It was a beautiful morning. It had not been long since trees had left behind their green summer attire to don their more extravagant autumnal regalia. Breathtaking hues of gold and crimson glow like embers in the crisp cool air as the rays of sunlight radiate through each leaf. Standing there, amongst the all too familiar trees of this wood, Faleith closes her amber eyes and lifts her face to the sky, allowing the earthy tones of her skin soak up the warmth of the mid-morning sun.
Not much happened in this forest the past hundred years that slipped her notice. Even with her lids closed, she was acutely aware of the events unfolding around her. Each tree, creature, bird, flower, she had watched them all at their birth and witnessed their life, as she had witnessed the lives of those who came before. Even for an Elf, it was not often one was able to see a forest grow from the ground up. This place had grown under her careful watch; a labor that was a testament to both the deep love of nature given by her Wood Elf mother, and an unwavering oath made to her father, a Hill Elf.
For more than a century this place had been her home; a labor of love born out of guilt, grief, and duty. It had been a long, lonely journey through time, but finally on this day she could proclaim it done. The wind winds its way past the trunks of trees, stirring up swirls of color from the forest floor and blowing past the delicate vines woven into her dark chestnut braid, bringing a faint smile to her lips as she opens her eyes and takes one last long look at woodlands, soaking in the sights, sounds, and smells to be recalled fondly years from now. For a moment, her eye is caught by the silver glint of metal held deep within the trunk of an aspen that was clearly the oldest tree in this part of the wood. The tree looks to have grown up next to the object, slowly consuming it till it is now impossible to see what the object may have been. Faelith bows her head, whispering a silent prayer to Dovaros for the protection of this place and all who dwell within. Then, turning promptly on her heel, she turns down the road towards the port that will take her back home to Arandor.
—
Faeltih Thistlebrook had come to this land as part of a trio, one of two energetic female Wood Elves and the Hill Elf that was their eternal soft spoken companion. Orist towered over his partner and daughter, a forever protective presence looking over the pair of women whose curiosity had so far drawn them far and wide since leaving Arandor shortly after his daughter’s Weaving. His daughter, like her mother Melian, had sworn herself to Dovaros. They were protectors of the land, embodiments of the delicate balance between force and grace, strength and peace. After swearing her oath, both parents had agreed that a wider perspective on the world and the people within was necessary to properly understand and navigate the challenges Faelith would one day face. To that end, in the great Wood Elf tradition, they had decided on a family trip. Not to any one location, but wandering far and wide wherever the spirit of inquiry drew them.
Now, they were nearing the end of their long journey, and both Orist and Melian knew that soon they would face The Slumber. The pair wished to return to Aranodor before that time, hoping to see their daughter reunited with other Elves before they submit themselves to the land for Renewal.
It was Melian who caught the first glimpse of a problem, unsurprising given her deep connection to nature and keen eyes. Silently stepping off the path, she moved silently as one who is one with her surroundings, closing in on the strangely discolored branch hanging from an otherwise healthy looking tree. Reaching up, she plucked the leaf before turning it over in her hand.
“What is it, Mother?” Far less stealthy than the first, Faelith’s steps were audible but no less comfortable moving through the underbrush to see what Melian had found. The older elf held out the leaf to show the rest of the family. Faelith frowned and leaned in closer for a better look. While her mother favored sentiment towards the creatures great and small, Faelith had always had an affinity with the plants.
“That is not right. I would say it looks like some sort of black spot, but …” tracing her finger along the rim of the leaf. “...I have never seen a spot so large. It almost looks like it was stabbed in the center and is bleeding …” leaning in closer “... tendrils out towards the edges. I have never seen anything like it.” leaning back. “Some sort of insect effect?” Looking to her mother, who shook her head doubtfully. Turning back to the wood, the trio scanned nearby, spotting yet another branch, then another and another. They started following the trail, an ever increasing number of plants trading their verdant spring green for blackened tendrils that ate more of each leaf the further they followed the signs. The further they went, the more they found: birds seemingly having fallen from the branches above, whole plants completely consumed in black, dried, withering leaves.
