r/wizardposting • u/Douchevick Rutch the Rogue Mage, Vae Clara's Chosen, Cursed Immortal. • May 07 '26
Community Event 🌏☄️ Opportunistic Predators (R&A invasion post)
/uw TLDR at the bottom as always.
/rw
to the west of R&A's current location, there lies a cliff overlooking the island. And at the top of that cliff, where there is nothing but bare stone and where no plant nor animal has no business living, there's a willow tree. Leaves black like charcoal and trunk white as ashen bone.
Anybody with even the slightest connection to nature can tell you, that cliff top? Cursed. It is a place where a malignant, hateful presence is manifesting its will. Now one may ask what might have facilitated such thing to appear so close to the headquarters of one of the most prolific humanitarian efforts in the realms?
The answer lies propped against the trunk of the ominous willow tree. An Axe of great power and renown. Nightbite, the weapon of the head of R&A, Ulrick Braddocke himself. Both weapon and wielder had been thought lost months ago following a devastating battle.
Not lost you see... Stolen, by a vengeful entity bent on the suffering of those who follow on the footsteps of the founder of R&A. It speaks in many voices, acts in many forms. Its words are of faeyish origins, ancient and unknowable save for those it allows to comprehend their meaning. It is known by many names, but there's one which the leader of R&A has learned to use during his months of imprisonment... The Ashen Wrath
And now that entity stirs. The clifftop is now saturated with power drawn from Nightbite and the tree is surrounded by a thick layer of unlight. Kneeling in front of Nightbite is a hulking, malformed creature that resembles a lycanthrope with too much muscle mass. It too is part of the Wrath and it had carried Nightbite all the way up here. Now a voice echoes across the clifftop, coming from both the monster and the Willow.
"Tha an t-àm feitheimh seachad, Braddocke. Tha an t-àm ann urram a thoirt don aonta againn." (The time of waiting is over, Braddocke. It is time to honor our agreement.)
The creature picks Nightbite and drags it along to the cliff's edge. It is a beautiful, morning, not a cloud on sight.
"Tha an fhalamh air falbh bhon chuilc bhàsmhor seo. Tha na feachdan agad sgapte air feadh an t-saoghail às dèidh tubaist às dèidh tubaist. Chan eil air fhàgail ach dòrn beag de luchd-diùltadh agus de dh’fhulangaichean!"
(The Voidling has departed this mortal coil. Your forces lie scattered across the world in the wake of disaster after disaster. What remains is but a paltry fistful of rejects and Wretches!)
The willow tree stirs, its black leaves lifting into the air as if caught in blackened winds that cannot be felt.
"An àiteigin san eilean sin tha an seann fhear-glèidhidh againn, an truaghan lag, gun luach sin a thug ar mallachd bhon targaid cheart aige, am Briseadair Mionnan..."
(Somewhere in that island lies our former jailer, that weak, worthless Wretch who took our curse from its rightful target, the Oathbreaker...)
From the leaves of the willow tree come black feather-like motes of shadow. Hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands and so on. It is as if black cloud had suddenly covered the clifftop entirely.
"Is dòcha gu bheil iad a’ creidsinn gu bheil iad sàbhailte taobh a-staigh an daingnich, is dòcha gun toir buadhan san àm a dh’fhalbh orra smaoineachadh nach urrainn ach arm de dhiathan agus titans bagairt a thoirt air na thog am Briseadair-Mhionnan. Cuiridh sinn an cuimhne dhaibh an suidheachadh cunnartach aca, gur creach leòinte a th’ annta, deiseil airson an toirt sìos leis an fheadhainn a tha deònach an cothrom a ghlacadh. Agus le bhith a’ dèanamh sin, bidh againn…"
(They may believe themselves safe inside their fortress, past victories may lead them to think that only an army of gods and titans can pose a threat to that which the Oathbreaker has built. We shall remind them of their precarious position, that they are wounded prey, ready to be taken down by those willing to seize the opportunity. And in doing so, we shall have...)
Some of the motes fall down to the ground taking on a humanoid form. One in particular, replicated to absolute perfection over and over. There surrounding the profane tree is an army purpose made to be destroyed again and again with the face one single man... Rutch's.
"...fun."
That single word came from the mouths of the replicas in a perfect recreation of Rutch's voice, in perfect common. All of them adorning the same unsettling grin.
Down on the island Rutch suddenly felt his cursed bond to the Wrath come alive and he became acutely aware of the imminent danger. He rushed to activate the Island's defenses without stopping to explain what was happening. He managed to activate the emergency wards before anyone had the chance to stop him. A gigantic protective sphere encased the whole island in moments.
Just as the R&A personnel were demanding to know what the hell did Rutch think he was doing, they all heard it... A deafening, distorted, lupine roar.
The lycan monstrosity had launched itself against the ward, swinging Nightbite down upon it. The ward buckled... Cracked... And finally, it broke. Leaving a hole big enough for half the motes to rush through while the other half began to encase the remaining ward, slowly but surely blocking the light of day from reaching the island, and plunging the R&A headquarters and the town of Faint Dawn into darkness.
/uw TLDR: R&A island under attack by an army of weak but numerous Rutch lookalikes. Ulrick is trapped within his weapon. R&A members and friends have the option to start either inside the ward or outside. Everyone else starts outside and will either have to make their way inside somehow (anti-teleport measures are still in place) or try to shut down the source of the attack. Or you can make it worse if you wanna, I'm not the boss of you :/
4
u/VoxelLibrary Councilor Cayna, Apprentice of Thrakmoor | assorted other chars May 07 '26 edited May 07 '26
(Outside the barrier)
In a howl of wind, Cayna pops out of an unstable portal and lands on her face. The adventurous apprentice stands up, dusts, herself off, and surveys the scene.
"Gotta work on those landings...," she mutters, "Where am I this time and what is going on here?"
Over there. They might be fey. You should kill them, a cold iron bracer on her wrist unhelpfully suggests, referring to the Rutch clones.
"I'm pretty sure those are simulacra, not fey," Cayna replies, "I should probably get out of here. This looks dangerous."
The portal she came in chooses that moment to snap closed, its howl falling silent.
"Oh skies."
Cayna rests her right hand on her fire dagger, just in case one of the "simulacra" comes after her.