SpoilerEVERYONE KNOWS WHAT A GRAND BATTLE IS BUT IT’S A TRADITION TO EXPLAIN SO I WILL
Grand Battles are a collaborative competitive writing exercise wherein usually eight sometimes more sometimes less are whisked away from their lives to do battle for the amusement of omniscient bastards. The focus is not on having fites so much as good interactions with other characters, worldbuilding or just good writing in general. Every round the worst written character (or more usually the character whose writer who has gone most inactive) is eliminated and the characters are shunted off to a different corner of universe to fight again.

THE GRAND BATTLE RULEBOOK

• Play nice.
  
• In theory you can reserve a post and then everyone has to wait until you’ve finished before they can post, but battles have been so slow that maybe this isn’t necessary.
  
• A new concept that might not catch on but why not try suggesting it: if you’re writing a post and you think it’ll take a while but you don’t want to hold everyone up, you can post an ‘intention to post’ and that’s an indication you’re writing something and that people may want to check with you before posting things, especially if it’s something involving your character. Like a soft reserve I guess.

IX WHY ARE YOU MAKING A NEW BATTLE?
Lankie talked me into it.

(This is a lie we talked each other into it)

NOTES SPECIFICALLY PERTAINING TO THIS BATTLE
Me and Lankie wanted a new battle to happen but at the same time we wanted a new battle we could post in and because neither of us was willing to step back just host the battle and let the other participate, I thought we could try the democratic approach. We’re all experienced battle writers I’m sure we can agree to things as a community. Assuming we’re gonna get far enough to get to an elimination we agree upon such things by group consensus.

APPLICATIONS
I’m not exactly expecting a flood of profiles, so we’ll go with the first come first serve policy. If we’re not full in say a week we’ll go with whatever we have no matter how many that is. I’m willing to stretch to a nine/ten person battle if you’re enthusiastic and we’re already up to eight participants, just hit me up with a message to make sure we don’t start the battle without you. If we get more than that I retain the rights to adjust this process to be more selective but that’s probably not gonna happen, I’m just covering my bases here.

THE PROFILE FORM:
(you can rearrange these categories into whatever order you like if it helps the flow of your profile or if you just feel like fucking with me)

Username: It’s a tradition.
Name: I really like the name Cassandra but you can call your character whatever you like.
Gender: Is a social construct.
Species: For bonus points include all their taxonomic ranks.
Colour: Choose the most obnoxious series of tags you can come up with to surround your character’s posts.
Description: A physical and mental description of your character and their behaviour. If they’re wearing a mask you’re automatically in.
Items/Abilities: The Sophisticate is willing to provide useless sexy armour if you haven’t brought your own.
Biography: Tell me all about your character, but not, you know, all about your character. I don’t have all day you know.

SpoilerWe're really committed to democracy so when it comes to rounds, anyone who wants to can post a short single paragraph round description and anyone who wants to cast an opinion on which we go for should message me or Lankie. If you don't want to and want to sit back and pretend like this is just a standard battle situation that's cool too. I'm gonna edit a round concept into my application when I come up with and write one.

SpoilerCitations, ancient greek scholars please don’t kill me

Aeschylus -- Agamemnon, translation by H. W. Smyth

”One heart was steadfast…”: extract from Quintus Smyrnaeus -- The Fall of Troy, translation by A. S. Way

Spoilerdangerous desperate housewives - a neighborhood of drama and petty in-fights with extreme stakes and more extreme consequences, various housewives control everyone, including the player characters for things ranging from best lawn to who gets their hands on the new single dad

world wrestling omega ring - complete with nonsensical tales and kayfabe and the most impossible gimmicks, perfect multidimensional television

La Islas Del Diases - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Los_Haitises_National_Park with evil plants and exotic animals and weird absurd landmasses or like, living landmasses

Shadow Base ZXX - briefing: a hidden american base has been taken over by a former american elite military spy group with one order, give us the body of the greatest solider in the world. their leverage? a machine capable of launching devastating attacks on anywhere in the world. it is up to a single spy and his support team to stop a geopolitical crisis. whoops theres battlers (its metal gear solid)

train murder mystery - like the agatha cristie book or the paper mario level

pikmin, desert bus but bigger, monstro from kingdom hearts, wacky races, the CUBE series of movies, portal, tails gets trolled, kirby, persona

Völsung
Name: Dragún of Boundaries, Summoner of Legends, Anam den Dragúnsídhe (Soul of the Dragon), Anam den Völsung (Soul of Völsung), or just Völsung for short.

Gender: Female

Species: Dragúnsídhe (Elf with Dragon Soul)

Colour: Dragúnflame red #FF0000

Biography:
Pain. That’s all Völsung knew. Pain, and more pain. Völsung’s entire right side felt aflame. Vaguely, the dragún recognised the crushing weight of stones and debris. A collision with the castle, then. Völsung tried to lift a wing —

A roar, as fresh agony lanced through Völsung’s body. That clearly wasn’t going to work. The wing was… well, it wasn’t functional any more, that much Völsung could tell.

How long had Völsung been lying there? How had the collision happened? A battle against the demonic invaders, definitely. Their whirring still filled the air. But the details were elusive. It was hard to think. Völsung’s talons and tail were growing cold. Blood loss?

It wouldn’t be long.

