Quest The Blood of Falwood

[Andoniel Sharion]

The High Lord had known Garathiel since he was a small boy. He'd always had a love for trees that seemed abnormal even for their kind. The boy's father would attempt to pull him back to reality wherever he could, but Adoniel would just watch him through the years. In his fiftieth year, he'd watched him put an arrow through the skull of an elk from the high branch of an old tree. The animals seemed to revere him as well. The birds and squirrels and snakes and panthers spoke secrets to him and conversed about the state of their ancient home. They were concerned as the elves were. The humans with their industry and ambition were ever clamoring and grasping for more to destroy and a greater dominion than the gods should have ever allowed them to have.

His natural bark armor made him look like some god of the forest. He was different from even others of his kind. The Gladfrond had touched him and made him an instrument of it's will. He was more nature than elf these days. And he carried with him the bearing of one that had experienced death and pain. Over his green face, he wore a white mask made of wood with horns like that of a stag. They reached far into the air and twisted up at the sky. Ruins were etched throughout it. Good luck charms placed upon it by the future sages and swordsingers that would one day bleed for the elven cause. His, green and silver, snaked along the forest canopy as Garathiel descended a great tree to meet him.

"I counted fifty of them, my Lord. A raiding party from Vel Anir. Tey've been moving quickly. I believe they are being propelled by some form of vile magic. The animals flee from even me and the trees are sick with their presence."

"And the trees will have their
reprieve soon enough, boy."


They would. Whether it was now or a thousand years from now, they would remain and have their way. The High Lord walked between two worlds enough to know who's vengeance would come first. Anytime he saw his own reflection, he knew that their kind were in danger. And so they moved dangerously. His warriors were hidden in the trees and awaited his command. "Send word to our allies of the raiding party's movements and do so with haste. Our home will be purified of their presence before the sun goes down. Run now and make your feet as quick as the breeze."​

 

[Elmfury Nature's Scion]

"Verdant land wilted by murderous boot. Bark and plant torched, and torn by root. Air polluted, the forests smoking. Elves and creatures dying, choking. A story of old, a story repeating. Born from hate, and never fleeting. Scions created, our mother delivered. They will feel our wrath, our legacy considered." The reminder behind their motivation danced on the wind, reaching their ears. Whispers from the heartbeat of the forest paralyzed Elmfury. She was speaking through her scion. She spoke through all of her creations. The wild mother. As the last words hung in the air, Elm stood up. Mossy covered bark crackled and popped at the knees and lower back portions of his frame as he stood tall. Empowered. A feint red glow flickered in the void where his chest would be. The ribs of those sworn to harm their livelihood woven into the bark. Not placed, grown from. Branches reaching out from atop its form spiraled around decomposing skulls. Souvenirs of the enemy. The skulls swiveled slowly towards the runner. The red glow pulsing with every syllable. A voice, low, thrumming, filled with wisdom from the first age, "Ajal'sianore." Justice for our people.

The pain of the forest ever present. The sickness pervasive and unavoidable. It had spread out to the furthest reaches, poisoning all it touched. Even they weren't immune to its destruction. Their hunger for retribution insatiable. Elm looked to Andoniel, clutching the regalia of fallen comrades, "Pain without purpose is a terrible thing."

Andoniel Sharion

 

[Nieven Ermaya]

Unconscionable fools. Lord Sharion's messenger had just left, leaving Nieven to his own preparations. He was surprised to receive summons instead of his father, or is elder siblings. It may have been nothing more than a matter of expediency, but it could be that the effort of his Corps was finally being recognized. There were a handful in Ermaya who recognized his sincerity but most shunned Nieven. He did not possess the bearing of a Great House's scion, or so they said. Nieven had long ago learned to brush off such judgements. His actions would speak far louder than their hasty criticisms.

Gathering those that he could, Nieven set off in short order. A fifty strong raiding party was not to be underestimated. The messenger also alluded to a further foulness but had otherwise remained vague. Nieven did not doubt the disgusting lengths these encroachers would go to bring about the ruin of Falwood and its inhabitants.