At the heart of this spreading mystery sat an abandoned wagon. Orist motioned for them to pause, taking a moment to assess the dangers of the situation, meanwhile the two ladies both had drawn their swords, preparing for whatever may appear. The silence was deafening, not a bird or squirrel, just the rustle of dried leaves in the breeze; Sounds of Autumn eerily misplaced against the warmth of a Spring sky, and the smell of rot marring the freshness of the season. It took a long time before the elder Wood Elf finally nodded them forward, taking the lead. One, two, three battered bodies, each merchant slain with brutal intensity surrounded by the tell tale signs of a skirmish.
“Bandits.” Orist spoke the word with disdain as they rounded to the back of the wagon, stepping around broken debris. Whatever cargo had once been there was now gone, ransacked as spoils to the caravan’s attackers. All save the small metal frames of several iron cages strewn about, some open and others sealed. While Orist went to check for clues on the fallen men, the other pair drew closer for a better look at the dubious cargo. Most of the cages were empty though the few who remained sealed caused Melain’s eyes to widen, breathing out sharply and reaching to grab Faelith’s arm and pull her back. Rats. Dead rats. Their patchy coats showed hints of black tendrils reaching across the skin beneath the fur.
It was this time that Orist rejoined them, offering a document that had caused his brow to furrow more than usual. Faelith took the parchment and read… “Valar preserve us..” her face falling as she realizes the intention of these cages. “It is a manifest.” letting out an exasperated breath “Someone hired them to take these rats to another nobles’ land to be released. They were -trying- to spread this blight. Release it on their enemies. What fools…” Shaking her head as she passes the orders to her mother and looks again to the cages with disgust.
“The bandits released them earlier than planned.” frowning and looking around at the damage already wrought. “We can not leave things like this. If nothing stops the spread, who knows how many it will affect.” Frowning and looking thoughtful “There was a village with a healer about a week back. Perhaps they would have a clue how to stop this.” The elder woman looked to her Pair who gave a huff of protest. Orist knew what she was thinking, and he did not like it. Not that he didn’t trust them to take care of themselves, but there is something in a Hill Elf’s nature to be protective of their family, more so than perhaps other clans. He seemed about to argue when Melian gave him ‘the look’. It was a look that had a dozen meanings, but almost everyone meant she would win and he huffed again. “We can stay here, try to slow the spread.”
It didn’t make sense. Malian was faster and his bow would be useful for stopping stray animals from wandering in or out of the infected area, but he also knew that look on his partner. He saw the worry and knew her heart was with the wood and would not be swayed. After a moment debating the options, he also realized he liked the idea of them being together better than Faeltih or Malian going back to the village alone. Resigning himself, he gave a nod and the trio said their goodbyes before Orist started his trek, as quick paced as his long strides would take him.
At first it felt like things were going alright, the two women cut out diseased brush and shooed away curious critters. However, soon it was abundantly clear that there were some foes in this world that a sword could not best. The fighters were unprepared to diagnose and deal with an unknown illness. Despite their best efforts, they could not figure out just how it was spreading or how to slow the progress. Could it be wind? Insects? A few days into their task more fallen birds were found, beneath their feathers a trail of black tendrils that was now the telltale markings of the ailment’s victims. With each newly withered plant and fallen bird, the pair felt a weight pressing against their Lyandrel that made them speculate if the malady wasn’t magical in nature. Could that explain why it so easily affected both plants and beasts?
It was at this time that Faelith began to show signs of illness. At first she chalked the fatigue well earned in the constant battle to contain their new foe. When the fever struck, she could no longer ignore the obvious. Falling bedridden, thick black tendrils spread outward from her chest, up into her neck, shoulders, arms and torso. Malian, fearing the worst, spent every waking hour trying to alleviate the discomfort and lending her own inherent magic to her daughter’s recovery. Faelith was a fighter, and under her mother’s care she was able to push back, her health slowly turning for the better. The tendrils receded, leaving behind thin, muted black lines etched into her skin that hinted of tree bark patterns too faint to see without close inspection.
