Requiem.

The tide of fog that rolls over this sacred place is quiet and serene, and filled with the happy humming and buzzing of busy little bees. At first the cold magic seems to startle the now cluster of dracoshrooms and they bite at it, succeeding at eating some of it too. But then the bees are there, tending to them, reassuring them and they calm once more. Somehow soaking up some kind of nutrition from somewhere and flourishing.

With the bank of fog in place, we pull deep from that primal part of us that first knew something was wrong back in our glade. We draw from memories of the age serving as witness to the rights of passing and mourning. We sing:

“{Let go of your burdens,

We’re here to lighten your load,

You’ve been laid to rest now,

So just follow your road.

Your work here is done now,

We’ll prove you no dream,

Your mark upon hearts is certain,

It’s our turn to carry your gleam.

[Call of the Damned].}”

The lightning in the shaft blazes to life as we sing. Lashing out at the barrier of our breath, raging at the purpose of our Call. The life that fills the sand and lightning is full of jealousy, hate, and the toxic touch of betrayal. And so, we draw it all forth, spending our efforts and keeping our focus mostly on protecting the new life that has only just begun to bloom.

The sands from outside this picturesque locale begin pouring in like a tsunami and so we rush over and plant ourselves as a shelter to the little thing and brace ourselves. Driving more power into the fog and swelling it outward while bending as much of our will to intensifying the strength of our Graveflesh. When the wave crashes into us we feel bones break, but we do not falter. When the weight of the world now pressed against us starts to drag us away, we dig in our claws and hold firm, even as our muscles tear under the strain.

We sing. We breathe. We resist with all our might, to deny this dark incarnation from destroying this remnant of whatever kill it made in ages past. We feel the pressure of the struggle breaking us and we start to hear that memory of the not clock ticking once more, “{No. Not this time. This foe is not so great that we need to rely on our tattered soul to win. Our strength united is enough!}”

[Graveflesh mesh polyp grafted with Choir, Unity through Song sub-node Acquired!]

Our voices roar as new strength swells through us as I bash my head against the wall of scorching sands, and its grip upon us falters. The pulse of power we unleash, fed by three skills and all of our choir further push back the blanket of iron. The draining curse of the grave stalls out the cohesion of the attacker as the light of this strange sky shines upon us once more. The breadth of our task and the necessity of focus makes us ignore the changes to the one of us that gave us that initial breathing room.

After that opening beat and the sands finish falling to the ground, the lightning arcs throughout it once more. Instead of an endless tide, it pools and funnels into a figure, a man. He grabs the spear stuck in the ground and pulls an echo of it out, leaving the true one still sunk into the stone. We rumble our pleasure as this half-giant of charged iron and rage squares off against us, “{We can see the woods just behind you now, little shadow. We can hear them calling. We can feel their eyes. They are staring at you unblinking. Even if you could defeat us, you [End] today.}”

With a crackle of thunder as his shout he charges, and we meet him halfway. The leap of undeath matches his dash of lightning as we snap our largest jaws upon his thrusting blade. The bolt of electricity leaving no lasting mark upon the changed visage holding it hostage, now an enlarged crag of weathered stone, like a cliffside sculpture instead of mere flesh. The rest of us were not idle as we billow our smoke in his face and both of us left bite at his forward leg, tearing it forward.

His form shifts like a mirage as the mast of the spear is suddenly smashed against our leading head and only dust remains in our once triumphant mouths. Again, there is a boom of thunder, but now mocking in tone, as his changed position has him a step away and at the ready once more. Rather than charge or thrust at us once more, this apparition seems to take a deep breath, and as he does the lake of the iron sands around has a portion stream into him for a moment.

“{So, is that your trick? You think this mere pond will allow you to best the Singing Mountain! Pitiful child, this is a mere drop compared to the ocean which surrounds you. But it shall not be them that devour you. That victory will be ours!}” As we clash once more, his spear work is superb. Striking, slashing, stabbing, and bashing with an endless river of motion, but it is not enough to save him. His blade cannot pierce one of our hides, nor bruise its flesh, and of those that he can hurt, we heal in moments as our blood rises to the occasion.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

He tries many ways to inflict lasting damage, but anytime he leaves our Graveskull unharried, it crashes through him, forcing him to draw more heavily on his reservoir. He makes feints and tries to attack our flank, but each time his attention even thinks to divert to a more vulnerable target we belt out another note with our Call and his rage is ensnared upon us once more.

