Nautilus100

(Gardenia Scarlet)

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Gardenia Scarlet

The Fervent Flower

A Mother's Tale

Legends have always fascinated me, yet I never yearned to become one. My lust for legends brought me to the libraries of my dusty farm hometown back on Earth, which I cannot be bothered to remember the name of anymore. I scoured the texts of old myths and heroes so much that I neglected my school studies. My father forbade me from going to the library so I could focus on school. It's ironic, but I can see where he came from. At the time, I curled up in my room and cradled my notebook full of extensive notes on my favorite creatures and heroes from fictional worlds like a wailing baby. In my wallowing, I turned to the family computer to find any new scraps on the peculiar internet. Perhaps it was my first time venturing into a world without earthly rules, or it was just the gateway.

One late Winter night, after four too many cups of tea with a blanket over my head at the computer, shivering in excitement and fear of waking my parents, I typed to faceless people across the country about the cryptids I believed in and the funniest hoaxes circulating at the time. It was that night when I met a user named Music4theMonsters. I had no idea the woman I thought I was talking to was actually a group of friends who ventured to worlds beyond Earth through the mountains. Their tales of fantastic forest beasts sounded so vivid. I was entranced.

We kept in contact, and they even invited me to their special chat server, full of others like them. It was amazing how many myths the users knew about and even claimed to have seen. I believed it was some kind of roleplay situation like that one board game that came out a few decades prior. But when I met them at the foot of the mountain a year later and saw their equipment, I realized they were dedicated to this. I still remember the jagged obsidian mountains and orange bristle fields that dashed across it in that other world within the peak. It was my first time entering a limspace, and I was in love.

On the cliffside above the drifting tides of golden leaves at a twin sunset, I saw a glimpse into the worlds I had chased fruitlessly for fifteen years. Adam, the second fiddler, asked me to join the band. He could always pick apart my thoughts from my expression, even back then. Crying warm waterfalls, I hugged him and said yes. It was like I had just been proposed to. In a way, it was—the marriage of me and the unknown.

Our humble band of six cottagecore misfits went by the gaudy name of Scarlet Serenade. In Emily’s dented and rusty teal van, we traveled across the states and even into Canada, playing wherever would let us perform, whether it be a bar or even a medieval LARP fest. It was heaps of fun, and I got to hone my middle school flute knowledge to something passable for skill. But when we weren’t rocking to strings and wind with drunks and roleplayers, we were out in the worlds beyond the dirt.

The fantastical forests, monumental mountains, and great glades we visited were our muse. Songs like Hallowed Flower’s Fortune, Flightless Bumble, and Passive Blue Vouge are just a few of the dozens we wrote about the marvelous worlds we found. I even wrote a few and still, to this day, draw my inspiration from them.

I could go on and on about my past adventures, like the grandma I look like on my rocking chair, but those tales are better saved for another day. Besides, today is my daughter's birthday. On this day 146 years ago, in a blood-drenched field of teeth and arms, I lost my closest friends but witnessed the birth of a young legend before me.

The Grovetender

The woman hushed me as she pulled the thorn from my husband’s knee. It had pierced him completely and pulsed with hate, hooking onto him with its barbs. But the Grovetender pulled undeterred. All the while, she hummed a peculiar and rhythmic song in tune with each tug. I couldn’t see past her carved mask, but I felt her eyes look up at me with each pull like a worried child looking for forgiveness.

She yanked the thorn clean out with one final pull and tossed it into the brush. Without a moment wasted, she pulled the grass like a tarp and bandaged his wound. It was as if she painted the grass onto him like it were merely a stroke of green on a canvas. Her song carried on, and the grass tightened and drained of color. Then, it wilted away, leaving my husband’s leg perfectly healed. He jumped up and hugged the Grovetender in one of his famous bear hugs.

I heard her make an odd squeak like a mouse before slinking out of the hug and side-stepping awkwardly away. I wanted to thank her, but she disappeared into the grove. I found out later that locals had been hunting her using the thorn traps that my clumsy husband tripped. They called her Grovetender as she tended to the grove.

— Sarai Crescent, Arborescent Visionist


The Hungering Weald

We were too far gone in the woods of a realm past the Heartwood. The rushing blur of vibrant colors compelled us as we traveled ever farther away from the safe path home. We laughed and played with the critters—the teensy bunnies and the chirping birds danced along to our songs. When the bunnies and birds were replaced with clumps of twisted tongues and shambling branches like hands clawing at the wind, we realized we were in trouble.

