What was the Wolfmaster? Had she been human, once, before her naturamancy took over her body and left her vulnerable to blight? Or was she a nature spirit perverted by the lands she’d once called her domain, subdivided and uprooted?
Whatever she’d been, it didn’t matter. She’d become nature magic, tied herself so deeply to the lands she loved that each blow of a shovel spat upon her honor, each spinach seedling a living insult as it stretched towards the light. Perhaps the influence of Titanius so close had given the Wolfmaster a brief respite as the land withered under its dissonance. If she couldn’t have it, no one would.
But you can’t stop progress. Only delay the inevitable.
The players had triumphed. Titanius was vanquished. The abomination’s corpse fell into the Naryu Canyon and the farmland gasped for breath, life flooding back into the fields, the soil, the forest. And the Wolfmaster too, consumed by her own tainted nature magic, returned to the world like spring after winter.
Will she be back? Janet wondered as she brushed a flower petal off the statue, the figure left behind when she’d dispelled the sickness. Could you call hatred a disease? She was bound so deeply to nature that it left her vulnerable. I couldn’t hurt her, but I could… change her, I suppose. According to the farmers, the plant army had disintegrated shortly after Janet had collapsed, no longer powered by their dark mistress. Because of that, they’d celebrated. The fight was won! The villain was dead, her twisted machinations no more!
Beneath Janet’s fingers, the wood—yes, wood, living and breathing, pale and green-tinted—was warm.
She took her hand away, tilting her head to look into the figure’s face. The eyes were closed. The remnant seemed almost serene, holding its branch of flower blossoms that continued to spiral down onto the forest floor. Janet stooped to collect some in the front of her skirt before they could fade into the soil and looked up when the other girl offered her a hand.
A smile crossed Janet’s face as she watched Libi swing on the statue’s arm and she took her hand gratefully. “Th-thank you—yes! Oh, that would have been ironic, wouldn’t it?” She gave a little laugh as Libitina helped her up. “You were quite good with that scythe, too! You should ask if they’ll let you keep it.” She heard voices calling them and turned to look—the farmers were ready to go, supporting the wounded on one another. Looks like I have more to do, Janet thought in some exasperation.
Before she turned to follow the waving, beckoning farmers, Jean among them, Janet stopped one last time to look at the statue—an idol of fertility left from destruction, the image of tranquility left over from corruption. A shell left of the sorceress, or her core? There’s no way to know. But—I hope she is at peace.
With a final prayer, Janet left the pale green figure behind.
“Iván! Are you awake yet? I made sure to elevate your feet again so that you’d get proper circulation.”
She threw open the tent flap and the plain-faced girl leaned inside, her cheeks rosy with merriment. “Come outside already, please! You know Libi’s going to eat all the food if you don’t hurry up.” She left the flap open to give the masked man some fresh air as she turned back to the refreshments table.
While Iván had been recovering, Janet had been hard at work. The farmers standing around chatting sported bandages that smelled strongly of broccoli. Janet bumped into @Babushka and looked up, surprised. “Oh! Hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t have the chance to thank you for helping to hold the plant army off. I’m sure the farmers would have been devastated without your skill,” she said gratefully before noticing one of the farmer’s children drop a fork on the ground and then pick it back up like they were going to keep eating with it. “Stop that! Don’t you dare!” She rushed off again.
After @Iván Carl and @Libitina Cerin were both done partaking in the celebration, Janet beckoned them over to a pile of stacked hay bales—she wanted to make an announcement. “Everyone!” she called, and saw the farmers’ heads turn towards her. “I wanted to thank all of you for coming to our aid against the Wolfmaster! You did this—you claimed back your lands and the right to farm them, and I know Astorea will be all the more bountiful for your determination!”
She took a deep breath and produced a small sack. “Farmer Jean, will you please come here?” She saw the blonde startle and then approach, looking around curiously. Janet suddenly felt nervous. “A-ahem, these are—dried flower petals from the green abode. They fell from the witch’s statue.” She wasn’t sure what expression she saw on Jean’s face—whatever her relationship with the Wolfmaster had been, it was clearly one of familiarity. Had they been friends, once, or just close enemies?
Janet offered the bag to her. “I think you should have it. The flower petals seem to have amazing growing properties—I think if you spread the dust across your lands, your crop this year will be the greatest you’ve ever had.” Her cheeks grew a little red as Jean took the sack, nodding. “I-I hope we can work together more in the future. I know Iván has a restaurant in Stokbon he runs—maybe we can make a deal? I-I’d be happy to transport the goods.” With that, and anything else her companions wanted to say, their time here at the spinach farm was done.
And far away across the fields and the pastures, past the quiet cave where insects once made their nest and cloistered within the wild green heart of Western Astorea, the Wolfmaster was still.
Last edited: May 15, 2018