The dragún opened one eye. There, Völsung saw a footsoldier — one of the sídhe*, the mortal inhabitants of the fey isle of Cill Mórinis. This one looked like an elf. She was clutching a flimsy spear, staring at Völsung, white-faced and caked in dust. Not the most impressive of candidates. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Völsung’s body tingled like needles as the contingency spell began to take hold. The power of a dragún was too precious to lose. Not now, not in this war. Dragún souls had to be salvaged, and crammed into whatever container was nearby to receive them.

Völsung’s eye closed again. This was going to hurt.

------

The war ended. The mechanical demons were driven back. Cill Mórinis was saved, at a steep cost.

Anam den Völsung — for that was her name now, Völsung’s Soul; the world didn’t care to remember her elven name — sought out a new life. Her kind were something new to the world, their place in it uncertain. Many, Völsung included, did not even know who they were, two minds and souls bound to a single body. Most did not last long, going insane, killing themselves, or simply disappearing into ill-remembered legend. Völsung ended up in the last category, after meeting with a figure known as the Witch of Boundaries several years after the war while wandering the southern coast of Cill Mórinis. The witch offered to take her far and wide with her teleportation magic, to explore the world and beyond. To this day, the dragúnsídhe does not know why the Witch of Boundaries offered to take her, but it was perhaps exactly what she needed to resolve the duality of her existence into a single being once more.

The duo traveled far and wide, sometimes sailing across oceans, sometimes walking by foot, but often whisking away to new lands by the witch’s teleportation magic. The Witch was a trickster through and through, and the two of them got into many… adventures together. Along the way, the Witch began to teach Völsung the basics of dimensional magic, which Völsung developed into her signature summoning contracts.

------

Many centuries later, Völsung left the companionship of the Witch behind, traveling back to her homeland of Cill Mórinis, making her way to what was once her dragún lair, Dún Völsung. As she neared, the dragún Lavættur sensed her presence, and rushed to defend his domain. Confused by the lack of another dragún in the air, he landed next to Völsung, asking if she had seen a dragún. She replied that she only knew of him and herself. Lavættur laughed. To the Summoner’s credit, she had originally thought ill of forcing him into a contract, but at this insult, her ire was raised.

An hour later, Lavættur’s corpse lay burning in Dún Völsung’s druid grove, scorching and destroying the consecrated land.

Normally, a defeated dragún was killed by the victor, but as she was not only a dragún, Völsung instead forced him into her service, taking over the lair and unintentionally, the town that had sprung up around it. While she hadn’t intended to become a ruler, that was what she was. With Lavættur’s economic advice and her larger-scale mindset, she managed to expand her rule to several neighboring provinces and increase the general wealth of the area. Several times jealous neighbors assaulted her lands for its wealth, but each time they were turned back.

Now, an alliance of countries on the mainland have turned their eyes upon Cill Mórinis, and Völsung, along with other forward thinking leaders such as the Verdant Queen, are attempting to organize the island once more for an organized defense. Unfortunately, it seems a pair of asshat gods have other ideas. Will they be able to get home and save their precious home?

*Sídhe: The ‘mundane’ inhabitants of Cill Mórinis — mainly elves, humans, and cait. Cill Mórinis being the fey land that it is, many outsiders would consider sídhe (even the human ones) to be strange and mystical, but nonetheless sídhe are mortals. Sídhe are civilised city-builders, but live in greater harmony with nature than most civilisations do: a lot is possible when the land’s spirits are so overt and will so readily lend their magic.

Description:
Völsung is an elf. She’s noticeably short, perhaps a head shorter than average. She has extremely long white hair, which she keeps tied back in braids. Her most unusual feature is the two curved black horns jutting forward from the sides of her head — the only outward sign of her dragún soul.

Her clothing tends toward the elegant, with frilly cuffs and long draping sleeves, but without being too impractical. It usually includes reds, blacks, and whites, to bring out her fiery red eyes and white hair. After becoming the ruler of Dún Völsung and participating in the celebrations of spirits, she has also started including red roses into her hair.

Most find Völsung high and mighty at first, mixed with a subtle blend dispassion and calculation. However, those that deal with her on a daily basis know her to be a hard working leader, who cares deeply for those she is in charge of, be they troops she is leading or citizens of her country. She still thinks herself above them, but she earns that right in most of their minds.

She shows disdain and annoyance to tasks finds either beneath her or superfluous. They are a distraction to her, even if they must be done. Questioning her abilities or dragún status is an easy way to gain her ire, which can make her act rashly, often forcing the offender into a contract.

Items/Abilities:
Contractual Magic: By far Völsung’s strongest magic, it allows her to form magically binding contracts with others. The terms are highly variable, she has made contracts as mundane as trade agreements and exotic as bringing another dragún into her service. It is not impossible to break these contracts, either through finding a loophole or using sheer willpower to overcome the other party, but Völsung has the iron will of a dragún and the expertise of the finest lawyer. While it is Völsung’s passion to form contracts with ever more powerful entities, she usually (but not always) practices informed consent: she recognizes that trying to force contracts onto others is asking for trouble, as is abusing those contracts she already has. Contracting has down sides: forming one takes a significant amount of energy from her, leaving her exhausted for days, sometimes weeks. And once formed, she is just as bound by her contract as the entity she is working with.

Völsung has dozens of contracts active, but the other parties remain far away in her home dimension. Occasionally, she may be compelled to do or not do something due to a clause buried in one of her contracts, but for the most part the contracts are inapplicable thanks to her circumstances. There’s one major exception: a contracted dryad known as the Verdant Queen was brought with her into the Battle.