This wasn’t a hidden pocket grove of fantasy that could be bested with a couple of hunting knives and a rifle. We were in a land of hate and terror, unlike anything we had ventured before. This was danger, staring us down with a thousand bloodthirsty eyes. Adam aimed his rifle with shaking hands at the lumbering and pale beast’s walking carcass. Its sullen eyes had a tinge of humanity kept behind black bars. Those eyes no doubt once belonged to a man. The forest itself cried out with the tongues of people long forgotten til now. Adam fired once into the creature, and all at once, the forest and fields converged on us.

We were, at most, 23 back then, and we only had sparse survival knowledge. Adam led us bravely through the worlds with his six years of Boy Scouts and a smile. When he was cleaved in two by the alabaster undead, we realized our song wouldn’t end with a crescendo but rather blood-clogged screams. Emily and Silver were swallowed whole by the laughing ground. Shep was plucked by one of the grasping trees and strung about the branches like tinsel, leaving me and Laura alone. We ran through the red-blade fields, chasing after a fading light on the horizon. But we didn’t make it.

The ground caved in, and we fell into a sunken blood pond. The noises died out beyond her pained whimpers and the ripples of tears. I scurried over and dragged her out of the blood. She clutched at her heart like she was going to tear it out. I saw the oozing blood spill out despite her efforts. It was too late for her. All I could do was console her. I swaddled her as best I could in my arms and looked into her fading eyes. I could see her dreams slipping away as her skin paled and her grip eased.

I cried softly in the dark cavern with my last friend’s corpse. There was nothing I could do to climb out, and even if I did, I would certainly be torn apart. I wanted to die more than anything, but all I could do was wait. I crumpled over her body and fell into darkness.

When I next came to, I was not dead nor out of the dreaded tomb. I was sat in front of a pile of my friend's bodies in the red pond. Circling the mound were bats and bugs of bone and flesh humming a phantasmal song. I tried to get up to stop them from harming my friends, but twisted red vines like intestines strapped me down. With a slow easing quiet, the bats and bugs fell into the blood, and a blood-soaked flower blossomed from out of Laura’s heart.

Masked Songbird

I shot the lumbering woman in the heavy foliage cloak and white mask. I expected to take her down with my well-aimed shot, but the bolt snapped upon impact. She laughed, and the flowers around me echoed. With a grand sweep of her arm, she revealed an intricately carved set of wooden armor covered with pouches and vials. My bolt had not even scratched her mighty armor. I slid down the mound while reloading my crossbow. I quickly turned around to fire at her head, but I found her standing atop the mound, holding a beating heart dripping with blood. She sang, and the flowers echoed. I lined up the shot and released dead on at her terrible cackling bird mask. The bolt never landed, as in that exact moment, she crushed the heart into pulp—sprouting a crimson deer carcass to block my shot.

She threw the deer behind her shoulder with great strength and hopped down the mound directly onto my chest. I felt my bones crack under her heavy armor. I braced against the pain and slammed a bolt into her side as hard as I could. It burst through the wood and pierced her flesh beneath. We sat silently for several seconds. All the while, I stared through her mask into beautiful red eyes like wine. She chuckled and repeatedly slammed my head into the ground. Before I lost consciousness, I could distinctly hear her song. She was enjoying this.

I awoke tied to a tree with barbed thorns and a group of panicked hunters pulling me down. When I told them my story, they informed me that I was lucky she didn’t kill me. The Masked Songbird was a vicious serial killer from the 14th century who was trapped in the world of trees long ago.

— Komro II, Arborescent hunter


Red Blossom

The vines receded into the ground, and I shambled to the flower in astounding weakness. It was a red gardenia with a white stalk shimmering with life. I reached to touch the beautiful flower. The flower exploded in size and light, knocking me down into the blood. As my eyes adjusted, I saw my daughter for the first time, standing in a crater where my friend’s bodies once lay. She was spindly and pale yet beautiful, like a marble statue. Her scarlet hair covered her like a grove’s canopy. Behind her veil of hair were two shining rubies of eyes. Despite all the oddities of her appearance, she looked familiar, as if I had known her my entire life.

We paused together, entranced by the other. Time fell still for several seconds before she began crying. Without thinking, I hugged her tightly and ran my hand through her hair. I felt her heart beat like a drum. All around us, red bell flowers sprouted and sang a familiar tune. It was Passive Blue Vouge. I hummed along to the song while cradling her. She looked like an adult but cried as if untainted by humanity's pressures. Intestine vines stretched from the surface like snakes before wrapping around us. The vines took us to the red field where the beasts had gone. The grass waved with the whispered wind.

