End of Watch
Posted: Sat Aug 31, 2024 8:10 pm
The time had come.
For 1,800 years, Veldrin Naenala had served as a sentinel of Verilion, his watchful eyes ever-vigilant over the sacred forests of Arandor. He had seen the ebb and flow of countless seasons, the rise and fall of empires, and the quiet resilience of nature. But now, the weight of his long life pressed heavily upon him, and he knew that his time in this wake cycle was ending.
The Slumber of Renewal was a sacred rite among the Wood Elves, a period of deep sleep that occurred at the end of each 1,800-year wake cycle. During this time, they would rest for fifty years, allowing their bodies and spirits to rejuvenate, reattuning with the natural world they had long protected. The place where they rested varied, as they were guided there by their patron Valar. Veldrin understood that this might be his final Slumber, that he might not awaken again while the world he knew still existed.
Veldrin felt the familiar presence of Verilion, his patron, guiding him through the forest. The path he took was one he had never walked before, yet it felt as if he had known it all his life. The ancient trees leaned in closer, their branches forming a canopy that filtered the fading light, while the creatures of the forest, his longtime companions, watched in reverent silence.
Verilion’s guidance led Veldrin to a secluded glade, a place hidden deep within the heart of the forest, untouched by time or the hand of mortals. Here, the trees formed a perfect circle, their roots intertwining to create a cradle of life. A small, clear stream wound through the glade, its waters shimmering with the light of the setting sun. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the ground was soft with moss, inviting him to rest.
Veldrin knelt beside the stream, gazing at his reflection in the water. His face, unmarked by the passage of time, held a calmness that only centuries of life could bestow. He closed his eyes, breathing in the life force of the forest, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath him. Yet, as he prepared for his rest, thoughts of the wider world crept into his mind.
The Humans had recently made great strides. He had seen their potential—how they had begun to rise in strength, ambition, and unity. Veldrin had fought alongside them, had helped guide them through peril, and had seen the spark of greatness in their leaders. But now, as he prepared for his long sleep, he worried for their future. Would his kin continue to support and guide them in his absence? Would the Humans endure the coming challenges, or would their light falter in the face of the darkness rising across the realms?
The Cult of Azamul loomed large in his thoughts. Veldrin had fought many battles against their forces, striking at their dark rituals and stopping their machinations. Now, as he rested, he would be unable to continue his fight. The burden of that conflict would fall to others, and he could only hope they were prepared for the evil that waited in the shadows. The regret gnawed at him—the thought of leaving his comrades and his kin to face the cult without him weighed heavy on his soul.
But there was nothing to be done. The Slumber was not a choice, but a necessity. His spirit needed the renewal, and the forest called him back into its fold.
He dipped his hands into the cool, clear water, feeling its soothing energy flow through him. The water shimmered with a soft, ethereal light, imbued with the ancient magic of the glade. As he drank, warmth spread through his body, easing the weariness from his bones and calming the countless memories that had settled in his mind over the centuries.
Lying down on the soft moss, Veldrin felt the earth rise to embrace him, cradling him gently. The roots of the ancient trees slowly wrapped around his body, their energy merging with his own. The flowers surrounding him began to glow softly, their light mingling with the twilight, casting a serene radiance over the glade.
As his breathing slowed, Veldrin’s consciousness began to drift. His senses expanded outward, touching every part of the forest, feeling the life in every leaf, every creature. He became attuned to the deep, steady rhythm of the earth, a timeless song that had guided him throughout his life.
Memories floated through his mind like leaves on a breeze—his early days learning the ways of the forest, the battles fought to protect his people, the quiet moments of reflection under the stars. Each memory was a thread in the vast tapestry of his life, woven into the very fabric of the world he cherished.
As the first stars twinkled above, Veldrin’s awareness began to fade, blending with the deep, endless peace of the earth. His body, now fully entwined with the roots and soil, became one with the glade. His spirit, no longer bound by the constraints of the physical world, drifted into a serene, dreamless state—a state of pure existence, where time held no meaning and all was as it should be.
For fifty years, Veldrin would rest, his body and soul rejuvenating in the heart of this sacred place. The world around him would change, yet his essence would remain, a silent guardian woven into the land itself.
