The Warren: Polygon Wood
An Actual Play
July - Sept 2016
Rabbits
Michael Siebold |GM
Craig W. |Eik
Jonah E. |Winthrop
Tony B. | Scamper
The Hungry Summer
The kiss of spring marches on and gives way to the hot, sticky, wet days of summer. It has been some weeks since the emissaries from Lafléche made the journey across the wood and field to deliver the prophecy of the Milk Eyed Mother. Those rabbits, tall, sleek and black as pitch are gone long gone, the words they carried have taken root in the warren. And they’ve begun to fester.
“Fading seasons. Fading hope. Strangers will come to us and their gift will be ruination. Foreign faces will scar these lands. And when there is nothing left they will ask of us the impossible.” So says the old crone from across the wood and field.
Ever rabbit in the warren was present for those words. Not a one of them could refused at least a glance in the direction of Eik as they were delivered. In the passing weeks, Foxtrot took far greater liberties than mere sidelong glances.
Foxtrot stands in harsh contrast to Holly. He is a rabbit who enjoyed a youth blessed with considerable strength. And as his coat continues to silver, he exchanges his physical prowess for cunning at a advantageous rate. Ambition has grown to the point where there is no longer any room in Foxtrot’s heart for sympathies. Paired with the sycophantic duo of Toadstool and Sumac, Foxtrot enjoys an alarming level of authority in the warren in the wake of the soothsaying.
As Winthrop happily tends to the threshing in his nest, a nasally voice comes from the entryway of the chamber. “Hey kid,” Sumac says, “ the Boss wants to talk to you.”
Winthrop turns to see Sumac and Toadstool in his room. They part to usher the intimidating presence of Foxtrot into the cramped space.
“Hiya,” he squeaks while trying to look beyond the trio, “where’s Holly?”
An annoyed smirk appears beneath Foxtrot’s nose and he laughs away the insult, “Now my dear boy, I’ve come to you with grave news.” Every word rolls off his lips like molasses, heavy and sickeningly sweet.
“Oh, Yeah?”
Foxtrot continues, “Now I’m certain that it comes as no surprise to rabbit as astute and keenly aware of the finer nuances of the delicate social balance as you, that we are faced with a calamitous future if we do not correct a grievous misstep in our current leadership’s judgement.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Foxtrot pauses before continuing, “Boy. That rabbit, that outsider, that you’ve been mucking about with is a problem.”
“Oh? I dunno. Eik is great.”
“Eik,” Foxtrot continues impatiently, “is an unknown and if you had any sense about you, you’d understand there’s only one outcome for him.”
Winthrop smiles.
Foxtrot narrows his eyes, “You came from good stock, boy. Your uncles were fine warren-kin. I had hoped to find a bit a sense in you. But - “
“Aw, that’s nice. My uncles were great. Like Eik,” Winthrop continues unfazed as he makes for the tunnel, “Thanks for stopping by, I got to go. I think Holly wanted to see me.”
Since the incident at the stream Scamper has made it a point to avoid Eik and Winthrop. He cannot bring himself to look upon the mangled paw of Eik without a sickening mixture of revulsion and overwhelming guilt. Winthrop on the other hand is an enigma. Could he really be so flippant about everything? It must be a ploy. Best to just avoid them all together.
In his time spent lurking the deep reaches of the labyrinth of tunnels he finds himself stumbling into the clandestine affairs of a small faction of radical warren-kin. A burly buck by the name of Runt and two does, Juniper and Pumpkin, invite Scamper into the scheming of revolution.
“The warren is starving,” pleads Pumpkin, “well, not now. But soon.”
“We’re not safe,” adds Juniper. “There’s talk of men in the wood. And lest we not forget what the Milk Mother said about stranger in our home,” she continues bashfully.
Runt reassures her, “Fact is, Holly just isn’t cut out for these issues. She’s a great rabbit, don’t get me wrong. But it’s time for change.”
The does nod in agreement.
Juniper sidles up to Scamper, “Come along. We’ll introduce you. He’d love to have you for the cause. Foxtrot’s got some really wonderful ideas for how we can make the warren great again.”
Scamper nods wordlessly and finds himself ushered deeper into the warren and deeper into the conspiracy.
Summer came quickly to the warren. It felt like just yesterday that the wild strawberries had arrived, luscious and red. Now the berry patches, picked clean, lay empty baking in the midday sun. The only thing as predictable as the heat is the afternoon thunderstorms that roll across the wood daily. Eik would rather stay inside where it cool and dry if not for the growing tension inside the warren. Luckily Winthrop spends much of his time lounging about outside the warren, describing in great detail the tastes of different wild berries, as he watches the clouds skim along the sky.