With just a hunting knife, I cut through the crimson thicket and brought her safely to a quiet haven of greens and golds. It wasn’t the way home, but it was safe for the time being. Her nakedness was oddly captivating. I felt an unsettling urge to have my way with her. I brushed the hair out of her face and saw the staggering innocence in her eyes. She was just a child despite her form. I recoiled and covered her with my jacket. She stared at me fiercely curious. How could I feel these awful compulsions for her? Was my head scrambled by the fall? I avoided looking at her and sliced my hand each time the horrible thoughts arose. She was only a child, and I would be demented to use her for my own desires of flesh.

I asked for her name, only to receive a puzzled expression. It was then that I called her Gardenia Scarlet. Something in my heart told me I had to protect her. We walked carefully through the woods until reaching a foggy meadow of blue flowers. Each petal glowed like a firefly in the dark. Gardenia ran ahead suddenly and tripped over a peculiar, odorless, and wood-armored corpse. She played with its hands like a doll. Something about the flowers was dizzying and draining. I tried to fight the sleep, but I fell into the dirt.

I would awake hours later, being carried by the now-walking armored corpse from the field. Gardenia skipped alongside us. We found an abandoned home carved into a massive tree stump by a coast of amber. I didn’t know it then, but that place would be our home for several decades. My life entered a new era.

Sanguine Ivory Nymph

We set up camp by the place where we were informed that the legendary phoenix had supposedly been sighted. It was a pleasant spot at the base of a gigantic stone monolith by a small village and a pristine waterfall. All of us were excited about the chance to capture the mighty flaming bird on camera. But as the day ended, we couldn’t spot the bird. Everyone except me and Suzie returned to camp to eat dinner and sleep.

Suzie and I found the waterfall aglow with crystals beneath its shimmering water. She jokingly said she wanted to take a bath beneath the fall, but she cut herself off with a gasp. Then I saw what she spotted beneath the waterfall—a strikingly pale woman with flowing red hair like a river of blood. She was singing an entrancing song that danced across the water. Suzie whipped out her camera and took a shot. The shutter clicked and brought an end to the woman’s song. I instantly threw my hands in the air and yelled at Suzie for taking the picture. But she dropped the camera into the lake and trudged through the waters without listening.

The pale woman stood up, and I fell to my knees abruptly. Never before had I seen such beauty. It was as if Michelangelo had carved her out of the most perfect marble. Every inch of her body was exquisite in design and curve. Beneath her amazing snow skin, faint red glyphs hummed and lured me into the water. Suzie fell into the woman’s chest and was enveloped in a hug beneath the waterfall. I continued to walk forward, attached to phantasmal strings. But then I saw them fall into the clear water, now turned murky red. I snapped out of my trance and sprinted back to the camp.

I gathered my companions and weapons and returned to the waterfall only to find both the woman and Suzie gone. We searched throughout the night but could not find either of them. I sat in my tent alone, quivering at the image of the fantastic, beautiful woman for whom I couldn’t find any hate. She took over my every thought even into my sleep. When I awoke in the cold morning, at the center of our camp was the woman drenched in blood, clutching a disfigured head like a baby against her breast. She was singing a lullaby with soft and spectacular giggles between.

I ran away to the village and locked myself away for four days, battling the images of her in my mind. I heard her calling me out, but the villagers tied me down, telling me not to leave and join the Sanguine Ivory Nymph’s garden of victims.

— Dralos Vomba, madman


Garden Scholar

The home once belonged to a Spindlekith and a cursed slug wizard who had adventured throughout the land of Arbor long before the home went cold. Within one of the root rooms was an extensive library packed with an array of stories and scripts. This trove of information allowed me to raise Gardenia and, oddly, the carmine knight she rose from the dead. When we weren’t out in the surrounding forest foraging, we were by the sea reading. She loved to read and learn. It was adorable having her beg me to sit and hear her stories. I would tease her about it, but I always eventually sat and listened. All I had was time.

Among the things left behind in the home were wooden masks pristinely carved. Gardenia loved them and frequently wore them while playing. When she wore the masks, I felt my hideous desire to defile her fade away. Something about her face or eyes made me think such things. It was a lure like a Venus flytrap. It would only be years later that I would find out why. For once, I was finally able to look at her properly. I kept thinking that I must protect her. She was a new bloom flower calling out to be stomped. I had to stop that.

I learned something new about her every day. She was a mystical treasure, a goddess, and she was mine. I stopped feeling the urges after a while. Instead, I saw her as my daughter. I never expected to have a daughter, but I was nonetheless ecstatic. I never tired of hearing her call me mom with her silky voice. Her voice alone could raise even the most wilted flowers and sprout the most unwavering flora. It was among her peculiarities that alluded answers. Despite her authority over the bloom, she loved it. Of all the topics I taught her from the books, she was hooked on botany and gardening.