As he settled into his slumber, Veldrin’s final thoughts lingered on the Humans, their progress, and the challenges they would face. He hoped his kin would guide them wisely and feared what may come while he rested.
The glade stood silent, the ancient trees standing sentinel over the slumbering Elf. Veldrin Naenala had entered his Slumber of Renewal, his legacy entwined with the roots of the world he had loved so dearly. He might not wake again while the world continued its endless dance, but his spirit would endure, safeguarding the forest even in his dreams. And in the deepest part of the glade, where the earth cradled the sleeping sentinel, the land whispered a promise: that Veldrin Naenala’s spirit would live on, watching over the world, ever vigilant, even in his long, peaceful sleep.
The Little Conqueror's Lament
Beneath the boughs where shadows creep,
The Little Conqueror goes to sleep.
Veldrin’s name in human lore,
A warrior feared, a whispered roar.
In Arandor, the trees stand tall,
Their leaves shall turn, yet never fall.
But as he sinks to earth’s embrace,
His thoughts drift to a distant place.
What of the Humans, bright and bold?
Their newfound strength, their stories told.
Veldrin’s hope for them runs deep,
Even as he falls to sleep.
Fifty years in darkness deep,
What shall remain when he leaves sleep?
The fires of war, the peace of men,
Will they burn bright, or fade again?
He cannot fight, nor raise his blade,
Against the cult where shadows wade.
The Cult of Azamul will rise,
Without his watchful, vigilant eyes.
The Little Conqueror, so small, so fierce,
His name a blade that wounds and pierces,
Now wonders what the world will be,
When next he wakes, what shall he see?
For Arandor may stay the same,
But time will twist the mortal game.
Will they remember his shadowed path,
Or will his legacy fall to wrath?
So rest, dear Veldrin, in the earth,
For in your dreams, there’s endless worth.
Yet as you sleep, the world may turn,
And in its heart, your name may burn.
The Little Conqueror’s tale will spin,
A thread of fate both out and in.
But in his slumber, peace he’ll find,
Though realms may change, and gods unwind.
For 1,800 years, Veldrin Naenala had served as a sentinel of Verilion, his watchful eyes ever-vigilant over the sacred forests of Arandor. He had seen the ebb and flow of countless seasons, the rise and fall of empires, and the quiet resilience of nature. But now, the weight of his long life pressed heavily upon him, and he knew that his time in this wake cycle was ending.
The Slumber of Renewal was a sacred rite among the Wood Elves, a period of deep sleep that occurred at the end of each 1,800-year wake cycle. During this time, they would rest for fifty years, allowing their bodies and spirits to rejuvenate, reattuning with the natural world they had long protected. The place where they rested varied, as they were guided there by their patron Valar. Veldrin understood that this might be his final Slumber, that he might not awaken again while the world he knew still existed.
Veldrin felt the familiar presence of Verilion, his patron, guiding him through the forest. The path he took was one he had never walked before, yet it felt as if he had known it all his life. The ancient trees leaned in closer, their branches forming a canopy that filtered the fading light, while the creatures of the forest, his longtime companions, watched in reverent silence.
Verilion’s guidance led Veldrin to a secluded glade, a place hidden deep within the heart of the forest, untouched by time or the hand of mortals. Here, the trees formed a perfect circle, their roots intertwining to create a cradle of life. A small, clear stream wound through the glade, its waters shimmering with the light of the setting sun. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the ground was soft with moss, inviting him to rest.
Veldrin knelt beside the stream, gazing at his reflection in the water. His face, unmarked by the passage of time, held a calmness that only centuries of life could bestow. He closed his eyes, breathing in the life force of the forest, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath him. Yet, as he prepared for his rest, thoughts of the wider world crept into his mind.
The Humans had recently made great strides. He had seen their potential—how they had begun to rise in strength, ambition, and unity. Veldrin had fought alongside them, had helped guide them through peril, and had seen the spark of greatness in their leaders. But now, as he prepared for his long sleep, he worried for their future. Would his kin continue to support and guide them in his absence? Would the Humans endure the coming challenges, or would their light falter in the face of the darkness rising across the realms?
