Melia the Magnificent

The “Wailing Woods” wasn’t the actual name of the zone; Whispershade was. Originally, it might have been connected to Serenity Forest, part of a gigantic sea of trees. However, a large river cut the entire wood in half, from east to west. It started in the northern Sienna Mountains, fed several tributaries into Lakeridge’s lake, and bisected the Serenity Forest into two zones. Eventually, it turned south at the border of Gold Coast, where the river ran straight until it hit the mountains, dove underground, and made its way to the ocean.

Serenity Forest was the embodiment of a low-level, starting zone. Bright colors, fresh greens, cute critters, and most importantly, low-level mobs. Even the wolves and bears were relatively small in comparison to what monsters could truly become. Sunshine filtered through the trees' canopy, dappling the uncluttered undergrowth with calming, inviting light.

Whispershade was having none of that.

The zone darkened with a supernatural fog the moment anybody set foot over the invisible border. Even in the middle of the afternoon, with the sun at its highest, visibility was poor. A smothering haze lingered on the edge of vision, blurring outlines and obscuring shapes, while a fog rose from seemingly out of nowhere and hovered several feet off the ground. Torch lights seemed muted, their radiance bringing a weak glow at best, while casting elongated shadows that twisted into grotesque shapes that wrought havoc on weak minds. And in this perpetual state of twilight, any wind blowing through the trees was transformed into the lamentations of the lost and damned, giving credence to the name, and the legend, of the Wailing Woods.

​

Living in the shadow of gigantic trees, towering and gnarled and suffocating the sun, not much greenery grew in Whispershade. Or, perhaps, that wasn’t entirely accurate.

Things grew, which were certainly not green. Overgrown bracken threatened to choke the paths, dense heath cropped up like natural walls along the roadside, and twisted bramble snagged anything unfortunate enough to pass too close. And not all plants were harmless as these, with certain monsters mimicking the undergrowth or otherwise taking on a plantlike form. A scythe was as effective a weapon there as it was a tool for reaping grain.

Not that much grain grew in the Wailing Woods. The few scattered farms to be found mostly grew hearty roots and gourds, where pumpkins, in particular, seemed to thrive in the haunted atmosphere.

There was a time before the woods went dark and the warmth of the sun abandoned the land, but it was so long ago not even the elves remembered it. Each race had its own theories about why it happened, and most fingers pointed at members of a different group. The original cause was lost to time, but the fact that nobody was completely free of fault remained. Various remnants of failures lingered like an unwanted memory, forever scarring the landscape.

In the north, where the banks of the river sloped gently into rocky hills, the elves planted a World Tree.

Let it grow strong, they said. The unique magic of the region and the convergence of multiple leylines could create a monolith tree of limitless potential.

In the south, where the mountains held bountiful minerals, the dwarves dug plentifully and deep.

This country has good bones, they said. The unique magic of the region and the convergence of multiple leylines created cerulean, a wondrous metal suitable only for the finest smiths.

In the central corridor, where north met south and east met west, the humans laid down foundations.

We’ll build a kingdom, they said. The unique magic of the region and the convergence of so many races would fill their coffers with coins.

It must have prospered…for a time. The people mingled, their cultures mixed; the population flourished. Outposts rose, monsters were culled, and pioneers seeking fame and fortune soon gave birth to more settled families. In came the crafters and industrial workers, and with them the first few steps of the inevitable downfall, because nothing in this world is as powerful as greed.

While the elves were busy nurturing their tree and the humans laid the groundwork of logistics and infrastructure, the dwarves’ effort paid off, and a mine dedicated to extracting cerulean was finally completed.

Cerulean was a peculiar substance. Not as versatile as iron, less resilient than mithril; it was nonetheless valued far above either. It could only be found in very particular environments, as it was a metal that grew like crystal in the walls of cavern tunnels.

Unlike common ores such as copper or tin, it was not forged into bars or cast into molds. Cerulean was most commonly used in its liquid state, as an excellent magical conductor, and the primary ingredient in anything related to magitech.

Perhaps frustratingly so. The elves, who were expert [Enchanters], and the dwarves, who were master smiths, had no cerulean mines in either of their lands. When both races saw with their own eyes the limitless potential of Whispershade’s mines, their hearts turned to stone, and they plotted how to hoard it for themselves.