Our humble home became overgrown with a rainbow of colorful flowers and fruits. Just about every inch of the ground outside had been occupied by some dazzling blossom. I remember learning to walk softly through the garden so as not to upset her by crushing one of her sprouts. It was a mostly peaceful fifty years.

I couldn’t keep her chained down. We left the home every so often to visit other people in the forest. Each trek was an adventure for her. New flowers, creatures, and people bewildered her each time. The folk out in the forest were kind, if a bit crazy. They were hermits, hippies, and heroes. Flo, a particularly coo-coo yet dignified woman, left her mark on Gardenia. When we got home, she wanted to cut her hair and wear clothes. I realized that our clothes had withered and our hair had grown out of control. We were wild women out there. We fit in with the other crazies without me even knowing it.

I cut our hair with my rusted knife poorly. I immediately began to miss my long locks, but Gardenia’s smile shook that feeling from my face. She hadn’t aged physically, but her eyes had wisened. She was becoming her own. She weaved us magnificent dresses and cloaks of leaves and silk gathered from her garden. She was a masterful tailor, and I had no clue until then. She was learning things I wasn’t teaching, and she was soaring. She was leaving the nest.

One early morning, with the sea breeze, we sat on the coast and watched the sunrise. She hugged me firmly and whispered a new song into my ear. It was a song only for me. It was a farewell gift, and I knew it even then. She stood up and put on a newly cut mask before walking into the forest. I didn’t turn to wave or even see her off. I cried softly on the orange coast.

Scarlet Sylph

I met an amazing lass today on my walk through the overgrown city. She was oddly tall and dressed in a thick cape of woven green leaves, a black silk dress, and white bandages wrapped around her skin like a mummy. And how could I forget the silly horned white mask she wore! She took my bag off my back and carried it as we walked down the road and chatted. She told me about where she was off to and where she had come from. Her way of rambling on and on was like a child. It was odd for her stature. But as her story continued, I realized she wasn’t a human. She was more like a sylph, born of the forest!

Our walk was wonderful, but chipped wooden beasts like demons crawled out from the ruined skyscrapers. I was told before that these demons don’t harm humans but actively hunt things called ‘dendrites’ and ‘dryads’ from these mystical trees called ‘dendrocrowns.’ So I didn’t expect them to suddenly converge on the lass with their screaming, creaking wood. I grabbed my knife to protect her, but she swatted away the demons like flies! They were sent onto the pavement, and bladed flowers burst from their chests. Under the cracking wood, I heard her singing a song sharp as a sword.

I watched her weave their destruction with her voice and hands like a conductor orchestrating a grand choir. It was magic. Never before had I seen such definitive proof of magic. Everything I’d encountered before had explanations, but this was utterly mystical. As the last demon crumbled into splinters, the lass quieted down and continued walking as if this were just a stop at the store!

We set up camp at the center of a highway overlooking the tarn. She sat on the ledge and fell asleep upright in the precarious location! She was like an owl watching for prey in the shattered moonlight. I realized then that this lass was important for something yet to be seen. She was a heroine on the walk between. I was just a passerby on her heroic journey. I could never hope to amount to anything close to her. Whereas she will be remembered forever, I will fade away. She must be so very lonely.

She reminded me of my father in many ways, from her musical talent and odd appearance to her aura of importance. The mountain she was atop was the same mountain that I sought to climb to reach my father. How could anyone expect to climb the mountain of gods? It must be lonely at the top. She didn’t tell me her name before she left. So, I shall impart the only thing a mortal such as myself can give… praise. She is the Scarlet Sylph, my hero, god, and greatest enemy.

— Piper Cadence, Vagrant


Roost Dreams

I stayed at home for another lonely year. The plants slowly grew unmanageable, and the wooden knight eventually ceased moving. I rifled through our memories, the little flowers she grew for me pinned to the wall, and the masks she carved. This wasn’t home anymore without her. When a wooden growth appeared on my leg, I knew it was the forest's way of saying to move on.

I asked Flo about the growth and learned it was Barkderma. I was running out of time in Arbor. The closest doctor who could save me was in a place called Archivist Roost in the Heartwood. Without any anchors, I walked through the forests in search of the Heartwood. It would take me six years of pain and my left leg, but I finally made it to the town. Within the Heartwood stood another large tree with dozens of branches holding up homes in nests. People walked with living chimeras of wood, birds, and books.

While stumbling around on a cane, I met someone with a familiar aura. A woman, like a harpy with a hundred eyes on her wooden skin and wings, smiled at me and brought me to an old man in one of the suspended homes. He tended to my disease and gave me a replacement leg without any questions. I asked him about the woman and discovered she was a Dryad—a spawn from the megalithic Dendrocrowns. I learned Dryads often have otherworldly abilities tied to nature built-in by their Dendrocrown mother.