Summoning Magic: Völsung is talented with her mentor’s dimensional magic. However, due to her limited understanding of this ridiculously intricate form of magic, she can only apply it in a narrow scope: summoning other entities from elsewhere on the world. First, she must form a contract with a summoning clause in it (most of her contracts do). This serves as a sort of targeting beacon for her magic to lock onto. Second, the target she wishes to teleport must be in the same dimension she is, or, while she does not know this limit, on the same world. Third, the summoning clause must not have any invaliding conditions, such as the target being nude or similar embarrassing situations. Quite often, this means the summoned individual must be willing.

Dragúnsídhe: Anam den Völsung is an elf imbued with the soul and a fraction of a dragún’s power. She will not die of natural causes and is generally more physically capable than her elven kind. She is however, almost as stubborn and willful as a dragún. She also has a tendency to hoard her wealth, something she has mostly overcome in her long travels.

Mundane Skills: During the war, Anam den Völsung learned to be a mighty warrior and leader of armies. During her time journeying with the Witch of Boundaries, in addition to learning Interdimensional magic, she became used to entering realms alien to her. Now at home, she has slowly begun to learn how to be a ruler. Additionally she is from what we would consider a low magic fantasy world, she knows many minor skills that you would expect someone who traveled a great deal in that type of setting. She however, knows next to nothing about worlds that have high technology.

The Verdant Queen
Name: The Verdant Queen

Gender: Female

Species: Dryad

Colour: The green of fresh spring shoots #80c020

Biography:
Gaia’s Stepdaughters have many legends about their leader, but let us begin with the legend of her origin.

The Verdant Queen — although she did not have this name back then — was a simple dryad: a tree spirit who protected and tended to a small forest glade. A mystical creature, certainly, but a minor one, and she had no aspirations to be anything more. She was kind, and warm, and beautiful. Beautiful enough to turn the heads of even gods.

We shall omit the details of petty jealousy, divine curses, and other such legendary shenanigans. Skip to the happy ending. Sheltered among the boughs of the Heavenly Tree, this simple dryad accepted the affections of Mother Nature herself. As a betrothal gift, Mother Nature blessed her with the ears of the earth and the voice of the wind, and lifted her up to be the ruler of a great expanse of the forest.

Then came the war.

The blessed dryad fought, alongside mortal sídhe and mighty dragúns and every creature she could find in her woodland, to drive back the demonic harvesters. She encountered loss — so rare for an ageless nymph. She witnessed carnage and sacrilege. She grew to, if not understand, at least care for the sídhe and their ‘civilisation’. By the time the war was won, she found that the mortals cared for her, too, and came to her for advice and direction, especially with the extermination of their own leaders. So it was that a dryad came to be the queen of an elven kingdom.

Many seasons have passed since then. No mortal remains who remembers the war. But the danger looms again. Once again, all of Cill Mórinis must stand united or all of it will fall. So the Verdant Queen seeks alliances, and she has found one in Völsung. She has forged a contract with the Summoner, as well as a friendship.

It’s a shame that that contract led to her being dragged along when Völsung was taken for a Grand Battle…

Description:
The Verdant Queen is practically the Platonic ideal of beauty in sídhe culture. Her face and ears have the delicately angular features of an elf. She appears young, in the peak of fitness, with soft hands and a willowy build. Her pale skin is emblazoned with a dense blush of freckles. Her hair is a rippling curtain of amber, reaching down to her waist, yet it never gets in her way. She spends all her days outdoors, yet she is never dirty or wet.

As a symbolic protector of her people, she often wears armour — breastplate, gauntlets, boots — which, of course, is polished smooth and glimmers in the sun. Her clothing is mostly practical and unencumbring, but she can never resist the impulse to include a cape or a skirt, always big and green and billowing, evocative of leaves.

The Verdant Queen is a spirital embodiment of nature, so nature is her utmost concern. She doesn’t particularly care for the lives or happiness of individuals — death is a part of nature — and she doesn’t grasp why others care, except insofar as protecting one’s cubs or striving for one’s own success. She does care about the grand scale: pollution, deforestation, extinction, demons, and other such disruptions of the natural cycle. She will fight fiercely to protect a land she feels is under threat.

Her sentences are often stiff, because language does not come naturally to her. Sometimes, she may seem detached from the world. Other times she comes across as flighty, hedonistic, and wild. She rarely judges the behaviour of others; she prefers to let what is be. She is reactive, not proactive nor passive. She has trouble bonding with people unless she sees them as relevant to the grand scale. She’s distrustful of “demons” — which is to say, robots.

Items/Abilities:
Everything the Light Touches: In her home realm, the Verdant Queen is the ruler (in both spiritual and civil respects) of a large area. She can feel the land, and she can control phenomena such as weather on a large scale. Her subjects generally obey her laws and carry out her orders. But she’s not in her home realm any more, so those things are probably irrelevant now.

Ears of the Earth, Voice of the Wind: The Verdant Queen has the blessing of Mother Nature. All the beings of nature — be they plant, animal, or spirit — will hang on her words. They won’t necessarily do as she wishes, but they will be inclined to. They’ll see her as a lifelong friend.

Nymph Perfection: Against ‘civilised’ beings such as humans, her supernatural power doesn’t apply… but she is still breathtakingly beautiful on her own merits. She knows how to leverage her charm, but if that fails, her actual social skills are subpar: she tends to keep stumbling across ineffable mortal concerns.

Swords: The Verdant Queen is of high agility and fitness, and she has fought in wars before. She wears armour and a sword, and she knows how to use it. But this is far from her specialty, and she can expect to lose against any expert fighter. She prefers to avoid such confrontation.