The humans were not innocent in this whole affair. It was their land, so they said, and they were entitled to govern its distribution. But the mines belonged to the dwarves, the stocky race countered. They wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the dwarves’ efforts. All the while, the elves shook their heads. What claim did either race have when it was the elves who molded it into miraculous contraptions?

History does not remember who struck first, but the peace that was held together by an uneasy truce began to fray. The first cracks in the alliance were subtle, almost imperceptible. A missed delivery here, some goods gone missing over there; a city official levying one more coin than protocol allowed. Each incident could have been explained away as an error or misfortune. But in the minds of the three races, these were not accidents…they were betrayals. The air of distrust thickened like a fog over the downs, suffocating commerce, friendship, and hope.

The elves, in their pursuit of the World Tree’s growth, began to experiment beyond simple cultivation. They knew the magic saturating Whispershade held so many secrets. Secrets, if unlocked, which could change the course of history forever. Why should the elves be reliant on the generosity of the dwarves when they could take the magic for themselves? The World Tree, they realized, could be more than a symbol or a repository of magic. It could command the very flow of mana in the region.

The problem, as the elves saw it, was that the dwarves’ mines interfered. Oh, the cerulean itself was precious; this was true. Beforehand, they were desperate to get their hands on any small scrap that they could. The dwarves carefully controlled the flow of the precious resource, having learned their lesson long ago what would happen if they dug too greedily, too deep.

But what if they didn’t have to dig? If the roots of the Tree could permeate the earth and latch onto those primordial energies at the source? Then they would not need the dwarves. Nor would they need the humans, with their roads and their bridges, connecting the settlements like a tunnel full of ants. While novel and ingenious, it was an expense the elves could do without. They sought the blessing of Lunaria, goddess of the moon, to take back what they considered their right.

Meanwhile, the dwarves, stout and stubborn, had no illusions about the elves’ ambitions. They cared nothing for divine right, as the elves called it, because to them, magic was a tool, and their cerulean was the lifeblood of a burgeoning industry and craft. They sealed the deepest tunnels of the mines with wards, runes, and iron gates wrought with utmost care, ensuring that no outsiders could access the veins. Let the elves fuel their spells without our metal, they thought. Gold breeds gold, but blood keeps it in the vault.

The humans, caught between two powerful races, were torn. Some tried to mediate but found themselves powerless…or perhaps unwilling to bend. Some saw the two different sides bickering as a weakness to exploit. A chance to raise taxes, ostensibly to fund shared infrastructure or securityguarantees, but in reality, the coffers filled only the pockets of the nobility, who built themselves a grand palace. These were human lands, and the others were guests who had overstayed their welcome. Travelers soon found bridges inaccessible, roads encumbered by heavy tolls.

As the elves grew desperate, they turned to darker solutions. Lunaria, goddess of night and the moon, was beseeched through secret rituals. Give us the cerulean without digging for it, was the plea in the stillness of midnight. Hooded figures in silvery robes called upon energies older than memory, offering not only the promise of devotion, but a temple of unparalleled power.

Lunaria’s response was swift, though not in the way the elves had anticipated. The sky darkened over Whispershade, as if the world had drawn its breath in shock. Stars vanished behind clouds of deep violet and black, the moon shrouded in veils of sorrow. The World Tree shivered, its young leaves curling inward, and a creeping dusk settled over the land.

In the morning…sunrise never came. The dwarves scoffed, uncaring of the world above ground. What was a little darkness to them? If anything, it reminded them of the comfort of their mountain stronghold, deep underground. But for the humans, worry slowly turned to panic. One day became a week, one week became a month. Light became thin and brittle; crops failed in the fields. Any attempt to reach the elves was rebuffed; their councils were in disarray, desperately trying to figure out what went wrong. Their temple, normally a place of serenity and contemplation, was shrouded in an impenetrable wall of darkness, but what little could be seen appeared desecrated and abandoned.

The humans, struggling with the unrest brought upon by endless night, experimented with forbidden arts. They turned to cults, secret societies with bold promises of power that could rival a goddess. All it required was a little…sacrifice. What began as a search to sustain their failing crops soon became an obsession with dominion. The forests around the central corridors grew restless: roots reached out to ensnare the unwary, leaves whispered threats in voices that were not quite Human.