Word from the wood is that men walk the roads in great numbers. Men do odd things at times. Eik knows this better than most rabbits. He thinks nothing of it but better to watch the horizon for trouble than to be caught ill-prepared. One afternoon, while Winthrop is describing the taste of lingonberries, Eik’s sentry duty is interrupted by Toadstool.
“Word from Holly,” Toadstool says, “she needs you and daydreamer over there to scout the west wood. Word from the wrens is that a clover patch spring up just beyond the briar.”
Eik eyes the messenger distrustfully.
“Yum clovers. For Holly,” Winthrop interjects.
Eik looks between his ally and his rival, “Tell ‘Holly’ that we’ll go. But when we get back, with news, it’s time we cleared up a few things.”
Toadstool looking smug, “Sure. Whatever you say, bub.”
The two rabbits disappear together in the wilds.
The day was hot and muggy. The wood had the smell about it of wet earth baking in the summer sun. Winthrop and Eik had passed the brier patch some time ago. If the news was to be trusted, they’d arrive at the clover patch any moment now.
No clovers. This isn’t right. Eik knew he’d been lied to. Why even go out on this fool’s errand?
“It’s time we head back,” says Eik. “We’ve been gone for too long.”
“What about the clovers?” asks Winthrop.
Eik sighs, “No clovers, Winthrop.”
“Oh,” says Winthrop, “well, that’s not very nice.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, friend.”
Winthrop smiles.
In that moment, as the two rabbits exchange realizations of disappointment, a shadow goes up into the sky. A black plume rising from the distant treeline. The swirling mass of ink cast against the high sun is met with a cacophony of screeches, screams and caws. The murder of crows erupting from the trees across the glade are joined by the sound of countless other birds launching themselves skyward.
The rabbits panic. They bolt.
Eik bounds back for the warren. Winthrop skitters in another direction, veering off course. A sickening tearing and cracking sound roll across the wood, biting at the fleeing rabbit’s heels. The breaking sound behind Eik is deafening. He dare not look back.
Lost, Winthrop plows ahead frantically through the underbrush. The sounds of the forest crying out all around him.
Boom. A deep resonant explosion sounds out across Polygon Wood. The ground trembles.
Eik stumbles.
Winthrop goes head over heels into a tumble down an embankment.
Sound stops. No more cracking. No more breaking. Only a murmur of disapproving birds in the distance.
Eik picks himself up and looks around. Where’s Winthrop?
Mangled, Winthrop tries to move. Sharp biting barbs cut into his hide. He’s caught, caught in the brier patch. Worse yet, no sign of Eik. “Oh bother.”
Eik darts back and forth, looking for his missing mate. Nothing. Back he has to go back to find him.
Winthrop wriggles to relative freedom within the mess of twisted thorns. “What was that?” he wondered. His musings were cut short by an alien sound, the sound of rolling along the leaves, the sound of effortless movement through the brambles. The sound of a flickering tongue darting out between pursed lips.
“Hello,” hisses the green-brow serpent, sliding through the briers towards the trapped rabbit.
Winthrop would run if he weren’t frozen in place.
“Looks like you could use some assistance,” lisps the snake as it moves within striking distance. “The name’s Tess.”
“Winthrop,” he gulps.
Was that a smile? Can snakes smile? However could you even tell? Nevertheless, it was an unsettling gaze the snake gave to Winthrop.
Winthrop musters the courage, “I think I should go. Holly’s expecting me.”
The snake coils around the bunny, he sleek scaly body gliding over the rabbit’s fluffy coat. “Home? You want to get home. So soon? What about Tess?” She continues, setting her amber eyes to his, “How about we help each other out? I help you out of this mess and in return I follow you home.”
Winthrop stutters. Those eyes.
“Oh come now,” she says, “Tess doesn’t ask much. Just show me home. Promise I won’t more than my fill. One. Maybe two.”
Those eyes.
She whispers into his ear, “You’d hardness miss the pink hairless whelps.”
Winthop’s eyes snap open, “No!” He bumbles over the snake and struggles into the thorny brambles again. Anything to get away. Anything to lose the ensorcelling serpent. Stuck.
Just then, a familiar sight bursts through the bushes and barrels towards the brier patch.
“Eik!”
A determined Eik rushes to Winthrop’s aid and begins pulling the wiry brambles free. The battered and bruised bunny comes tumbling free from the vines just as Tess slithers towards him.