She is, of course, an expert at herblore and botany.

oops we accidentally wrote another 4 pages please disregard
Völsung sighed as she set her quill down on her Grimoire and looked to the grandfather clock, its elderly hour hand pointing to 2pm. Usually she would go gather her apprentice and help him through some basic Dimensional Arts calculations around now, part of the strange schedule that she had developed after gaining ownership of the castle and town, Dún Völsung. Instead she began to ascend through the winding corridors of the underground palace so she may meet with the town druids for their Ritual of Rejuvenation. When she had first made her lair here prior to the Dark Age, the 'palace' had been merely a cave. Now it had floors of stone so polished they gleamed in the torchlight and walls adorned with paintings from faraway lands. As she reached the ground floor, some servants hesitated in their cleaning, unsure in how to act.

Four months, and the people of this town still hadn't become accustom to her presence. Völsung shook her head ever so slightly in dismay, wondering if they ever would. To be fair, she had fought their previous dragún ruler in what was suppose to be a battle to the death, then spared his life and took him into her service. It was as though they had two rulers, the elderly dragún Lavættur and herself, an elf that claimed to be a dragún with only a pair of horns as her proof.

The servants' and peasants' confusion was understandable, just as it had been for the soldiers under her command during the Dark Age.

She exited the castle that guarded the land above the dungeon palace and walked down the winding road that lead to the town. In her time, this had been a simple dirt road first carved by adventurers out to slay her, then traversed by the elven warriors under her command, of which she once was. Now it was a lavish stonework road that connected the castle to its adjoined town via a bridge. She crossed over the bridge into a section of the town, not bothering to look down into the flowing river of the ravine below.

The town was spread across several plateaus surrounding the castle, bridges connecting them together. Peasants largely ignored her presence as she continued down the mossy stonework road that connected all the plateaus' bridges together, attending to preparations for tonight's festival. Paper lanterns and banners were being strung from the second stories of vine covered houses, saplings and seeds were being planted in gardens and musicians were practicing their instruments. Yes, everyone in the town of Dún Völsung was preparing for the night of the Ritual of Rejuvenation.

She crossed another bridge and laid eyes upon the ashen remains of the druid's grove. It had been the place where the battle between Lavættur and herself had culminated and had suffered the fiery wrath of the dragún. Over the past 4 months, the druids had tried to rekindle life back into the trees and plants, but the flora refused to grow. Now, they hoped to placate the spirits of the land and had assured her that the spirits would take notice if she attended.

The head druid caught sight of the Summoner and strode over to meet her with a wreath of flowers. "Summoner, how good it is to see you. I trust you are prepared?"

In all honesty, she had been dreading this day. If she didn't feel responsible for the carnage she wrought during her battle, she would have declined, for this was a ceremony of life and she was a creature of war and destruction, forged in the fires of the Dark Ages.

"Yes Druid, I am ready to begin the rehearsal.” He threw the wreathe over her head, the petals silky smooth on her skin, and guided her along.

The druids showed and practiced the ceremonial dance with her until near sundown. It was then they dressed her in robes that made one think of a forest, for she was to take the role of the dryad of the local woods. Other druids dressed as other important local spirits, of the flowing rivers, the richly scented soil, or the life-bringing rains.

As the sun was eclipsed by the mountains and dusk gave to night, musicians in the grove begin to play a rhythmic beat and those dressed as spirits began to dance with one another. Around and around, pass to the neighbour, don't let go. Colorful wisps began to appear in the air as they danced, casting their hues all over the town. One by one, the spirits portrayed by the actors appeared, taking physical form as nymphs and magical creatures and beginning to dance with their doubles. Völsung gave her best effort to the dance, making a mistake here and there, but kept going none the less.

Lesser spirits began to appear all over the town, and the celebration began for everyone. Townfolk and spirits danced together in harmony with one another, others enjoying the feast of food and ale that was laid out for everyone to partake in.

By the time first song was finally finished and Völsung was allowed to finally rest her feet, a very special guest had appeared in the sacred grove, unknown to all.

She wore the shape of an elf, with green robes and hair of orange gold, but with an unearthly air that marked her as one of the spirit world. Even among nymphs, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She smiled, taking in the joyful air of the festival, watching the cavorting elves and spirits. Many of the passing wisps paused to bob at her, and she brightly greeted them back. After a short time, she walked up to the resting Völsung. "May I have the next dance?”

The dragún looked up at this spirit of ethereal beauty, stifling a sigh. "As it pleases you.” She stood up and reached for the hands of the unknown spirit to begin the dancing anew. Her feet and legs urged her to sit right back down, but she had to see this night of celebration through.

"So, you are the one who cast down the ruler of this place,” the spirit remarked. "You are small for a dragún.”

"They say the sting of the smallest creature may fell the largest.” Völsung walked in a circle with her partner, her head not reaching above the nymph’s shoulders. "Size is oft misconceived as power," she commented with a hint of annoyance.

A smile played on the spirit's lips. "Indeed. You must have great power to have earned the nickname 'Völsung', after the ancient leader.”

"It is no nickname spirit, I am she who was named Anam den Völsung."

A raised eyebrow. "Völsung has been gone for many seasons. Why would she suddenly appear now?”

The dragún looked away as she danced. "My reasons are my own spirit, but I now oversee my home once more." She looked back. "You ask many questions for one of the forest."

The nymph only grinned. "I am curious! It is not every day a dragún is defeated. It is a metamorphosis for this land - much like this ceremony. It is well done, by the way.” She spun out on one arm as she danced, then returned to Völsung, her head tilted to one side. "What are we to expect from the land's new form? What will you do with your rule?”