After some minutes, seeming mere moments of fighting, he jumps back. But we are unhurried, even in our battle lust we remain focused on what’s important. The longer the fight goes, the harder it becomes to keep his aim on us, the discipline this echo is recovering a testament to the beast that birthed him. The dunes of iron sand have shrunk considerably, yet now that he is within them, he can move both rapidly and freely. The mosaic of slain stone is the only place seemingly anathema to its casual presence.

This time when his mouth moves and there is a peal of thunder we hear words, “(Wraithmare~ To~ Me~!)” With that shout, a great deal of the remaining pond coalesces together into grand steed as it rushes from far behind him, galloping at us. If he were a half-giant, this horse would be bred for him to ride. We back away to lessen the gap between us and our ward to better ensure that his added speed won’t let him bypass us.

As it rapidly approaches him, he gives a rumbling laugh and sprints forward, making a practiced leap as his steed reaches him to mount it. What is left of his power is drawn into this final attack. The spear in his hands growing massively in size as the last of him is focused on finishing this with one move. We hide our disappointment behind a mocking chuckle as he careens towards us, “{Poor fool. So focused on the monster in your sights, you forget where you are. You’ve left no moat to guard you from the trees any longer.}”

Watching his mask of anticipation and violence shift to horror as suddenly the once miles and acres of clearing has been reduced to now just the imprint of stone upon the ground and all those hungering, gnarled trees are suddenly there, all around him. Their limbs rip into him and his stead as they no longer run across open land, but through a forest that hates them, both because they have some spark of life, and also personally for how the rider wronged their guardian.

[One with Nature] lending meaning to their unspoken desires as their branches rend him limb from limb. Tearing swaths of his pseudo flesh and spilling his dusty blood upon the ground. His horse giving a calamitous whinny of pain and a thunderous bray as it loses integrity. We wait calmy near the solid rod of the true weapon as his much-diminished ghost lurches out of the copse of death.

No longer an armored giant, his form is now the size of an average man, with seemingly ragged clothes all that remain of his proud armor and uniform. His features now more finely detailed, we see his eyes are unfocused, not even seeing us standing there next to all that holds his attention- the weapon. As he stumbles towards it, barely able to keep himself upright, we finally get his attention when our crushing jaws grasp the handle, “{We told you. It would not be the trees that consume you.}”

This echo of a man long gone from this place looks upon us with confusion, a distinct crumple and plink echoing in the clearing makes him grip his chest in shock. As he falls to his knees, the bottom half of the rod falls to the ground. One last arch of electricity between the two pieces before the remainder of the arcana fizzles out. Once it does the pristine sculpture of a man slumped over in death crumbles and is blown away by a breath of our air.

We just sit there for a long moment. We don’t really keep track of the time. We try to rest.

---

A nibble on our tail awakens us. The patch of fungus is thriving now, a proper colony of little dragon caps. We pull the buried blade of the spear from the ground, snapping off and discarding the now mundane metal. The spearpoint that was so important to our DM, we stuff it into a currently empty, larger tunnel for our bees, concealing whatever it was within our Temple of Sinew. We shall let other minds and senses deal with that, and for ourselves… we must move on.

With the weapon-point now hidden away we hear a creaking from the palisade of trees, no longer are they packed tightly in a ring around this place, but somewhat spread out, as in any other ordinary forest. We catch the briefest whiff of familiar scent on the now breeze in the air and we sing blunt and weary, “{If you mean to ask us what happened… It was just people. Just shitty people.}”

We so desperately want to retire our [One with Nature], if only to no longer hear the story of this forest. But we’ve a long path yet ahead of us before we’re out of this tainted growth and into the mundane beyond them. The only solace we have from the tragedy is the new song growing upon the dragon’s gravestone and the peace the trees enjoy from the dark spirits’ dispersal.

[Ironman Redacting |Death Forest of Betrayal| has been renamed |Weald of Woes| and |Dracoshroom Hatchery|]

[Ironman Redacting Vitalis Dragonscale; tier 8 dragonscale, transcendent artifact Acquired!]

[Ironman Redacting A freely given gift of a heart-scale from a life affinity dragon to their human partner. This particular scale has been infused with a Transcendent Life affinity after it was used as the point of a spear to take the life of the dragon that gave it, at the hands of the one to whom it was gifted. Once serving as the focal point of the curse upon its former domain and the weapon that ended it, it has since been purified after the spirit of betrayal was exorcised and vanquished. Currently acting as an Altar of worship and wellspring of sustenance by a colony of Serene Zombees housed within a Temple of flesh for the hydra that served as its avenger]