The hope they felt as Faelith recovered was quickly rebuked as Malian’s symptoms began to show. Perhaps it was how close she was to her Slumber, or a weakened immune system from the constant vigil over her daughter, but when the illness struck Malian her health was not as easily restored. Despite still recovering, Faelith did all she could to care for her mother, feeling powerless to smite this invisible foe, only able to keep witness as it slowly consumed the woman whose footsteps she had followed since birth. The only grace to this unfortunate collapse of the once virile swordswoman was she was able to hang on long enough for Orist’s return, giving him the opportunity to say his goodbyes before she succumbed.
Father and daughter buried Malian, both silent in their grief but drawing some small comfort from the other's presence. Over the next few days, Orist’s silence grew to a deep obsessive brooding. Faelith woke one morning to find her father pouring over the merchant’s manifest and orders that had brought about all this grief. She would never forget the expression of raw rage she saw on her normally gentle father’s face. She searched the teachings from The Valiant Shield but found nothing that she thought could bring comfort to her father’s overwhelming grief and pain. How does one heal a broken heart when they didn’t even know how to treat the illness that brought it on? Setting a gentle hand on his shoulder, Orist looked up to his daughter and his expression softened from anger to regret and guilt. “I need to do something…”. Faeltih felt the intent in the simple statement half said, and the weight of what was not said. It was a request, an apology, and a question, one which she could only answer with a nod of agreement. “I will take care of the wood. I swear. Do what you need to…” It was all she could give him and he looked relieved and thankful as he embraced her before leaving.
That was the last she saw of him. Even to this day, she can often be seen looking into the distance and wondering about his fate. Had revenge failed, ending his life, or maybe he had succeeded in his act of vengeance before his waking time came to an end. Perhaps his grief and anger required a longer Slumber to recover… or he simply lost the will to continue on without his pair. Maybe he lacked the will to face his daughter after all that happened.
No matter what may have been Orist’s fate, Faelith was left to face the aftermath alone. She turned to the forest her family had been trying desperately to save, and saw it still withering away: sick, in pain, and dying. The Blight was an enemy that consumed everything and there was nothing she, or her sword, could do. The days passed as she tried everything she could to no avail and the borders of the taint grew. Desperate to stop the spread, she did the only thing left she could think of. Her normally well honed blade became blunt and dented as she used it to cut away a break between the healthy wilderness and the disease. Then, with a heavy heart, she lit the flame that would consume all in its wake, burning the forest and all inside down to ash. Her blade bringing down any infected creatures that tried to escape.
When it was done, and all that remained was the barely smoldering coals in the fading evening sun, Faelith wandered through the waste and destruction back to the heart of it all. She surveyed the destruction of nature’s beauty, wrought by her own hand, then looked down at the battered blade in her hand. Useless! Useless against the Blight. Useless to save her Mother. Useless to repair her Father spirit. Useless to protect the wood. Against such enemies and challenges her sword had been useless. -She- had been useless! That was the thought that shattered her spirit as fell to her knees, burying the blade with both hands into the blackened ground. Her forehead pressed to the hilt as her tears dampened the charred ground.
When she finally moved from the spot it was morning. The first light of dawn shining golden color across the grey landscape surrounding her. Faelith felt empty and powerless, but she had made a promise… and even if everything else had failed, she knew she could never live with herself if she went back on her final words to her father. So with a heavy heart she rose, and started her new task. Regrowing the forest.
The process took more than a century. She traveled the healthy woods, gathering seed and seedlings, returning to plant them amongst the bits that nature itself had already started in its recovery. New flowers bloomed the first spring, then grasses crept in to take over as the summer dried the land, followed by saplings and scrub, then lastly the trees. The first new tree was one she planted herself, an aspen sapling sown next to where her sword still held fast in the ground. Faelith stayed in the wood guarding and nurturing the plants and animals who survived. As the woodland slowly recovered, so too did her spirit. It wasn’t till the land had fully recovered, and those passing through would never have known the forest hadn’t been there at some time, that she finally, belatedly, headed back to Arandor.