The Cult of Azamul loomed large in his thoughts. Veldrin had fought many battles against their forces, striking at their dark rituals and stopping their machinations. Now, as he rested, he would be unable to continue his fight. The burden of that conflict would fall to others, and he could only hope they were prepared for the evil that waited in the shadows. The regret gnawed at him—the thought of leaving his comrades and his kin to face the cult without him weighed heavy on his soul.
But there was nothing to be done. The Slumber was not a choice, but a necessity. His spirit needed the renewal, and the forest called him back into its fold.
He dipped his hands into the cool, clear water, feeling its soothing energy flow through him. The water shimmered with a soft, ethereal light, imbued with the ancient magic of the glade. As he drank, warmth spread through his body, easing the weariness from his bones and calming the countless memories that had settled in his mind over the centuries.
Lying down on the soft moss, Veldrin felt the earth rise to embrace him, cradling him gently. The roots of the ancient trees slowly wrapped around his body, their energy merging with his own. The flowers surrounding him began to glow softly, their light mingling with the twilight, casting a serene radiance over the glade.
As his breathing slowed, Veldrin’s consciousness began to drift. His senses expanded outward, touching every part of the forest, feeling the life in every leaf, every creature. He became attuned to the deep, steady rhythm of the earth, a timeless song that had guided him throughout his life.
Memories floated through his mind like leaves on a breeze—his early days learning the ways of the forest, the battles fought to protect his people, the quiet moments of reflection under the stars. Each memory was a thread in the vast tapestry of his life, woven into the very fabric of the world he cherished.
As the first stars twinkled above, Veldrin’s awareness began to fade, blending with the deep, endless peace of the earth. His body, now fully entwined with the roots and soil, became one with the glade. His spirit, no longer bound by the constraints of the physical world, drifted into a serene, dreamless state—a state of pure existence, where time held no meaning and all was as it should be.
For fifty years, Veldrin would rest, his body and soul rejuvenating in the heart of this sacred place. The world around him would change, yet his essence would remain, a silent guardian woven into the land itself.
As he settled into his slumber, Veldrin’s final thoughts lingered on the Humans, their progress, and the challenges they would face. He hoped his kin would guide them wisely and feared what may come while he rested.
The glade stood silent, the ancient trees standing sentinel over the slumbering Elf. Veldrin Naenala had entered his Slumber of Renewal, his legacy entwined with the roots of the world he had loved so dearly. He might not wake again while the world continued its endless dance, but his spirit would endure, safeguarding the forest even in his dreams. And in the deepest part of the glade, where the earth cradled the sleeping sentinel, the land whispered a promise: that Veldrin Naenala’s spirit would live on, watching over the world, ever vigilant, even in his long, peaceful sleep.
The Little Conqueror's Lament
Beneath the boughs where shadows creep,
The Little Conqueror goes to sleep.
Veldrin’s name in human lore,
A warrior feared, a whispered roar.
In Arandor, the trees stand tall,
Their leaves shall turn, yet never fall.
But as he sinks to earth’s embrace,
His thoughts drift to a distant place.
What of the Humans, bright and bold?
Their newfound strength, their stories told.
Veldrin’s hope for them runs deep,
Even as he falls to sleep.
Fifty years in darkness deep,
What shall remain when he leaves sleep?
The fires of war, the peace of men,
Will they burn bright, or fade again?
He cannot fight, nor raise his blade,
Against the cult where shadows wade.
The Cult of Azamul will rise,
Without his watchful, vigilant eyes.
The Little Conqueror, so small, so fierce,
His name a blade that wounds and pierces,
Now wonders what the world will be,
When next he wakes, what shall he see?
For Arandor may stay the same,
But time will twist the mortal game.
Will they remember his shadowed path,
Or will his legacy fall to wrath?
So rest, dear Veldrin, in the earth,
For in your dreams, there’s endless worth.
Yet as you sleep, the world may turn,
And in its heart, your name may burn.
The Little Conqueror’s tale will spin,
A thread of fate both out and in.
But in his slumber, peace he’ll find,
Though realms may change, and gods unwind.