I lived in Archivist Roost as a custodian in the east library for several years. While working in the library, I discovered stories about my daughter out in the world. She became a legend after several stories of a masked woman sprouting vast gardens and saving explorers spread. They called her many things, such as Grovetender, Masked Songbird, and Scarlet Sylph. I knew it was her in the stories because of the odd quirks mentioned, such as her chippy skip and aloof nature.

I couldn’t help but laugh reading the theories and horror stories about her. I collected copies of all the stories and news about her that I could find. No one believed me when I said that I raised her. They all thought I was an obsessed lunatic. But they don’t matter to me. My daughter was out there living a happy life, and inspiring myths abound.

Death’s Darling Huntress

No, I will not accept any targets within the Arborescent system. Why? Because anyone crazy enough to live in that dreaded green hell doesn’t fear death and is likely severely messed up in the head. I get the thrill of the kill, Hell, I do it as a job. But those freaks take it to a whole other level. They butcher their fellow man and make use of every inch of his corpse. Their homes are lined with bones, and their coats are made of human skin. They don’t just kill for fun or for survival. Each kill is a challenge to them, a way of expressing their sadistic depravity.

The first two targets were lunatics adorned with bone armor that screamed as they ran through the fields. They were like dogs sprinting on all fours at my squad, even more so when they started biting through our necks. Thankfully, we put those dogs down quickly with a few shots to the legs. Supposedly, they were once business partners with our contractor. But something happened that took them into madness in the forest, and they became fiercer predators than the actual beasts.

Those two were some of the hardest we had taken down in decades. I can’t remember the last time I felt the sweat gather on my neck like that and the relief I felt when they crumpled into the dirt. We can take down human targets easily, but the residents of Arborescent are not human anymore. We would learn this with our third target, a woman growing her flowers too close to another’s property. We thought it would be an easier kill, but we were dead wrong.

When my squad and I arrived at the scene, we found our contractor dried and bursting with flowers from every hole in her desecrated body. Standing over her body was a tall woman in a tattered black dress and a ghostly white mask caught in an eternal devilish smile. Her hair was short and unkept like a rose, and blood dripped down her pale neck. I knew immediately she belonged to Death. I’d faced those who were chosen by the Witherlight before, but she was different. It was as if she had been raised through death.

We tried to barrage her with bullets, but half of us couldn’t even pull the first trigger. I saw half of my squad torn apart from within by ears of corn like spears. The devil had caused the corn we had eaten hours previously to rapidly grow and rupture our insides. Little did I know my disdain for corn would save my life that day. I fired my rifle at her and shattered her mask down the middle with a clean headshot. Yet, she did not die. I saw her eyes ablaze like the gates of Inferno pierce through me from behind her shattered mask. The trees around us uprooted themselves and formed a shambling ring around us. We fired again at her, but she didn’t even wince at the passing bullets. With her mask fully broken, I saw her jagged smile dripping with blood.

I readied my blade and fired once more. But I was the last of my squad standing. The others had been impaled by wood stakes jutted out of the ground while I was distracted by her smile. She walked towards me and threw off her black dress, revealing death’s canvas brushed in red. I felt nothing but fear as my legs carried themselves. She grabbed my gun and popped it with roses and then brought my hand to her chest. I felt her heart beating slowly beneath her cold blood coated skin. My head flooded with horrific images, her previous victims, and what she did with them. My blood turned to ice, and my lungs cried out, begging to be freed from my ribcage. She leaned in to kiss me, but I slashed my hand off and kicked her in the stomach.

I charged her with my sword and pierced through her heart. I kicked her off her feet, ran for the encroaching wall of trees, and jumped through a small gap. I barely made it through the gap, and the tree branches struck me with anger. I didn’t stop running. I ran and hid for days, barely surviving in the wilds before arriving at the Heartwood. I cried for help and to be free from the Arborescent system. Death’s Darling Huntress was in Arbor, and she was after me.

— Nikita, assassin


Grey Prison

After twenty more years in Arbor, I left based on a recommendation from my doctor. The Barkderma had returned much worse, and there was no cure besides leaving. I went with a group out of the Heartwood back to humanity. I brought along my entire collection of notes on Gardenia, much to the dismay of my companions, who had to carry my bags.

It only dawned on me that I had left Arbor behind when I saw the paved road and the row of parked cars an hour down the trail. They were all sleek and shiny, as if they had never been through a puddle of mud before. We drove down the mountain road, and I saw the world I left behind. Yet, it wasn’t my world anymore. I had died to this world two decades prior when the Scarlet Serenade never came back. I may have hardly aged physically but the decades passed in my mind. I was a ghost to the world, a walking error in time.