Eik bares his teeth and gives a hearty kick in the snake’s direction as the two rabbits spring from the wood towards home.
Only when free of the shadow of the wood with the warren mound in sight does the pair stop. They look back out over the trees. The forest is changing. It now harbors a wickedness that it is all too willing to share.
“Eik,” Winthrop says tentatively, “something’s wrong. Something's missing.”
Following his gaze across the treeline, Winthrop was right. “But how? He was there this morning.”
“I dunno,” Winthrop stutters. “But I want to go home,” as his eyes linger on an empty spot in the trees atop the butte.
The spot where the Ancient Oak, the oldest tree in the wood, once stood.
The final leg back to the warren was made in solemn silence. Neither rabbit dare speak first. Why the Ancient Oak? Neither rabbit quite knew why they felt such foreboding. But both knew this to be a bad omen.
“Have to tell Holly,” Winthrop said softly.
Eik nods slowly. Though he shudders at the thought of delivering such ill news to the warren. Why must it be him?
“We’ll be fine.” Winthrop says as more a question than a statement.
Eik nods.
Upon arrival, entrance to the warren is curiously unguarded. Where were the lookouts? The answer comes abruptly as the pair enter the main tunnel. Panicked shouts from a crowd roll up from the heart of the warren.
Eik is the first to come upon the commotion. Runt, Pumpkin, Juniper and others all piled into the main thoroughfare, desperately pleading with Sumac and Toadstool to be let past.
“Let us pass,” yells Pumpkin. “There’s still time!”
Throwing his body against the two thugs, “This is madness. They’re still in there. We have to dig them out!”
Sobbing, Juniper turns to Eik and Winthrop, “There’s been a collapse. In the main chamber. Holly. Foxtrot. They’re still inside.”
“And these fools,” roars Runt, “won’t let anyone pass to dig them out!”
“Please, someone talk sense,” begs Juniper.
Winthrop shrinks to the back of the tunnel, “Holly.”
Eik fights toward to push past the two rabbits. “Out of the way.” They’re dug in deep and don’t budge.
“Everyone just back up!” growls Sumac. “Everything’s under control.”
Toadstool exchanges a worried sideways glance at Sumac.
A shaky voice comes from the back of the group, “Sumac.” Scamper squeezes past the does to make his appeal, “This wasn’t part of the plan.” He moves forward, avoiding eye contact with Eik, and speaks in a hushed whisper to Sumac. “Something’s wrong. He never said anything about all this. We’ve got to get them out.”
Sumac’s resolve waivers. He eyes Scamper hard and steps aside, “Come on Toad. Let ‘em dig.”
Toadstool steps aside with a troubled look on his face.
Scamper and Runt go to digging. Juniper and Pumpkin join in as well. Winthrop follows suit. Eik moves to aid in the rescue effort when he’s reminded by the twinge of pain in his paw that he’d be of no help to anyone here. He’s forced to sit back and watch the group feverishly move the dirt out of the chamber. Precious time melted away as Eik stood by helplessly. Would his shortcoming be the different? Only the fates know for sure.
Scamper’s paws were the first to break into the chamber. Mounds of earth filled the original room, leaving only a small pocket that had resisted the collapse. The immense Foxtrot was laid flat on his belly with his legs twisted in an awkward position. Dirt covered his silver-grey face.
“By the Black Rabbit,” Foxtrot coughs as he pulls himself free with the help of the others.
One freed, one to go. The rescue effort goes back to digging for Holly.
“No,” signs Foxtrot. “It’s too late. She’s already gone. Buried.” His words hung with an unusual sadness about them.
Scamper and the others were undeterred. Foxtrot sighed at their blind determination and left the room. Eventually they did find Holly. But no amount of determination could alter the course of fate. Foxtrot was right. Foxtrot was right all along. Holly was dead.
Still slick with sweat and caked with dirt, Scamper catches up with Foxtrot in the hall.
“By my left ear,” Scamper spits through clenched teeth, “what happened in there? This was never part of the plan.”
Foxtrot affixes his steely gaze on the dirty little rabbit, “Plans change. Sooner you understand how to identify an opportunity and seize it, the better off you’ll be.” He pauses and leans in close, “Catch my meaning, son?”
Up Next The Last Autumn
Actual Play by Michael Siebold
The Warren a roleplaying game by Marshall Miller. © 2015 Bully Pulpit Games LLC
“Polygon Wood” playbook written by Jason Morningstar
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