No Rest For The Wicked [PK]

[Star Whale 115]

 

 

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[!] The following is a narrative retelling; only known to those who participated, or, were informed in-character.

 

Alone, the youth made his final preparations in silence readying himself for his departure. A coat was pulled over the growing boy’s frame, and boots were laced tight as a noose. Thoughts of the long journey and what might await him at the end weighed on his juvenile mind, but the hope of seeing his twin sister pressed him on; coaxing him, as if a bright lure in a dark world.

 

A final look around the room was given; his preparations. The boy made sure all was set in its proper places, his tiny sights settling on a lit orange candle set to burn in his absence. The wick slowly did eat its way downwards, a dutiful, contained glutton that was hell-bent on ending itself: one step at a time. An infernal path of drifting smoke and gathered soot. A bright flame within the dark. 

 

A Wick was a Wick’s revenge; his backup, his failsafe, his contingency… at least if he did not come home.

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and with that the boy set off northbound towards the accursed place where all this madness started. The crunch of snow and the pitter-patter of taught boots made their way in the dark, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the North, the tall trees swaying as if to usher his arrival, the pale light of stars to illuminate memories that guided by as he marched...

 

The memory of Yuria and their first meeting…

 

…The Tiny Bear gifted him

 

Minty and the trip to the chocolate tree…

 

…Edward and their many chance meetings

 

His Mother and Father and the lessons, 

each one tried to impart upon him… 

 

…All the times he wished he could be a better son;

 a better Wick

Ser Kieran, 

and all the troubles he caused the poor man…

…Auris, 

and the game she taught him

Ser Arthur, 

and the kindness he showed…

 

…And finally,
 the time he and his sister first visited the village, the place where it all began.

Now, at least for him, where it would surely end. 

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Each thought came to him quickly before yet another soon took its place. each one he regarded, before moving on to the next, with each fleeting thought, the steps grew heavier, as if the trees had abandoned him: a creeping sensation of dread in his stomach. 

 

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The distinct, haunting village grew ever closer soon his tiny eyes fell upon the one he sought. 
 

 

the green devil who wished to make him part of his family.

 

the one who wished to make him son

the one who had surely already taken his sister as his own daughter. 

 

The Wick stood still as stone, watching the devil peer into a window. That dread that had formed in his stomach passed, melting away with a determination for finality. slowly the youth made his approach ready to make his final demands

And so it was fleshed burned and hands wounded: the boy forced the devil's hand. He would not leave without being with his sister-- refusing to leave her behind like she did him. He was so unwilling to go, resolved upon his decision, he was prepared to take his own life before princes and devils as his only chip to barter; to threaten.

Soon enough, others happened upon the scene. their eyes meant a broken youth who pleaded for death and a devil who was ready to offer it.

However, he was not the one to grant the young rat his final wish. Instead the boy's own blood was turned against him: flesh wrought and twisted, blood boiled, and where once was youth-- a mist remained, lingering, and drifting amidst the soft flurries of snow…

…And with that the young Wick was snuffed out.

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...another rat put to death, his mind filled with sorrow and sadness as he passed from this world. He believed himself unloved and unwanted, the youth succumbed to his forlorn faith with a heart full of pain and regrets, a void within himself that too swallowed him; much like a candle.

At home, an orange flame continued to eat itself, chewing down through its wax body, racing steadily for its holder. Beside the candle it sat a cage kept, shut by a string. In time, uninterrupted, it reached its lowest point… the flame atop it flickered and struggled, and in its final moments it burned away the cord to a silent break, before extinguishing,

 

Soon, those scurrying creatures inside would spread, and scatter wide: free brown and black craven things, rats, each one given a written letter, rolled tight within their tubes. It took time before they made their out but soon enough each was well on its way towards their intended recipients…

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[!] Below are letters written intended only to be read by the respective characters in game

 

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@Marthia @Security_

 

Spoiler

Ma, Pa 

If you're reading this, it means I'm not alive anymore. I just want to tell you I'm sorry for everything, for all the things I did wrong, for all the times I was bad or rude or mean, all the times I could've been better, could've listened to both of you. I wish I had the chance to be a better son to grow up and make you feel proud of me; instead, I ruined it. I'm sorry you both have to lose me. I'm sorry things won't be the same anymore. I'm sorry for always being a bad Wick. I hope you both find a way to move on and remember me as someone good instead of someone bad.

I love you both.

 

 

@Linguini

 

Spoiler

Yuria, 

I never got to tell you thank you for always being there for me, for being like my second ma, but I'm afraid I won't get to if this letter finds you, it means I'm dead. I want you to know that seeing you always made me feel so safe made the world and everything in it feel so happy and warm. I wish you were here right now as I write this. I'm scared, so very scared, that you and everyone will have to read these letters instead of knowing how I feel in person. I'm just glad that I got to spend the time I did with you and hope you'll remember me no matter what. I hope being Grand Wick won't be too hard for you. I believe you'll be able to do it in the end.

I love you Yuria.