"Lord Sharion," the younger elf said with a bow upon seeing the leader of the Great House. "I bring myself and ten others from the Corps. I've sent them ahead to assist with tracking as well as make preparations to greet these unwelcome guests. We await your orders." Nieven turned and bowed towards the ancient guardian after giving his report. The youngest son of Ermaya knew little of the Elmfury but was glad of their presence. These invaders would surely come to rue catching the attention of Nature's scion.

Andoniel Sharion Elmfury Nature's Scion

 

[Nymrethyl Sharion]

Nymrethyl sat crouched in the underbrush, surrounded by her company, waiting for her father's command. Her painted face was skull-grim and she barely spoke, even to her own men. She had barely recovered from a recent tour in Vel Anir. And nothing to show for it but a handful of starving refugees. No fighting men, no weapons, no information. Just more mouths to feed.

Was her father happy she had returned to Sharion alive? Did he notice her presence amongst his warriors? He had not said.

"Word comes from Lord Sharion," a messenger crouched down next to Nym. The woman put a hand on her heart, head bowed and boughed, red berries of the yew tree woven into a band across her brow. "Raiders have been located in the Northwest."

Anirians, Nym understood without having to be told. She nodded curtly to the messenger, and that was all the fleet-footed scout needed to shift away and disappear into the underbrush. As she did so, a blood-drop berry fell from her garland, stopping its roll against Nym's boot.

Yew, the evergreen needles with their red poison berries, was a symbol of mourning. Passively, Nym wondered whose funeral the messenger had come from to return to the field, and what had spurred her to cut her grief short.

The berry crushed under her foot as she stood. "Men!" she called out, long strides taking her to where their deer were hidden. "Bury the fires and string your bows. We move!"

Ajal'sianore.
All around her, the forest bled.
Bodies twisted by bark and root, fed poison,
carrying the pain of their wounds.

 

[Talyia Sharion-Teriel]

Guided by the fearful whispers of the ancient trees that served as the guardians of the Falwood, Talyia touched the bark of an ancient trunk and dissolved into it.

Traversing through the deep heart of the sacred wood by way of the flora that connected it all. With each step within, her connection to the immense consciousness of nature grew stronger, filling her senses with a profound awareness of the interconnectedness of all the living things that moved amongst the treed domain.

And so the dryad made haste as their rustling leaves and creaking branches revealed the presence of the raiding party from Vel Anir who had dared to trample upon their hallowed grounds.

As she traversed the labyrinthine network of roots, a pulsating energy coursed through her veins. The collective pain and anguish of the trees reverberated within her, their suffering becoming her own. She could sense their silent cries and their shared knowledge, a vast repository of wisdom accumulated over countless generations. The consciousness of the forest expanded before her, transcending individuality and dissolving the boundaries of self. In those moments, the line between clarity and madness blurred, as the immense power and presence of nature threatened to assimilate her very being.

This profound communion with the forest lent an unmistakable edge to Talyia's demeanor. Those who stood in her presence could feel the raw intensity that flavored the tone of her passion, the sharpness that gleamed in her blossom-pink eyes. It was a keenness honed by her connection to the primal forces of the Falwood, an unyielding determination to protect and avenge the sacred sanctuary under her stewardship.

Emerging from within the embrace of a towering tree, Talyia found herself near Andoniel, the one who now bore the mantle of High Lord. Her gaze locked onto his, an unspoken challenge burning within her eyes. The air crackled with a simmering fury, like a rabid hound poised to chase the elusive hare.

With a voice tinged with earned authority, she addressed him, "I received your summons, son of Castiel. Have you found a target on which to unleash my wrath?"

Her words dripped with the venomous and unyielding devotion to the forest, interlaced with the perverse delight of her unbridled rage against those who dared to desecrate its sacred sanctity. In that chilling moment, Talyia reflected the embodiment of the Falwood's malevolence, a harbinger of merciless violence yearning to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting invaders. The very air surrounding her quivered with a sinister anticipation, thick with the scent of impending doom as she awaited Adoniel's command.