One of the travelers informed me not to return home but to fade away. But I still walked all the way home. Compared to Arbor's harsh cliffs and marshes, the flat roads were nothing. I never made it home, for there was no home anymore. Where my childhood home once stood was now someone else's home that had no idea the time I spent within its walls. I had nowhere to go.

I wandered the terrible paved cities with their tall towers and mockeries of nature for only a year before I realized what I had become. I was no longer of the world of steel and destruction. I belonged to the worlds past the bend. I returned to the place where it all began—the library. While navigating the much larger and frankly stale internet, a familiar face sat beside me. Even with his puffy coat and sunglasses, I knew what lay beneath. He was the Spindlekith that owned my home in Arbor centuries ago.

We voyaged across the sea to Japan and met up with some Venturers embarking into The Bubble. I was promised a place where I could be myself and have access to countless stories, Dantixdo Hotel within the Wrikter Mountains. I am one of the librarians of Infinitum Wonderers and love my job. I have long retired from challenging the other worlds, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy their marvels.

One day, while reading through the guest log, I found my daughter had passed through only a week before I arrived. Her destination was logged as Wroughtsol. I know she is down in that dreadful dungeon, bringing everyone smiles. I am glad she grew into the wonderful flower she is, but I wish I could have seen her face again. But I am being too greedy. In the end, I got what I wanted. I got to see the worlds of legend and even play a part in one. The Scarlet Serenade didn’t die that day. It lives on still, as Gardenia Scarlet, my daughter.

The Fervent Flower

Of course I know who the Fervent Flower is. She is one of the Ten Champions of Wroughtsol. Even then, most people think she is ranked 4th overall, just beneath ZZ, HH, and SS. I personally think she is above ZZ because I’ve actually met her and seen what she has done. The rumors are true about her height and intense aura. I’m not the tallest or most keen guy, but she towered over me, and I bet she could crush my head with only one hand. I say this because I saw her lift a boulder twice the size of her with one hand and throw it across the Haywire River to stop a kidnapping. She did end up killing the kidnapped Contender, but I hear they come back from the dead.

I started clapping, but my mother shushed me. Then, FF approached us and threw open her cloak, revealing ornately carved and pale wooden armor adorned with glistening red crystals. She had several pouches and vials on the sides of her armor, which piqued my childish imagination. She sat on her knees before me and patted me on the head. She asked me about my favorite flower, and I told her I had never seen one before.

She held me onto her shoulder and waved my hand across the stone. In a wave, beautiful green grasses sprouted, and a multitude of amazing flowers bloomed. I saw so many colors for the first time that day. She sat me down, and I ran through the grass with other villagers. We threw a party for her that night. She sat at the center of the party, but even with villagers around her, she looked so lonely. When I ran up to her and sat on her lap, I could sense even then that she longed for something. Her happiness was just another mask. In my childish curiosity, I asked to see her face beneath the mask. She lifted it slightly and brought me closer to her so I could see. She didn’t have a smile or a frown. It was an odd mixture of contentness and fear. She looked silly. She put her mask back down and hushed me before playing with my hair.

She was gone in the morning, but it was obvious she had passed through. All around our village were fields of grass, flowers, and trees. Even today, our town stands as an oasis of sorts in Section 1. Our village has flourished with plant life and has attracted many great people who have developed it to the fantastic home it is now. All of it was because FF stopped by for a day. I hear stories about her in the deeper sections, where she is totally wrecking monsters and planting rich gardens as she descends! If anyone is going to kill Wrikter, it will be The Fervent Flower.

— Charise Chromal, Wroughtsol native


Conclusion

The adoptive mother of Gardenia Scarlet has long since aged into a tree within the Dantixo Hotel’s Soul Garden. She left behind no name and no past besides her journal. The journal hardly mentions who she was before joining the Scarlet Serenade and focuses on Gardenia. None of the other members of Scarlet Serenade or their families have been found. The doctors of Archivist Roost do not know which of their patients could have been the author, as Barkderma is a common affliction.

Wroughtsol Archivists have yet to be able to contact Gardenia for an interview. Without prompting or explanation, an entry about the Fervent Flower was uploaded to the archives by the Synthetic Spider. It would seem that he made a deal with an unknown archivist for something in exchange for the uploaded information. Due to his nature and intelligence, the information is to be trusted.

