A Land Far Away

The dusky embers of the fire shift and spark as a piece of fallen wood is added, and the fire comes to life again with the offering.

Light once more casts dancing shadows on the walls of the deep forest grotto, bringing into relief the two figures within.

Alendir watches the fire’s merry movements and wonders what has brought him to this foreign place. He turns to his pack, dexterous fingers finding quickly what they seek.

Eyes fix on the druid Elrien, peaceful in sleep this night, more than she seems to be in her waking hours. Wrapped in her cloak, the tangled hair that has won the battle for its freedom wreathing her face, she is so free of guile. A child of the Leaflord’s once, disillusioned and lost when her world betrayed her. Will she find her path of peace? No. Such a path winds through no forest in these days of looming shadows and ever present fear.

Still, her task is an important one, the home she wishes to save is beloved to the Wild One, and aid must be given.

Alendir’s emerald eyes turn back to the fire. How willing will she be to accept his help when the time comes for him to offer it? When peace is met with violence, will she see the need, recognize that the forest must take life if it is to nurture it?

Time, he knows, will tell.

The elf unwraps a skin of leather from the package he has retrieved, revealing a notebook and implements of writing, worn, stained and well used.

His stay here will not be short as he had planned, for as nature waxes ever more wrathful, he must be the conduit through which balance is restored.

He begins to write, his script flowing, beautiful, as words in Elven begin to fill the page.


Arien Sunstorm, my sister in the forest ~

I stand at a crossroads, not knowing which way I should go. For this reason I seek your council.

My wandering has brought me to Cormyr, to Voran’s grove of Draedan. Although it was my intent to rest here for a short while, then put it to my back, I have found that there is a great need for the wisdom and the thorns of the Wild One in this land.

An elven town, once home to the half-blood druid named Elrien, is now in ruins, the once vibrant glade lost in shadows. Within this glade there is a tree unlike any other, a tree with deep roots, a tree of the Leaflord’s.

They call it the Soultree.

This great being is the target of the shadow’s attack. Each new moon dark, hooded creatures, identity as yet unknown to me come to drink of the Soultree’s life sap. I have seen evidence of this in the tree itself, now sickly, rent as if by great claws, and unbearably mournful.

The attention of the Wild One does not lightly pass this place, and I feel as though my presence in Cormyr, now in this time of need, is not a matter of circumstance.

My heart, my home, my place is by your side, learning the secrets of our Rystall Wood, and I know that whatever may come to pass, I will be there soon.

I ask your blessing to see this through – to be the strength of the Leaflord in righting this wrong. If you are in peril, or if the things we saw on the horizon are close indeed, then nature will bear me home on the swiftest of wings.

Bid my messenger return to Draedan with your words, that I may be at peace with whichever path I follow.

May each dawn bring happiness to you and yours.

Your brother, Alendir


The bright eyed elf lifts his charcoal stick from the page, looking up to see dawn brightening the very top of the deep grotto. He takes a deep, calming breath, feeling the morning air renew him as it does each day.

As he is about to stand and greet the sun, he stops still, wary eyes and keen ears searching.

There, by the toadstool ring, a noise.

His hands go instinctively to long dagger and enchanted shield, his body moves fluidly toward the sound, a prayer comes to his lips and nothing but the present fills his mind.

Long fingers pick through a small pouch, selecting a slender stick of charcoal. The sun’s light, tinted green by its passage through the leaves above illuminates the fingers, the charcoal, and the parchment that will soon hold a message. Save for the breeze whispering through the branches, there is no sound here, so high above the ground. Safe in his oaken fortress, Alendir writes.

Bright-eyed Arien, sister dear,

I smile when I think that your love is returned, your family whole. Embrace each for me, surely I love them although I am so far away.

Your words are wise, and I thank you for them. A creature without home or family for so long, the Springs, the Rystall meant much to me. You speak of the wanderings of our family, but my time was spent largely in the security of home, the circle infusing me with its strength.

I think now, though, as you put down your roots, I have finally found the strength to life mine up, to take to the life of the wanderer again. I leave the pack with my rough-shouldered brother, going where my Father who broods in the woods will have us go.

I know that the winds shift, that as I am called to the Wild One’s service, Faerun’s face changes, and me along with it. In Daggerdale the circle was my strength, and my part was to lend my wisdom, my temperance more often than not. Now I have no hands but my own, no actions to guide but my own.

When the balance is threatened, will my words save it? I think not. I believe the trust Rillifane has placed in me is meant to give my actions more weight; to strengthen my arm, to thicken my skin and sharpen my teeth.

As the day we have known lengthens into long night, the forests must stand strong. If the wild places in the Dales, the Marches, or in this land of Cormyr are to see the dawn, they must be dark, deep and full of thorns for those that would trespass against them.

To hold against an evil of unfathomable strength I must keep to the shadows. To avoid their eye I must reflect no light. To keep my life I must promise death to those who work against me.

No longer can I wear my heart where others can see it. Those who know my love know how to hurt me, and save for you few I trust, I can have no weakness.

These days in Cormyr test me, help me find my new way. I see much I do not like – the great tree under assault, Unseelie fey luring men to their deaths, and hints of the Beastlord on the wind. Still, I know I must learn more before I choose my actions. Part of my heart goes to the humans who lose their lives to the sylvan folk, but I know also of the pain of the land from those men’s keen axes and great numbers – the way they poison the land.

The steps I must next take do not yet show themselves to me, yet my goal is clear. I will ensure the strength of the forest as a whole, no judgments of good or evil will cloud my sight. Nature prepares for the storm, and I work to shore up her defenses. If, perhaps, in my work, I can cripple her aggressors, then I will be doubly blessed.

The young Elrien is holding a light to my dark thoughts, her peace reminding me of the good I know. Such knowledge keeps me in balance, as I gird myself each morning to walk the day in the shadows. She does not understand why I bring darkness into myself, and though I wish to teach her, I worry she will not know until she has seen what I have seen. Our sister, as you say, fears I will break her hard won peace, and she may well be justified in such thoughts. I will stay by her side through this task I have undertaken, but then, I begin to think, my path will lead me elsewhere – to the Marches perhaps. To the war.

I wish I had words for you that would bring out that smile I so love, but know that however dark these words may seem, I am well. The wolf is well fed, well run and eager for more of this life, whichever forest paths it will follow.

Thank you for the gift of Hooters for a short while. He is wise, and his presence brings my reverie back to many peaceful days. May he carry these words and a piece of me back safely to you.

With love,

Alendir

The elf slips down from the tree, his long legs carrying him effortlessly along trails to the waiting owl.

hehehe Hooters...hehehe

Well written, indead, may our paths cross.

Daniel

Very enjoyable read. I hope to see more.