Elmfury Nature's Scion Andoniel Sharion Nymrethyl Sharion

 

[Andoniel Sharion]

"Ajal'sianore."

He repeated.

"Pain without purpose is a terrible thing."

The Scion reminded him of something that he used to wish he could forget. The Round-Earred men from their great stone city were unlike any of the others in the world. More akin to the devils and ancient rivals of the elves told in the old stories than they were human. He'd been a victim of their "humanity". When he lay bleeding and burning on the Western Front. All of his comrades having suffered through the cruelty of their fire. The sharpening of their ruthless machine. What had been the purpose of all of that? Even when Gladfrond came and made him whole again, there was no purpose to be found as the old tree spirit had hope in his eyes. He could see the stars.

All Andoniel could see in his own reflection was a wretch. An elf that hadn't been the same after he gave his all for what he believed in. And yet all the same, the voice that came through his mask was one of authority. One of legitimacy that was befitting of a High Lord of the Bloody Sharion House. The House Under Sword and Shield.

"Then let us enact our purpose, good Scion. Kin of my kin. Tell me what magics our enemies have woven..."

The High Lord's attention turned to the arriving Captain of the Poison Corps.

"Hail Nieven. Your father is High Lord of your House. I know him well. If you are half the elf he is, you will not fail me and I have a good feeling about you. You and your Poison Corps. Are to halt the raiding party's advance while the bulk of our force comes to take them from the rear. I mean to make short work of these Anirians."

He always wondered after Nymrethyl.
He wondered if she was prepared for the responsibility that would come when he inevitably died during his fight against the Anirian Devils.
He wondered when she would become who it was she was destined to be.
He wondered if he expected too much out of her.

Would she be hard enough to survive if he expected less?
​

"Girl."

He called out to her upon her arrival. His feet carried him closer to where she and her party had arrived on the backs of their deers. His face was covered in the white wooden mask, but she would know that his gaze was still as cold as a starless night beneath a thick Falwood canopy. Though she sat taller than him on deerback, he still ragarded her as if he took up all of the space in the forest. As a High Lord should.

"I am giving you command of the fifty I've brought with me. Ermaya's third son already moves to cut off the raiding party and you will take them from the rear. There are other things that I must see to, but... You will not fail me. You will not fail our people. Mm?"

Andoniel always pretended that Talyia's arrival was welcomed. It was what was expected of him. She was to be honored among his people for as long as either one of them drew breath. The day that Andoniel had taken up lordship of his father's ancient line, he had agreed to honor every custom. No matter what route one takes to power, power was to be accompanied with the honor the title afforded. And so he looked Castiel's widow in the eyes. He spoke as he was supposed to speak.

"The Anirian Devils have sent forth a raiding party. Or perhaps they are deserters. It matters not. Just Northwest of here, they've already raided one of our villages. I would have your ride with Nymrethyl. She is to lead our forces... There are things that the Elmfury and myself must see to."​

 

[Nieven Ermaya]

Nieven's expression remained placid but the High Lord's words caught him slightly off guard. Rarely was he ever compared to his father in a positive manner. The High Lord of Ermaya was a great mage, legendary may actually be a more appropriate term; Nieven was not. A fact for which his family sought to constantly remind him. The scion had made his own path but recognition was slow to follow. He told himself that acceptance was of no import but that did not appear to be entirely true.

"Understood. We shall ensure they take not a single step further into our home," promised the young elf. Nieven hadn't failed to notice the arrival of other prominent individuals. He may have been a scion of a high clan but his standing was among the lowest of those currently present. The captain of the Poison Corps nodded in greeting to the rest before setting off to regroup with the rest of the unit.

As he raced through the canopies, a low whistle drew Nieven's attention. He dropped closer to the forest's floor and found a corps member waiting for him.

"Report," ordered Nieven, wasting no time.

"The intruders continue to press forward. They'll reach our position in half-a-spell, maybe less."