The first dead rose quietly in an abandoned farmstead to the south. Was the family unlucky? Had they been set upon by thieves and bandits? Or had they simply starved? Either way, skeletons and corpses began clawing their way from shallow graves. While alarming, the monsters did not leave the farm, so it was sealed off, and any remaining villages in the area were informed of the quarantine. But the affliction of the undead slowly spread.

Nearby villages began suffering from minor coughs and colds, slight headaches that never seemed to go away, and minor scrapes and bruises that lingered far longer than they should. At first, the villagers thought it a strange sickness of a season, but soon, anyone who lingered too long in the twilight found themselves drained of life, their hearts slowing, their flesh paling unnaturally. The undead multiplied, drawn not by hunger but by the human lust for control. Every attempt to smite them only fed the corruption, as if the forest itself was learning the art of vengeance.

The elves, now alarmed, sought to contain their mistake. They tried to siphon the World Tree's magic to restore balance and push back the darkness. But the Tree, now tainted with the bargain made under the moon and muddled by the hands of the cultists, responded with indifference. Its roots twisted in impossible directions, breaking stone bridges and tearing down mighty walls as though to remind all who walked the land of their folly.

The dwarves, hearing rumors of corruption from deep within their mines, debated intervening. Many argued to stay hidden, to preserve their lives and carry the tale of Whispershade as a cautionary legend back to their mountain halls. Others, braver or perhaps just curious, ventured closer. They found the entrances choked with brambles, the tunnels echoing with the moans of something inhuman. The cerulean itself was becoming volatile, the crystalline veins glowing with an eerie, sickly light, responding to the undead’s presence with pulses of magic that seared flesh and warped metal tools.

Ultimately, the dwarves made a grim decision. They collapsed the northern quadrant, stopping the spread. Perhaps later, generations down the line, the cerulean could be saved, but for now, they left their runes and their wards as a warning to anyone who might be foolish enough to break entry. They tunneled upward, not to expand their reach, but to flee. The passages they created were narrow, twisted, and labyrinthine, designed to slow and befuddle any monsters that might follow. When at last they emerged beyond the borders of Whispershade, they carried only fragments of their ores and a story so terrible it chilled the heart of even the stoutest dwarf. They swore to return, but for now, it would be sealed as a place of warning, a lesson in the consequences of unchecked desire.

Meanwhile, the budding human kingdom was in tatters. Any living population had long since fled, been devoured…or hunkered deep underground. Their leaders, long since bereft of nobility, were fully dependent on underground cults, sinking deeper into the necromantic arts. Their temples, hidden beneath the ruins of their once great palace on the surface, became chambers of decay. [Priests] and [Mages] were transformed, their eyes black pools of hunger for knowledge beyond mortal comprehension. The forest ran rampant, and soon the twisted vegetation took on predatory forms. Pumpkins the size of wagons sprouted spines and gnashing teeth, brambles grew faces, and roots moved with purpose, strangling travelers who dared enter.

Those few elves who remained watched from the northern woods as their ambitions crumbled. Their World Tree, still alive but grotesque, stretched like a stunted, skeletal hand into the sky, its growth cut short and its power more a curse than a blessing. Magic, once harmonious, now resonated with screams and shadows, warping even their own spells. The air was thick with a tension that no amount of ritual could dissipate, and those who lingered too long often lost their minds to the whispers that floated on the unnatural fog.

And so, the Wailing Woods were born- not by nature, but by the folly of its founders. Fortunately, the river that split the great forest acted as a barrier that no monster would cross. Was it by design? Or perhaps an act of divine mercy? The rays of abundant light shone readily on the opposite shore, across no more than a hundred feet of slowly moving water. But inside the woods…streams bubbled with murky waters, barely reflecting the twisted branches of trees that had once sung with light. Where sunlight had once filtered down in warmth, shadow now lingered like a living shroud, muting color and hope alike.

In time, the few remaining settlers abandoned the villages, while the ghouls and skeletons seemed almost called to the capital. They shambled mindlessly in deserted hallways that once hosted great balls, filling the night air with unintelligible groans, the last echoes of wayward souls filled with remorse and regret.