 

 

 

@ArcticPingu

 

Spoiler

Cousin Edward, 

I'm sorry if you get this letter; if you do, it means I'm no longer around. I want to tell you that no matter what it may have seemed like, I did in fact like you. I was scared at first when I learned your pa was Fionn, but then after a while I learned you were nice. I hope you stay that way; stay a good Wick. I know my pa can seem mean sometimes, but he really does care about you, and I do too. I wish I got to spend more time with you and learn all about the person you are. I hope you stay the Edward I know and love. Please stay in the candlelight like my pa told us. I know I'm not going to be able to do it after this, so you have to do it for me... please...

I love you, cousin.

 

 

 

@latte

 

Spoiler

Cousin Minty, 

I'm going to be gone for a really long time. I'm sorry we didn't get to play more together. I hope you grow up and realize that I loved you no matter what, no matter what mean things I said, no matter how I treated you, that in the end you were my family and I loved you for it. I hope you'll be ok without me. I hope you're able to meet more kids and make more friends. I wish I was able to be there with you, but I have to go, and it's nowhere anyone can follow.

I love you Minty.

 

 

 

 

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[!] Each letter found it's way quick enough… the final, however, took longer to reach it's intended reader: for her form was different now. but soon enough, the rat found the newly changed Wick and so too did the letter 

 

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@rose6614

 

Spoiler

Willow, 

 

Why?

 

Why did you leave me?

 

Was I not a good enough brother?

 

Was I not good enough family?

 

Did I make you feel like I wasn't there for you?

 

Why else would you run off without telling me?

 

I tried to be there for you no matter what. I tried to be the best brother I could be the best family I was able to be, but I guess it wasn't enough for you......

 

I guess in the end you wanted a new family. I can't blame you, but why am I not part of it?

 

Why do I have to stay and you get to go?

 

Why do I have to be the one left behind...?

 

I hope I'll be able to see you one more time....

 

I hope this letter doesn't find you before me.....

 

But if so... I want you to know that I loved you more than any Wick, more than anything, more than I loved Tiny Bear, more than the color orange, more than the hot cocoa we drank, more than all the things I could ever think of!

 

I'm sorry if I never made you feel loved or never made you feel like family. I'm sorry if I don't get to tell you all this. I'm sorry if I'm too weak to make it to you in the end.

 

I hope you'll live for a long time longer than me. I hope your new family makes you strong and keeps you safe. I hope they can give you the things the Wicks never could...

 

that I never could...

 

I hope you'll never forget me. Willow, I want you to always remember me as your family, even if you're mad at me, even if you might hate me. I'm never going to leave you behind. I'm never going to say you're not my family.

 

From your brother now and forever, 

 

Warrick Wick

 

 

 

 

 

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Credit: 

Writing: Myself
Formatting/Editing: @KidKrinkles

 

[Security_ 2287]

Casimir stood at the peak of the Wickwald with a herd of sheep lazily grazing around him. Staring out at the valley that contained Alba and Enswerp he watched and waited. It was typical at this rate for the children to be gone far past daylight, yet he waited all the same as the moon began to rise.

When the courier rat came there were no words. As he fell to his knees there rang a sob atop the mountain, one drowned out by the chiming of sheep bells returning to pasture.

[Marthia 273]

A brown rat scurries up the stairs, from a child's room to the master bedroom. As it nears the door, a light grey plush rat with large, frayed ears flapping in the gust charges!

SQUEAAAAK!!

A tussle! An all-out brawl! And finally, the light grey vermin emerges VICTORIOUS! Though a bit of stuffing spills from its side, it carries on with the brown one's mission—to deliver a letter to Russ.

It was just another day for the little rats… How could they have known?

An armored hand lowers to receive the letter.

"Oh, Despereaux… what have you done now?" A light giggle escapes the woman before she unfolds the letter.

Olive hues now greyed with age scan the short, scribbled message—then sorrow arrives, an unwelcome guest.

"Oh, my son..."

The whisper struggles past the suffocating grip sorrow has taken upon her throat.

"You were never a bad Wick."

Edited March 21, 2025 by Marthia

[latte 2238]

Upon hearing the news of her cousin's death, Minty Wick put down the chocolate bar, unable to eat the treat that had once been shared with Wick, evoking memories of joy and past times together. She recalled their banter; her calling Warrick weak and stupid, him calling her a ball of lard. Now, these memories stung all the more greater, not because he levied insults upon her person, but because he would never be able to again. Tears started to pour out of Araminta's eyes, unable to fully grasp the concept of death. Falling onto the dirt ridden roads of Broomtown, Araminta vowed, then and only then, she would never let herself be decieved. She would be stronger, she would smarter, if not for herself, then for her fallen kindred.

 

Somewhere afar, a long abandoned kin senses the death of her once kindred and calls her steed to make pilgrimage to support her once family in mourning.