Völsung stayed quiet for a time, face furrowed, pondering the question as they cavorted around the grove. Finally, she answered, "Strength, prosperity, and security for all of Cill Mórinis. Sidhe have forgotten to keep their defenses sturdy and swords sharp. Forgotten lessons of the Dark Age."

The spirit nodded to herself. "The safety and the health to grow. What we all wish for. So long as you remember that we spirits are Cill Mórinis...” The song ended, and the nymph brought one of Völsung's hands to her lips, before releasing them. "Congratulations on becoming this land's ruler. Should you ever need advice, speak to the birds. They call me the Verdant Queen, and they will pass on your message.”

Völsung hid her surprise well. "Then I shall be thankful my palace is not open to the sky.” She sat down on a log, craning her head to look up at The Verdant Queen. "While the spirits are indeed part of Cill Mórinis, do not forget that Elves, Cait, Dragún, and all the other sidhe, are also Cill Mórinis and must rise together to protect it.”

The Verdant Queen shook her head. "I will forget. I will forget every time that I am at peace. But I will remember when it matters. Farewell, Anam den Völsung!” Without another word, she slipped into the crowd of dancers and disappeared.

Völsung watched the spirit go, muttering to no one in particular, "No spirit, I am afraid you will not remember. Not unless I command it of you.”

------

Decades later…

Bickering, bickering, bickering. That’s all these mortals seemed to want to do. The grand hall echoed with shouting as the leaders went around their circular arguments once more.

Völsung made some excuse and left the hall. She strode down the passageways, footsteps echoing on the flagstones. She massaged her temples, just in front of the horns, trying to push back a headache.

A second set of footsteps heralded a follower. "Völsung? Are you ill?” The Verdant Queen.

The dragúnsídhe grimaced. “Just need some air.”

The Verdant Queen seemed to accept that, but she didn’t stop following, and Völsung didn’t make her. It wasn’t long before they left the passageways of Völsung’s castle and stepped out into the mountainside woods, binking in the ruddy sunlight filtering through the trees. On one side, the earth fell away into a rocky ravine, water far below glittering with the last snatches of sun.

Out of the corner of her eye, Völsung saw the Verdant Queen’s tense shoulders ease. The dryad always seemed more content when surrounded by her element.

“They do not understand,” the Verdant Queen said, after a long pause to sigh at the setting sun. “They play games of one-upmanship when their lives are at stake. If war comes, none of these tariffs or mercenary exchanges or border disputes will matter. All the kingdoms of Cill Mórinis must work together. We’ve told them. Why do they still not understand?”

The dragúnsídhe rubbed her temples, the different sides of her mind conflicting. “They will matter, but their context will be different. Tariffs will help direct our combined economies to aid in the war effort, our mercenaries’ loyalty has to be immune to Tartessos gold, and each ruler must help the other protect their borders. But they refuse to accept this way of thinking, unable to see the larger picture. We are commanders whose troops will not listen to them.”

“We are mother sheep whose lambs mill around while the wolves prowl. It is all so petty.” The Verdant Queen shook her head. Her long amber hair, the same colour as the sunset, rippled like a banner. She kept moving, walking deeper into the woods, away from their responsibilities. “You remember the last time.” It wasn’t a question.

It would have been impossible to forget the dark age. The memories were permanently etched upon the dragúnsídhe’s mind just as the land still bore the scars of battle. The forests and swamplands were littered with ruined castles and cities, torn down, forgotten and overgrown. The ravines that now criss-crossed the land, flowing with babbling rivers — the lifeblood of the Cill Mórinis economy — were created when the earth had been torn asunder by magic, both of the demons and spirits. The very existence of dragúnsídhe like Völsung was a relic of that war, a desperate attempt to retain even a glimmer of a fallen dragún’s power.

Most dragúnsídhe had gone insane after the war.

“Yes, but unlike last time, the two of us and the others from that time, know what must be done. The first blow will be painful, perhaps crippling, but it must be borne so the sídhe and spirits alike will listen to us, to the memory of the land. For now, all we can do is prepare the salve and sharpen our blades.”

“You are so optimistic. I cannot… All I can think is that Cill Mórinis will suffer so greatly while it waits for them to learn. Mortal sídhe should never rule. They are too young, too ignorant.”

The sunlight that flickered through the leaves above began to darken as they continued on their walkabout, Völsung’s castle long out of sight. “The seasons change for a reason.”

The corner of the Queen’s mouth twitched up. Caught out by her own philosophy. “They do. But you left that meeting, the same as I did.”

“The birds move away for the winter. Besides, sometimes I just need to get lost in the forest.”

“That, I can understand.” The Verdant Queen sighed. “And like the birds, we must return. We have diplomacy to do, and kingdoms to lead. We will be missed if we are gone long.” She took a deep breath of the evening air, then turned and began to head back the way they came.

A minute later, she stopped abruptly. “This is not the right path. We should have passed a young goldenwood sapling.”

A sudden realization hit Völsung: it had become disturbingly quiet and dark. The birds had stopped chirping, the wind had ceased to rustle the leaves. The darkness was not the cool blue darkness of oncoming night, but a deadening grey, as though the color and light were being drained from their surroundings. She could scarcely see more than a dozen trees ahead, and the darkness was creeping in, closing on them from every angle. There was an acrid taste to the monochromatic air — a taste she was intimately familiar with. “Dimensional magic.”