Long after the dim orange glow of the last fire died, unholy purple flames could be seen burning in its stead. Candles rekindled, torches relit, but this was a kingdom of Humanity no longer. Perhaps whatever oaths that were spoken had finally been fulfilled, or maybe some deity finally took pity on the land. The wrath of the woods retreated to the darkest, deepest glades, and the land grew still. Fog covered the barren downs. A name, newly christened by the rare wanderer or fool straying too far into the land, seeking fame, fortune, or ruin, began to circulate once more. A place, whispered carefully in the surrounding regions, that carried the weight of dread…and the promise of treasure. Some things even history could not forget. Adventurers eventually retook Whispershade’s borders, and the smallest of the mines reopened.

But there was a place, blessed by Chaos herself.

In the middle of a forest where the ambitions of three races converged, and the folly of greed birthed a darkness that would never fade, there was a palace…a [Palace of Darkness].

​

“And you’re telling me that’s where we’re headed next?”

“Eh?”

Melia looked up from where she was perched on a stump, her hands hanging in the air, frozen mid-gesticulation. She’d gotten sucked into storytelling a little too deeply, and she almost forgot she had an audience at all.

“You’re telling me,” Jessica repeated, rolling over in her bedroll, sitting up so she could lean forward on her elbows, “That this [Palace of Darkness] is your so-called ‘fun, nifty place to level’?”

“Uhh, yeah?” Melia grinned sheepishly. Jessica drew her mouth into a tight line as she stared at the silly gnome. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she debated what to say, but eventually she settled on a heavy sigh, closing her eyes.

“Screw this. It’s late and I’m tired. Wake me up in the morning.”

She rolled on her side, picked up an extra pillow, and stuffed it over her head. After several seconds of silence, she lifted it up a fraction and amended her statement.

“Unless I’m getting eaten by zombies. At that point, just let me sleep.”

The others chuckled at the [Hunter]’s antics and slowly followed suit, one by one settling down for sleep. All things considered, it had been an eventful day. They’d left the abbey in the late afternoon, teleporting to Lakeridge. From there, they traveled west back to Parker's Station on the Serenity Forest border and made their way south, where the river cut the forest in half. By nightfall, they’d made camp on the northern bank of the river, in a somewhat spawn-free area on the border of the two zones. Across the river, the land was already submerged in perpetual darkness, but the group had not known of its unnatural origin before Melia’s tale.

Alastair had suggested taking turns keeping watch, but Melia insisted that she would handle it. She’d just woken up from almost a week-long nap and wasn’t feeling tired in the slightest. In fact, she was full, happy, and entirely content. Eventually, he too went to sleep, insisting that Melia wake him up if she needed anything, but they both knew she wouldn’t. That didn’t stop her from appreciating the gesture.

​

“So this is real, then, isn’t it?” Brandy sighed. She was leaning against Midna’s back as the Nightsaber slept, and despite having ridden the cat most of the day, Brandy wasn’t tired. She was staring up into the starry sky, gazing at the similar-yet-unfamiliar moon, trying to spot the differences. Sadly, she didn’t have much interest in astronomy, so the sliver of the giant orb that was visible looked identical. If the moon were all she could see and nobody told her she was on a different planet, she’d never know the difference.

“It really is,” Melia agreed, making her way off the stump and walking over Midna’s back to get closer to her friend. The cat didn't even stir when Melia scrambled on top of her. Knowing how sensitive the cat was, Melia was sure it was only because of the familiarity of their bond that kept the cat so aloof.

“I’m a dragon, you're an elf, and we’re somehow living in the world of a game.”

“I just wish I could enjoy it more,” Brandy sighed, leaning back. Melia plopped down behind her and began fiddling with her hair. Brandy always kept it in a braid, but every once in a while, it was fun to let it run free.

“Are you finally going to tell me what’s wrong?” Melia asked. “You’ve been keeping something a secret and it’s eating you up inside. I don’t think the others realize it, but I know you too well. I can see it, and it hurts.”

“Not…yet,” Brandy hesitated with a sigh. “Because I know once I do, you’re going to react. I don’t want you doing anything drastic…until we’re ready for it. Can’t we just…enjoy what we have for the moment?”

