527 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
Denizens of the REALM will forever recall the day when black clouds roiled across the sky, when lightning snaked down to carve a dozen Relic Pillars of mysterious purpose, and when a resonant croak of a voice shook the landscape with the force of an earthquake: “I wish there were something I could do to brighten these last few days of your existence.”
These were the words that ended the Crossword War between the forces of Across and Down.
In the Across lands between the surface and the sky, Folk Wordlers dropped their weapons and knelt in prayer. At the same time, in the underground Downlands, the Subterranean Wordlers abandoned their battle plans and sued for peace. A new era of cooperation between Folk and Subterraneans, the Second Age of the REALM, would unite the defenders against the first wave of human colonists into the land.
Throughout the centuries, those same mysteriously unattributed words echoed back and forth across the complicated history of the REALM.
527 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
An infamous phrase once more rings through the trees: “I wish there were something I could do to brighten these last few days of your existence.”
Inside a cart being pushed down the road by an ape, the words prick the sharp ears of a Samhain Elf. “Well, that wasn’t at all ominous,” Gloriander states. “Did anyone else hear that, or was it only meant for me?”
“I heard it too,” says Formerly Melvin. “An otherworldly being is wishing us well. Isn’t that nice?”
Glory stares in disbelief. “The last days of our existence? Where I come from, that’s what we call a prophecy of doom.”
“I’m a ghost,” Formerly Melvin reminds her. “A definitive end to my tortured existence is all that I’m living for, so to speak. And it didn’t say how many last days there would be, did it? Maybe you’ll get a million last days, and that would give you a long life even for an Elf.”
“I wish I had your optimism,” Glory grumbles.
“The woods all around are full of creatures,” Formerly Melvin continues. “We are vastly outnumbered by trees, plants, insects, birds, and animals of all kinds. So really, what are the odds that message was meant for us and not for one of them?”
Glory is quiet for a moment, making calculations in her mind. “About one in five billion,” she states, “considering the fact that, of all the beings within earshot, we’re the only ones hurtling directly toward an Apocalypse Beast as fast as our Simian friend can push a cart.”
“Which is pretty fast,” says Val the Simian. “This leg of the road is mostly downhill, so the cart is almost pushing itself.”
“This plan is crazy,” Glory states. “We’re all going to die, and worse, I’m going to die sober.”
“Didn’t the Crowhead send us off with a leftover case of wine from Feast Day?” the Pooka asks.
Glory shook her head. “Never again, dear Pooka. Not a drop. No matter how many last days are allotted to my tepid existence, I want to remember every second of them.”
At nightfall, the group pulls off the road and sets up a camp for the night. While they sleep, a toad passes by on the road, as oblivious to their presence as he is to the impact his words have had on the history of the REALM.
Web3 Draft:
- Listed on OpenSea
- Listed on Rarible
Revision Notes:
To be added.