"Send word to the others, we're to give our full hospitality. We're to hold them here until Sharion's troops take their rear." Nieven immediately saw his comrade's look turn skeptical and waved away any potential objection. He knew what worried her and the captain sympathized. They'd been promised reinforcements by other clans before only to be left wanting. Usually they would arrive too late for the battle but just in time to claim credit. He was hopeful that would not be the case this time.

Preparations were made in haste and only just finished as the Anirians came into sight. They marched in strict formation, five rows and ten. Nieven did not think these deserters or common militia, there was purpose in their steps. Still, he did not hesitate to give the signal.

His arrow was the first to fly, quickly followed by nine others. Each laced with some of the deadliest poisons this world had to offer. Ten soldiers fell just like that.

If only the rest had gone so cleanly.


Andoniel Sharion Elmfury Nature's Scion Nymrethyl Sharion Talyia Sharion-Teriel

 

[Nymrethyl Sharion]

Girl.

Her deer snorted and stirred restlessly underneath her. That stony expression never left Nym's face as she heard her father's commands. She pressed a hand over her heart, and bowed her head in salute. "Not one Anirian will leave our forest alive. I will make sure of it."

Words that would mean nothing without action. She stayed long enough to take note of the others who she would be fighting with, and to give the fifty of her father's men time to fall in line with her own. One of her riders dismounted from his steed and held the reigns out to Talyia, the old Fury of their family.

"Here, my Lady," he said with a respectful bow of the head.

Nym didn't get more than a nod and a glance at the captain of the Poison Corps as they passed each other by. The third son of Ermaya... what was his name? Nevelan? Neivet? She should remember, they were close in age.

---

A green-fletched arrow struck a tree above their rider's heads. Nym made the signal to halt, and the underbrush rustled as the Sharion soldiers pulled their deer to stop. Myrden, one of her best bowmen, climbed up and plucked the arrow from the trunk. He sat upon a thick branch of the old maple, as below him another soldier held on to his deer.

"Word from the Poison Corps," he called out, unrolling the message. "They've engaged the enemy at the marked location."

Strategy dictated that they wait before entering the fray. It was safest for their House and cavalry, more valuable by far than a handful of reinforcements led by a third son. Just ten men, to stop a whole raiding party... impossible not to lose someone, with those numbers.

Myrden dropped down next to her, arrow still in hand. "My Lady," he said more quietly. "What is our approach?"

Nym scowled. She answered loud enough for the whole company to hear the command. "We go now! Use the slopes as cover, ride until we're right on them!"

She kicked her deer into motion again. It bellowed and shook its ornamented antlers, leaping down the hilly terrain in one burst of energy.

 

[Elmfury Nature's Scion]

The great scion reached out to the skies with two of its four arms, the other two anchored to the forest bed. Motes of Castleton green rose from the ground to its outstretched arms, forming a scintillating orb. Elm's voice thrummed into a low reverberating echo. "Ish'n'sendarin." The orb pulsed, pulling in more motes from the moribund landscape. The skulls encased in its form cracked and chipped. Elm's bark livened. The moss shifting, snaking around his form. He held the orb close. Then quickly snapped to Andoniel. "Magic's afoot, but worse is near. The Allirian's aren't all we should fear. A darkness within them, spreading like plague. The cure for now, the tasting of blade." He paused, "Feed them to the forest, more knowledge we'll gain. Hunger replenished, and remove their stain." The mote flickered before slowly descending to the forest bed and dispersing like hundreds of tiny spiders. The air still, the landscape bereft of movement, of life. Except for one last buzzing, limping mote. It descended from the great oak they stood next to. It fluttered above Elm's outstretched gnarled finger. Without warning it turned a deep purple. Shadowy tendrils shot forth and struck him, flaying the bark off his shoulder before vanishing into nothing. "They know we're here, their magic scouted. A barrier placed, need be surmounted." He pointed in the direction of the engagement.

Nymrethyl Sharion
Nieven Ermaya
Andoniel Sharion
Talyia Sharion-Teriel