The darkness rushed forward and swallowed them up.

The WraithUsername:Sai
Name:
Species: Wraith
Gender: Most recently male
Color: 696969

From Musings on Wraiths - A Collection of Notes by King Ragha
Of all of the interdimensional entities that plague our world with their meddling, few are as little understood as the creatures that have been called ‘wraiths’ by those few who have been unlucky enough to have found the aftermath of their attacks.

While the most famous of the realms which drift beside our own have been named by intrepid travelers and sages of ages past - Styss, Inferno, Aeris, Aurelia, among others - more still hang in the aether nearby without our knowledge. Most such realms, however, are simply too alien for us to even comprehend. The wraiths are creatures that approach this degree of separation.

From what can be gleaned of past survivors and my own experiences, wraiths are detectable only as a vague presence. While some have claimed that there is a sense of unease in the air, I have found instead that the presence of a wraith is detectable simply as a reduction in temperature and the so-called aura of fear that is said to evince their presence is merely the result of this physical chill.

The exact nature of a wraith’s attack is unpleasant, and I will say only that it is survivable by those with a strong will. They have been recorded as targeting only mages, but I believe this to be untrue - instead, it seems that only a powerful magic user is likely to survive the attack, and evidence of a wraith’s presence is only seen by others after a mage is defeated. Indeed, it is only after a wraith is victorious in its attack on a victim that their true nature is revealed.

In almost every instance such an attack, an apparition that looked like the ghost of the victim appeared, casting the magic of the now dead sorcerer with even greater potency than the original caster was capable of. Given their preference for targeting the most powerful mages of the era, this is an awesome display to say the least. The magic is discharged in an almost always violent manner, wreaking havoc on the spellcaster’s former home. As a result, some have said that these horrors serve as a warning on delving into arts that are best left to gods.

However, the timing of the attacks matches a pattern. The wraiths have struck only on even multiples of 114 years apart and there is little similarity in either the specialty or the degree of the magic that the prey of the wraiths exhibit. Similarly, there have been mages that have showcased power that far eclipsed some that have been assaulted, and some of these even managed to die of old age. As a result, I hypothesize that the wraiths strike at regular intervals, and in the years that otherwise fit the pattern in which no wraith attack has been recorded, the victims were simply either too isolated or wielded a power too subtle for the wraith’s presence to have been noted in the histories. That multiple attacks have been recorded in several years suggests that either these are the times in which our world passes through whatever sphere the wraiths occupy, that our barriers against their intrusion are cyclically weakened, or simply that their lifecycle involves feeding at such seemingly long delayed intervals. In any case, whether it is one creature or a host as other scholars have implied, I suspect that these attacks have been far more frequent than has been reported on account of the absence of evidence that a successful assault on an unremarkable target would leave.

Background:
"Hello again." The ancient king sat in an overstuffed chair in front of the hearth. The room was small by royal standards, which still left enough room for multiple wardrobes, several suits of ceremonial armor, and a magnificent desk covered with artifacts forged or won by the monarch, to the point that it left little room for his writing. Still, it was the smallest room in his wing of the palace, and in his opinion the most comfortable. The fact that it held some of the trophies of his many accomplishments without being an ostentatious display like several other rooms had become agreed with his wizened temperament. It was the perfect place to spend his last night alive. "I suppose that I have been expecting you."

The presence that filled the space to his right was entirely undetectable by most mortals. Though shapeless, soundless, and capable of passing through solid stone as easily as air, the wraith was unsurprised that the sorcerer king was able to sense his arrival. The room grew colder, as though the heat from the fire was being pulled away to give breath to the voice of the intruder.

"You have." The voice was as soft as a whisper, but echoed in the man's mind as the speaker both spoke and projected the words directly. Speaking with sound was unusual for a wraith, but its claim was unusual enough already.

The king's reply was slow in coming. Before he spoke, he reached over to the edge of the desk to lift a rod from it. Covered in intricate silver runes, it thrummed with power as soon as it touched his hand. The many layered rings at its head began to spin and a bright light appeared between them as he pointed it into the empty space to his right. Though the spell was seconds from bursting forth from the end of the item, rather than release it he simply sighed and lowered the weapon, willing the light to fade and the spinning to stop as he let it clatter to the floor at his side. "No, I suppose that wouldn't help, would it?"

He soon felt a tug on his limp arm, as though an invisible hook had been sunk painlessly into his flesh. A second and a third soon followed, and that same ethereal voice confirmed his thoughts once again. "It would not."

"Still," the dying king said, forcing his face into a grin as he turned towards the unseen wraith. "I did manage to beat you last time, didn't I? What makes you think I won't do it again." He felt a jerk, as though the arcane hooks were pulling at his bicep, and then the room disappeared. He suddenly found himself sitting in his grand throne, and judging by the reddish rays of light streaming in from the many windows, he judged that it was dusk. The hall that was ordinarily filled with advisors and petitioners was empty save for a regal figure standing to his right. Clad in the golden armor in which he had famously fought a hundred battles, the majestic man was Ragha himself when he had been in his prime of rulership. The burden of the crown he wore had not yet sunken his posture nor had the drudgery of state dulled the fire in his eyes. "Because," the man said in a voice that was not his own "You are not the king that you once were."