Melia was about to protest, but she stopped to consider Brandy’s words. It might not have been what Brandy meant, but Melia did have something to be grateful for. A fresh look at life and the chance to be reunited with her best friend. That was something to be enjoyed.

“You’re right. But you will tell me eventually, won’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll have to,” Brandy’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Unless I want to spend the rest of my life here.”

Melia felt her gut squirm. She did have to spend the rest of her life here; it was the only life she had. But she wasn’t going to hold that against Brandy, and it wasn’t like she wanted to take it back, either.

“Do you ever wonder,” Brandy asked, still staring up at the moon, “How these worlds were connected? I’m looking at the moon, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think I never left. Maybe I decided to take a drive late at night, got off at the canyon somewhere, or pulled over on PCH, and I’m sitting on my trunk, staring up at the stars, listening to the waves crash on the beach. Only,” Brandy laughed, “There are no waves here. I swear I can hear for miles, now.”

“Honestly, no,” Melia answered. “I don’t think I’ve ever given it any thought. I was too happy to be alive.”

“Fair,” Brandy nodded. “You always were more of a ‘whatever’s in front of my face’ kind of girl, anyway.”

Melia chuckled. She couldn’t deny that.

“Like,” Brandy continued, really getting into it, “What if some of those old movie tropes had it right? I remember this one movie, where the whole premise was that two worlds were connected by a hole in a fence. You could hop over the fence, walk around it, and even look through it…but if you walked through the gap? You’d be transported to a fantasy world.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t walk through anything to get here,” Melia grinned. “I wasn’t in shape to do any sort of walking.”

“Yeah,” Brandy giggled, “But just like, what if, you know? Or how, like people used to think aliens lived on the dark side of the moon? What if, looking at that thing up there, it’s the exact same one? And somebody on the other side is looking at it too, oblivious to the fact that we’re doing the exact same thing?”

“I certainly hope it’s not the moon,” Melia laughed. “With how people in this world work? Somebody might eventually figure out how to exploit it.”

“First, they’d need to figure out how to get there,” Brandy rolled her eyes. “Tech here isn’t nearly that advanced. You think magic can do that?”

“Who knows?” Melia shrugged. “Probably? Magic is terrifying.”

“Really?” Brandy scoffed. “I mean, sure, seeing that [Greenhouse] you built melts my brain, but I’ve yet to see truly cataclysmic levels of power.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Melia sighed. “I know for a fact it can get there, even if nobody’s done it recently. Remember all those raid bosses in the game? Those were real people and monsters here. Heck, I am something of a monster. I told you my class, right? I’m basically the apocalypse. One of my skills snuffs out the sun.”

Brandy laughed for a second until Melia’s words truly sank in. Her laughter died and she leaned her head back, staring upside down at the gnome behind her.

“Really?”

“Really,” Melia shrugged. Brandy stared at her, though looking at her the wrong way made it sort of look like a smile, so Melia grinned. Eventually, Brandy sighed and leaned back up.

“And you wonder why I don’t want to tell you,” Brandy mused. “See? You’ll overreact, then we won’t have a sun. It’ll be all dark and stuff…though, I suppose Whispershade has some practice with that, eh?”

“True,” Melia laughed. “That’s one way to look at it. But really? Still not telling me anything?”

Brandy paused, waggling her head left and right, sending her ears swishing through the air. Her shoulders tensed briefly before she seemed to deflate.

“I’m on a mission from the gods.”

“Pft,” Melia nearly choked. “Really? I mean, sure, maybe, but even if you are, who’s using cheesy movies now? I’m on a mission from God. Please tell me you have to put on musicals to save a church orphanage.”

“Hahaha, no,” Brandy barked. “But really. I’ve got a divine level system quest. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to do it, but you know how those go, right?”

“Right,” Melia agreed. “It’s never as simple as ‘one and done.’ But, Brandy…don’t you think, if it’s from the actual gods, shouldn’t we take care of it quick?”

“Nah,” Brandy instantly denied. “Sure, it’s important, but they already know it’s going to take me a while. They can be patient. I’ve got to get stronger first before I can even think about doing what they want me to do, so technically, we’re already doing what they want.”

“Well,” Melia grinned, “I suppose it’s a good thing we’re headed for a dungeon.”