[ArcticPingu 31]

Within the confines of his dining room and kitchen, Edward sat, enjoying the company of the warm fireplace and his pet rat Hendrix who sat upon his shoulder as he wrote a new entry into his journal. He would be alerted by a squeak of greeting from his dear friend Hendrix as the courier rat entered in through a side window carrying the sealed letter. Setting his journal down he would go to grab the container unveiling the letter within. 
"Hmm, an' what is this? Must be tha' boy! Ah' first, tah receive ah' letter from him, ah hope he's doin' we-" 
The heart skips a beat,
A choked sob,
Laying his head upon the table he would face the fire, watching as the flames danced upon the hearth. Petting dear Hendrix he would choke out the few words to his dear friend "An' so tha' cycle continues..."

[Linguini 53]

The scent of jasmine fills the room. A candle lit, engraved with the letter - "Y"

 

The Grand Wick wrote in fluidity; Quickly, interrupted.

A courier rat sprawled on the table. Shooed away. 

Leaving behind a letter. 

 

The flame flickered. The letter opened. The iris frantic.

 

Her ears boiled. Tears moiled the letter.

A letter held by a shaken hand.

Breath erratic, a kin once more spoiled.

 

Rage.

 

An assault of her surroundings ensued. 

Grief, lachrymose, guilt, and shame. 

A stinging loath.

The Grand Wick, who felt immense responsibility for her family. 

Felt a crushing sense of failure.

 

The scent of jasmine fell. The candle dismantled. Its waxy remains on the floor.

 

 

 

 

 

[kuebiko 684]

Spoiler

 it feels bad faith to go somewhere, have your character beg for death, then write it in their goodbye letter "i died here btw"

i do not appreciate the way the roleplay happened either. 

Somewhere in the dark, shackled by the hells, a devil wails as a wound grows.
 

A bad dream. That's what it was. Life never wanted to let that devil breathe. Even one who had turned for the sake of a pretend family, one he was disowned from only to be mocked and berated by the child he wanted a second later. That evening was already spent as a living nightmare. A muddied mind knew that it could not tell reality from fiction without another set of eyes, and yet he could not help but be trapped in a dream. A dream where his hands could not function, where he could do nothing but what was asked of him. A child wanted to die. A child threatened the safety of everyone he could call family. That child, no matter the path of forgiveness he offered, had to understand never to return. 

And yet it was not his hands that brought release. For they could not, even when guided towards murder. To truly kill a dream would be suicide to someone who couldn't fathom living in the real world. Perhaps those shackles to the hells tightened to a suffocating degree, but even they granted him a mercy at times.

That night was over. It never happened. Every detail of the truth being laced with comforting twists and turns. Warrick never really existed. Willow never really existed. A worried mother's sword, taller than he, could not snap him away from that decision of unreality. It was not his intent to lie to Russandriel, not in what remained of his soul.

[Frostdrop1 1843]

The rust devil was crouched, rummaging through the stores he had to move. Beside, were his younger two children. Real children. His blood - that loved him. They did not lie, or hurt him, of call him terrible things - and nor did they rush to abandon him at each turn and misstep. His hand stilled on a sword - a familiar, wooden training sword. He tilted it. A son lost - or never had. 

Yet, he couldn't remember the boy's face any more. Just as he couldn't remember many names. Just as he couldn't remember that promise, with his rotting mind. He really was ill, wasn't he? or, perhaps, it was something else. It frightened him.

And then he thought of that Warrick boy. What had become of him? Where was he, who swore never to leave his sister? The devil supposed he could not fault the boy if he had turned tail. That, in some way, Reinhard was thankful for. Even if the devil had never spoke a lie to those children, he did wish something better for them than the web he had wrapped himself in for safety.

"Go back and speak to your Ma."

His lips pulled taut at the recollection. Maybe his Pa really had thrown him from the bridge. Except, his gut didn't quite wrench how it might have in previous years. Rather, his mind was still. To stay away was wise. And, yet, he had learned that all too late. Still, he could not deprive those two when they seemed so desperately to want help. His words guided them the best they could from all he had learned. They listened, those two. He wished them the best.

 

[gavyn 1362]

And like that, the Shepherd had another candle to keep lit and protected deep within the Wickwald.

[Venomous_Pup 2978]

The Witch wanders among the forests of the north, and their bitter winds howl with the company of rain. Her mind briefly drifts to that moment, with but a thought, she rendered forth what the child wished and sought, reduced to a pile of flesh and bone.  She had no time for it; those who brought danger to the North like that boy did in an ill-conceived attempt at revenge, only to endanger the very individual they'd seemingly cared for. No more time for fools, no more time for rabid dogs, she thought. She found herself in that spot where the remains were discarded, picked apart by the lingering wildlife, hardly carrion at this point. It was irresponsible and wasteful what she did, but it hardly mattered so long as she had either the cunning or strength to weather through anything that would come about from this. Perhaps it was fated, the very family he spawned from took from her, and she merely repaid in kind, an impersonal act for another.

Something caught her attention, despite the night and storm's influence, she saw them. A gathering of wolves approached their maws, still red wet from the feast she'd provided; doubtless, it was to her they sought another easy meal from her. Her sinister, weathered voice spills from that iron mouthpiece
 

"Next time, my Wolves.."