Subject: Gardenia Scarlet

The Fervent Flower, Gardenia Scarlet, is among my fellow Champions, and she deserves such a title. Despite her childish impulses and emotions, she harbors an intense strength and incredible intelligence when it comes to botany. We have exchanged information on the flora of the deeper sections numerous times. I forged her a sickle and hoe out of Mirrolium in exchange for her lending me some of the more tricky seeds I required for an experiment. It's fair to say that Gardenia Scarlet is a presence I both respect and value, despite our occasional ideological differences regarding the treatment of natives, Contenders, and vegetation. Nevertheless, our common goal of eradicating Wrikter and fostering a better Wroughtsol binds us together as allies.

But let's delve into the matter at hand.

Biology:

At first glance, Gardenia appears to be a human woman, albeit with strikingly pale skin and an unusually tall stature for her kind. Additionally, her eyes and hair are an unnatural red. This same red color shines faintly in a peculiar glyph pattern beneath her skin when she is without clothes. On that note, her slender body has an odd hypnotic effect on humans and other sapient humanoids. In a controlled experiment, I observed even the most faithful and asexual subjects succumbing to overwhelming urges to have intercourse with her despite their usual disposition. When a subject is compelled to her, Gardenia also enters a trance. In this trance, she loses her personality and becomes an almost animalistic shell, which engages in intercourse with the target. During intercourse, she inevitably kills the target via bites and piercing with the intent of draining their blood. She remains in this trance for hours, sometimes seeking out additional prey, prolonging the trance further. At the end of the trance, she experiences considerable embarrassment, fear, and anger at what she did. As she has much disdain for the act and aftermath of her trance states yet still enters the trances, I have concluded that she has no control over when she activates. Additionally, despite going through over a thousand partners in Wroughtsol alone, she has yet to bear a child.

Her hypnotic form does not afflict me despite her efforts on several occasions to engage with me. After some testing, I discovered that the root of the attraction lies in blood. As I lack blood, her effect has nothing to grab onto. I further delved into this hypothesis by draining the blood of six subjects at differing measures. Unsurprisingly, the less blood the subject had, the less compelled they were to engage with Gardenia. Thanks to this discovery, Gardenia and I were able to get closer, and I was able to perform extensive surgeries and procedures on her body. Through the surgeries, I learned that Gardenia isn’t a human but rather one of the elusive Dryads from the Arborescent System. Dryads are scarce down here and defy logic. I wish I could get my hands on a Dryad Heart to cultivate my own Dendrocrown for further study into their reality-warping properties. What I understand about her composition is that it is built on falsehoods. She is a mimic of humanity. Her organs serve no purpose and are merely for show. She stands at 204 cm and weighs 87 kg.

After trimming her hair to her preference(20-25 cm), I discovered a set of pale horns like the demons of Section 56. In a later experiment, I noticed her horns grow steadily in accordance with how long she was in her trance state. I do not know why Dendrocrown planted this trait in her. No matter the reason, it has proved beneficial in measuring her trance states. She seemed oddly upset when I pointed them out as if afraid. That is something that must be explored later. I calmed her by pointing out my own horns and the many insects that pride themselves on their horns. Oddly, she wears horned masks yet is afraid of her natural horns.

Behavior:

There are two Gardenias in terms of personality. In public, and namely when in combat or heroics, she acts cold, wise, powerful, cocky, and daunting. The stories about her describe her in a multitude of ways, all with some tinge of mystery surrounding her. She plays into her mysterious aura with her cloak, mask, and refusal to speak to most. Even when she does speak, she speaks without emotion and is straight to the point. However, this is just a defense mechanism for her. Like many Contenders, she is roleplaying.

As I have gotten to know her, I have pieced together her true personality. Despite her considerable age, even before entering Wroughtsol, she is much like a shut-in child. She is socially inept, anxious, clingy, emotional, abrasive, and extremely shy. Despite this, she is brilliant and highly poetic. When given the time to speak and in a comfortable situation, she weaves conversations just as effortlessly as she sings beautiful sonnets.

For the most part, Gardenia prefers to speak with women and children. I discovered she was not raised with a father figure and, in fact, was often hunted by men. Despite this, she doesn’t despise men. Rather, she doesn’t let her mask slip. Additionally, she will choose not to speak to males if given the chance. I do not believe it to be fear, as she has demonstrated the ability to kill any male with ease besides me. Her love for children may be due to her peculiar childhood and innate maternal nature as a Dryad. Most of the important people in her past were women. As such, she values them above others. This made our first contact a bit difficult. However, by employing my daughter to bring her in, I was able to earn her trust.