The ancient Ragha sat back in his throne, contemplating the appearance that the wraith had chosen to take. "I have read about you, you know." He spoke softly, facing forward rather than turning to meet the gaze of the conqueror he once was. ”How could I not after our encounter? I found all that there was to know - even invaded a Soltek principality when I was denied access to their library. There wasn’t much about your - well, you.”
”Not many survive their encounters.”
”No, of course not. Still, some few did and others saw the remnants of a wraith attack. While there wasn’t much, there was some. Enough to know that your appearance here - even your returning at all for a second attempt - is unheard of.”
”And yet you expected my return all the same.”
”Call it arrogance, then. You said last we met that you sought out only the most powerful -”
”Not precisely.”
”No?”
”I sought only the most interesting.” He smiled then, breaking the illusion slightly, as he did so in a manner unfamiliar to any that had known the sorcerer king. ”You were preoccupied then, however, so I do not blame you for misremembering.”
”And am I still interesting now?”
The smile remained. ”Of course. Your power may have faded, but the essence of it is still there. Enough remains to build a great deal.”
”Mine is a destructive power, wraith.”
”And yet you have built an empire.”
”I have made that argument to myself before. I thought it poetic.”
”I have the soul of a poet. Two, actually, though one isn’t any good.”

The king turned then, eying the creature that appeared as him dubiously. ”You would have me believe that my soul would live on, then, after you consume it?”
”Aspects of it. Stronger at first, but fainter after your power has been used up. Still,” He took a step closer. ”It is more than would be left of you otherwise.”
”And for that dim promise you would have me surrender.”
”A dim promise is what awaits you should I depart. Weakness. Senility. Failure.”
”All things that come with age.”
”And all unacceptable to King Ragha.”
The true king snorted at that. ”Well, I am weaker now all the same. Surely you could simply rip my power from me as you have for so many others.”
”I could. I won’t.”
”And why is that?”
”I have decided that we are friends.”

No time at all had passed in the study where the aged king sat. He began to slump in his chair, as though nodding off to sleep. In the empty air in which the wraith stood, a familiar form had begun to take shape. Though still wispy as though comprised of strands of light, the body that began to take shape was exactly like the simulacra that the horror had used in his soul. It was translucent and glowed with the white fire that had defined his magic, but the shape was unmistakable all the same. ”You never liked this stark color,” it said as it looked down upon its temporary body. ”I suppose it - hmm.” Its musings cut off short as it felt an odd tug on its spectral form. ”It seems another has laid claim to this soul. I wonder what it - “
Without even being able to finish its thought, the apparition disappeared.

Gurska Karr
(This one is a Grand OC profile that I think would be fun to develop further)
Username: Sai
Name: Gurska Karr
Species: Taurus
Gender: Female
Color: Firebrick

Background:

When explorers discovered the literally and figuratively bull-headed sentients living on the fifth planet in the Zeta Tauri system, they were shocked by the race’s humanoid appearance. They believed that they had to be either the result of a seed ship that had been lost in that sector whose colonists must have undergone some sort of accelerated speciation or the result of a genetic experiment whose creator had since perished without releasing his notes. The latter was a far more popular theory on account of their resemblance to the minotaur of Earth’s mythos, but remnants of a seed ship’s materials found scattered throughout the Taurus settlements gave credence to the former. Because they were believed to be an offshoot of an existing spacefaring civilization, they became partially integrated into galactic society before a more comprehensive analysis could be performed. As fate would have it, the Taurus technological ascension occurred at the same time as the border skirmishes which would eventually escalate into the Nyxian-Nihensei War, so most of the galaxy paid little attention to the fairly isolated world as its denizens began to adopt modern weaponry and spacecraft.

As it turned out, they were natives to the planet, and at least as violent and bloodthirsty as humans had ever been in their own developmental period on Earth. Having already destroyed a human colony with only medieval weaponry, their rapid ascension to space age technology without a corresponding cultural acclimation would prove to be devastating. Within a decade, almost a quarter of their population had been wiped out. A decade more and fully half of their species was dead and a significant portion of their population centers had been rendered uninhabitable. A response force was finally sent to help deal with the planetary conflict from the Nihensei Republics, but with no true global government to work with, there was little that they could hope to do to help establish peace and were at first limited to providing humanitarian aid. Their support instead helped spark the first wave of mass emigration from Tauri V, and there was little they could do to ensure that the departing Tauri would remain (or, indeed, ever were) peaceful. While most of the refugees genuinely sought an escape from the catastrophic destruction of their homeworld, a significant number were devoutly warlike. These emigrants scattered across the galaxy, with most joining the burgeoning Mercenary Coalition, where their aptitude for destruction was welcomed with open arms, while others would join various pirate collectives hidden in backwater worlds. Meanwhile, the war on Tauri V raged on.

The ineffectiveness of the task force in even reducing the violence surrounding them would prove to be too frustrating for many of their members to stomach. A rogue detachment led by one of the group’s sociologists, Dr Timothy McCullen, decided that the only way to ensure peace would be for one faction to attain total dominance of the planet. Supporting one of the largest clans, the Karr, they began to fight in the world wide war themselves.Taurus histories would later elevate these humans to mythical status, especially given the fact that the genetic lock on their weapons initially prevented them from being used by the Tauri themselves. Following a human’s demise in combat, highly ranked members of the clan they supported would use preserved parts of their body to allow them continue to use these tools in combat. As a result, swearing by body parts of the fallen leader of this group entered the the Taurus lexicon (eg - “Timmy’s Fist, that’s a fine gun!”). Additionally, because native weapon technology would not catch up with the galactic standard for years to come, the Karr were able to maintain technological dominance until they finally achieved total victory in their war for unification. Though he did not live to see it, Timmy’s rogue detachment succeeded in bringing some measure of peace to the Tauri and preventing their self inflicted genocide.

