ll really be missing the point. Let me tell you about my people. About how they’ve reacted to your people’s assault. I am proud of them – not because they are cowed into obedience to me, far from it! It is their fighting spirit that I prize...”

Time passes. The last rays of the sun fade away; the moon’s light and the ever glowing banner shine down, and the denizens of the Wyrdwood watch from afar in fear and fascination at the occasional flashes of light and flame from the forest when the discussion again grows heated.

By the time dawn breaks, both of them are flagging; retreading the same arguments, round and round in circles. At length, Wings draws himself up and strikes a pose, one leg braced on the table-rock to tower over the Carrion-Queen still further. “YOU HAVE TAKEN UP ENOUGH OF MY TIME, TYRANT,” he declares.

She smiles, unflustered. “Likewise, dear boy. Same time next week?”

His dismissive snort of flame falls a foot short of her feet. And then he stiffens, thinking on it, and meets her eyes defiantly. “NEVER LET IT BE SAID THAT TYRANNY WENT UNOPPOSED UPON MY WATCH.”

And with that, and a great downward thrust of his wings, he is gone, a flash of gold across the dawn sky. Behind him, the Carrion-Queen smiles, and laughs to herself softly, ruefully. “Still can’t believe they gave me a fucking dragon...”