Skills:

Gardenia is Wroughtsol’s ultimate gardener. Everything botany-related is her masterwork. Even without her mystical songs, she grows and harvests every kind of plant easily. Nature bends to her whims. She plants jungles in deserts and sprouts flowers taller than mountains from lone seeds. Not only can she work with plants, but she understands them deeper than I do. There are entire hidden worlds of nature that she treads alone.

In addition to her vast talent in botany, she is an excellent hunter and fighter. We have sparred 46 times, and she has won 24 of our clashes. Without her mystical songs, she is a fierce opponent, like a wild animal. She makes use of her scythe like a pen upon paper, cutting cleanly through her opponents. With her songs, she is an even greater monster. I have yet to see the full application of her Dryad abilities. Wherever there is flora, there is a weapon. She deploys a new artistic method of turning plants into lethal weapons in every fight. She carries several pouches of seeds on her armor that have been cultivated for use in any situation, from rapidly growing trees that shift to her desires to flowers that grow into consuming serpents. I can hardly keep up with what she throws at me in combat. However, I have discovered her weaknesses in case I ever have to genuinely face her.

She is also skilled in weaving and mask-making. I have employed her to make clothes for all my children and even teach several of them. She is a better seamstress than most Spindlekith I know. Not only are her outfits beautiful, they are considerably well-made. She weaves most of her outfits out of specially grown fiber and cotton plants. However, she has also learned how to make use of Spindlekith silk. Her mask-making skill is equally impressive. She has carved hundreds of thousands of intricate masks of all forms. They fit perfectly with whoever they are intended for and are considerably durable. She carves masks for all the victims of the Facestealers that look exactly how they want. It is an impressive task that I couldn’t replicate with all my technology.

Affiliations:

Gardenia is a lone traveler in the dungeon most of the time. While she and I have gone on descents sparsely, she prefers to go without company. She still holds onto life despite not being human. The lives of natives and Contenders alike are valuable to her, given they are not opposed to her. As such, she does not wish to see them perish in her company. Beside me, Gardenia has embarked into the dungeon with three other noteworthy Contenders; EE, CC, and HH.

Even when we are not working together, she visits my home. At first, I found it odd that she would come by and care for my grandchildren with my robots. However, I learned that she is soothed through taking care of children. I do not stop her from stopping by as she is loved by my grandchildren, who see her as an aunt.

Furthermore, I discovered she has developed a romantic attachment to my daughter, Emilia, a revelation that preceded our initial conversation. Leveraging this relationship, I facilitated communication with Gardenia, utilizing my daughter as a conduit for collaboration. My efforts were fruitful, and I have no reason to stop their relationship. In fact, I believe this relationship will lead to a deeper understanding of Gardenia and her afflictions. Uniquely, even during a trance state, Gardenia does not kill Emilia. I intended to modify Emilia to give her a way to impregnate Gardenia. However, neither of them wished for this. This has confused me incredibly. I believed Gardenia sought to have her own child, yet she has rejected my proposed methods.

Importance:

Gardenia is important to Wroughtsol as she is one of the Ten Champions of Wroughtsol. The weight of her name down here speaks volumes of her importance in the grand scheme of the dungeon. As she only died 12 times, according to STATS, she is still considerably healthy. Additionally, her abilities are essential to combating Wrikter’s constant barrage of waste. Finally, her vast knowledge of plants is critically important in dealing with food shortages, traversing the botanical sectors, and creating a world of prosperity.

— The Synthetic Spider

While she never wrote down her experiences in journals, there was a time when a follower in the Arborescent transcribed one of her songs with her permission. This song has been passed along far beyond the system, yet not everyone who hears it knows the face behind the song. This is Gardenia Scarlet.

Scarlet Serenade

Carry on, red eyes devouring.
Carry on, scarlet bloom flowering.
Sing the song of the dead spawn.
Sing the song of the carrion.

Beneath the grove of starlit skies,
Where the fleeting breath of life denies,
Pale flowers bloom in silent grace,
Scared children hide from her face.

Cold hands cling coldly.
Warm hearts beat boldly.
Eyes search craving.
Tongues speak enslaving.

Carry on, carrion red eyes devouring.
Carry on, scarlet bloom flowering.
Sing the song of the dead spawn.
Sing the song of the carrion.

Thorns and blood, like petals and wine,
Scorns the bud of devils and divine.
Cries tears of red upon ash wood,
The chimera misunderstood.

Oozing blood arousing.
Stagnant blood dowsing.
Heaving chest pounding.
Silent desires sounding.

Carry on, carrion red eyes devouring.
Carry on, scarlet bloom flowering.
Sing the song of the dead spawn.
Sing the song of the carrion.

Child of life and death,
She who takes away breath,
Darling clothed in red,
Gardener of the dead.

— Gardenia Scarlet, The Fervent Flower


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