A Wordler once quested for a five-letter word to protect her village from a wizard’s curse. She failed. Now the survivors, hounded from their shattered homeland, seek refuge anywhere they can find it…
The first light of morning caught the shattered glass in the street, echoing the red and orange fires that had ravaged Wordler Village during the night. In the center of town, a pile of rocks stacked into a cairn marked the final resting place of the QUEEN. A few other hasty graves had been dug before the bands of roving beasts had arrived. Piles of well-gnawed bones outnumbered the makeshift tombstones of luckier corpses.
Two figures strolled down the rubble-edged central boulevard. One was the Word Wizard, who solemnly surveyed the results of his long-delayed curse. The other was the mysterious Gray Lady, who had stepped in to control both the wizard and his curse.
“They held out for over a year.” The Word Wizard shook his head. “I didn’t think this village would have so much success, nor that they would ultimately be brought down by such a common word as NIGHT.”
“No credit to you, it was the Rhyme Zone that did them in,” said the Gray Lady. “Still, once unleashed, your curse was spectacularly successful. You must be proud.”
The Word Wizard shrugged. “I can’t even remember why I cast that curse in the first place. Maybe I had a beef with the QUEEN? I don’t know. Now that it’s over, and I no longer have to generate new challenge words, I’m not sure what I’ll do with my time.”
The Gray Lady laughed. “What makes you think this is over? You’re still my Word Wizard. I have you under contract, and I’m not letting you off the hook while there’s still fun to be had. Look there!”
A pile of rubble shifted. A tin roof was pushed aside. A single dust-coated villager popped his head out from his basement sanctuary to look around.
“A survivor,” the Word Wizard observed.
“It seems your curse was not as thorough as you thought,” said the Gray Lady. “There are still Wordlers to torment, even if we have to pick them off one by one. Now get to work!”
The Word Wizard bowed. “As you say, My Lady.”
The villager crawled out of his hole, spotted the pair of villains, and hastily grabbed up a rock.
“Sticks and stones may break most bones, but Words are your defense from me,” the Word Wizard intoned. “I dub thee Wordler 389. You have until the end of the day to find the five-letter word that will save yourself from my curse, Wordler 389. And because I’m in such a good mood, I’ll even throw in a burlap shirt and bowl of oatmeal as a further reward.”
“No style and no taste,” said 389. “That sounds about right for you.”
“Scamper off before I change my mind!” the Word Wizard shouted.
389 considered throwing the rock anyway, to test the wizard’s theory about breaking bones, but he knew now, by experience, that the curse was no bluff.
In search of his Word, 389 took the road out of town, becoming the last Wordler to leave Wordler Village behind.
Wordle 389 4/6
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