Gurska was born in the middle of the winter birthing season of 11 BKD (Before Karr Dominion). In her childhood she saw her clan win battle after battle, subduing numerous rival tribes as their domain expanded to encompass the entirety of the supercontinent on which the Tauri lived. In her teenage years, the first ever Taurus world peace began to show cracks as numerous minor revolts broke out amongst the conquered clans and political conflicts between neighboring groups turned violent. Though these were quickly and brutally put down by Karr soldiers, the clan elders realized that without a global project to capture the focus of their people, their empire would collapse a mere generation after it had been established. Though being small and out of the way allowed them emerge as an independent world, their race was far too small and technologically primitive to hope to challenge the pan-galactic establishments themselves. Through the Taurus emigres that had enlisted in the Mercenary Coalition years before, the Taurus elders were able to make contact with the now vast nomadic fleet and concluded a formal alliance between their world’s government and this wayfaring bloc.

With their aid, the Karr began to take control of multiple neighboring star systems, but the close contact with the Coalition began to influence them culturally as well. While the Tauri as a whole and the Karr especially valued loyalty to the clan above all, the Mercenary Coalition thought differently. A large portion of the Coalition’s revenue came from small groups leaving the fleet to provide support in smaller conflicts wherever they may break out, and as a result they placed a high value on individual initiative. Additionally, the very nature of their organization made loyalty to a specific cause (aside from violence itself and self interest) an unreasonable ideal. The fact that they were the stronger partner in their relationship made these values seem appealing to many of the Tauri. None felt this more strongly than Gurska’s generation, which were just then entering adulthood and seeking to prove their worth.

With conquest still in the Karr clan’s eyes as she was growing up, Gurska lived and breathed warfare, learning everything from her race’s traditional style of combat with horns and melee weapons to the use of their distinctly modern arsenal and tactics. Her heritage as a member of the core family of the Karr clan, which essentially placed her amongst the aristocracy if not outright royalty as far as the Tauri were concerned, allowed her to receive training in both the cutting edge of Taurus technology and adopted alien materiel. She spent the years of peace frustrated and joined her clan’s suppression forces at every available opportunity. When their alliance with the Mercenary Coalition allowed the Tauri to begin waging war on neighboring worlds, she quickly became recognized for her talents as a combat pilot. While she was not particularly talented when compared to those born on the migratory worldships of the Coalition, the Tauri were generally awful at flying, and simply being adequate amongst the spacefaring mercs made her an ace amongst her own kind. Constantly seeking to improve herself, she spent more and more time amongst the other races of the Tauri’s allies, and eventually accepted a contract to become a full fledged mercenary soldier. She quickly came to adopt their migratory lifestyle for her own, and left the territorial wars of her people to lead small strike forces in minor conflicts across the galaxy. Born to battle, she soon acquired a reputation as a bloodthirsty warrior and a fearless commander.

Description:

Standing a full ten feet in height and bulging with muscle, Gurska is an intimidating figure even without her arsenal. With it, she is simply nightmarish. Clad in overlapping plates of reflective metal over the black gel of her modern encounter suit, her combat garb looks anachronistic in design, as though a medieval knight were to have their mail commissioned from modern materials. Designed to reduce the impact of lasers, small arms fire, and even melee weapons in the rare instances which they are used, the similarities carry over to its function as well as its form.

If her armor gives the impression of a mix between a medieval aesthetic with modern utility, her weaponry solidifies it. Her weapon of choice is a 40 mm autocannon which had been torn from the smoking hull of a downed interceptor. Designed for ship to ship combat, wide, black heat sinks run down the length of the weapon. Though large enough for a human force to consider it an artillery piece, she wields it as a hand-held device fed from a belt that feeds out of a case of ammo that she wears on her left hip. When not spitting out depleted uranium death to an effective range measured in kilometers, this weapon is worn on a strap slung over her back. When facing enemies at closer ranges, she uses the weapon with which she earned her nomme de guerre - a massive flamethrower, capable of emitting blue streams of fire that can arc out over thirty meters. Given the importance of oxygen in ships and stations, few of her opponents expected the use of this weapon, which is easily capable of clearing out corridors of enemies that she will never even see while they live. She wears this weapon in mirror to her autocannon, slung over her back when not in use and fed from a tank on her right leg. For melee combat, in the few times in which she is granted that particular pleasure, she wields an axe. Her axe, as can be expected given her size and inhuman strength, is heavy, blunt, and just as effective at taking down a door as it is at killing an enemy. It has, in fact, been used far more often as a tool than an actual weapon. Though this allows her to logically justify carrying it, it is still the source of some private embarrassment.

She bears the gravitas of those assured of their competence, and speaks with a low, firm tone. Her speech is characterized by the elongated vowels and guttural slur which are endemic to the Tauri. She prefers to phrase questions as requests for information (eg “Tell me how this device works.” rather than “How does this device work?”) and tends to be more comfortable in a position of command than speaking to others as equals. It is in part on account of this trait that she prefers to spend so much of her time deployed with soldiers under her command rather than surrounded by the generally egalitarian minded bulk of the Mercenary Coalition. It would be safe to conclude that Gurska does not know the true meaning of friendship.

SpoilerAll combatants have been enrolled at Mademoiselle Primfel's Academie For Young and Emaciated Girls. Everyone has been provided with a school uniform and a map to their assigned dorm. Use these or discard them at your discretion, be cautious though, Mademoiselle Primfel's is quick to come down on unladylike behaviour.