—
At first, she couldn’t help but feel a little awkward returning to her homeland. It had been a while since she had socialized, and while she would not admit it, the idea of a large gathering made her anxious. She was also worried about her place. Her oaths to the Queen, to Arandor and her people were still etched firmly in her heart, but The Valiant Shield no longer felt like her calling. There was no ill will, simply more of a feeling that at some point Dovaros had, in his wisdom, given her up to the care of another. Someone she needed to serve both to find herself and for her people. The problem was, she felt uncertain who she had been handed to.
After her experience she was determined to study the art of healing, both body and spirit. She sought to learn to restore the balance of nature and use that knowledge to fight against the corruption and destruction she’d witnessed first hand. Never again would she be useless in the face of such dangers. The problem was, she could not quite give up her warrior nature. Since her return, for every healing spell cast and potion brewed, she also poisoned or smashed the skull of a threat. These things did not, to her mind, conform to the workings of Caladria's Radiant Embrace.
Thankfully her return home had been met with friends, old and new. Elion Mirdove was as insufferably arrogant as ever, but also remained the kind supportive friend she remembered from her childhood. His joy and mischief were infectious and Faelith found herself smiling and laughing for the first time in an age. Even though her eyes often rolled at his antics, there was usually a hint of amusement hiding behind the looks she gave. He had offered his ear and shared her burdens, reassuring her doubts and making her feel as if perhaps the wilds would one day forgive her sins. His words and presence brought comfort and drew out her own playful spirit that had been dormant. He was a blessing brought to her by the Valar, and she thanked them often for his presence.
Another surprising new friend was Eldoran. As frustrating as it was to go from sword expert to a magical macing novice, it was nice knowing she was not the only one training new skills. As they spoke about the swearing of oaths, he seemed quite confident in his choice Order, even as she expressed her worry of not quite fitting. It was Eldoran who had suggested considering The Verdant Heart, and the more she thought on his words the more sense it made.
Why she hadn’t thought of her own clan’s patron Valar to begin with was beyond her. Perhaps her guilt over the burning of a wood made her doubt her worth and the Lady Aldarwen’s acceptance or forgiveness for her actions. However, if she did pledge this Order there was a chance she would be able to repay her debt and thank The Lady for all her aid in restoring what she had destroyed. She may not be worthy, but she would spend the rest of her life making sure the tragedies of her past did not repeat. She would dedicate her life to protecting the wilds, protecting her people, protecting those she cared for, and restoring all that was broken or corrupted.
The Making of a Druid - Faelith's Story
Re: The Making of a Druid - Faelith's Story
Faelith Thistlebrook took her time walking the path along the river, admiring the woods across the water and listening for the telltale sounds of the waterfall growing louder, heralding her arrival home. Well, it wasn’t quite a home. Home is where her heart is, which was not a building but a person. A particularly ostentatious person, whose personality hadn’t grown any milder since he’d taken up music. This vine covered building was more of a makeshift greenhouse and alchemical lab that just happened to have a bed in the corner.
Faeltih walked through the door to be greeted by dozens of her potted brood, and the sight brought on a warm smile that was normally reserved only for very specific people. She couldn’t help it, something about being surrounded by plants she’d nurtured from seed brought her joy and it reminded her of the beloved wood she’d spent years taking care of not so long ago. As much as she was glad to be back in Arandor, part of her missed caring for the flora from seedling to maturity. This is what prompted her to try planting some of the random boggling seeds she’d gathered. The endeavor started out of a need for nostalgia and had swiftly grown out of hand, literally and figuratively.
It wasn’t until a succession of worrisome events happened that Faelith’s hobby became more of a pet project. New cults of necromancers came to pass, the much older cult within the Consortium brought fire and warned of more doom from across the seas, the Shadowclan and those they served were making bold moves, ancient dragon aggressively returned to roost, and rumors of frozen thrones coming to life were whispered in the wind… with all of these threats looming, Faelith began to worry for the future of both Arandor and the forested lands across the continent. Having already seen how challenging it could be to regrow a forest, the druidess decided to change her efforts into creating a seed bank so if there is a catastrophe, Arandor will have what’s necessary to regrow what could be lost.
To that end, Faeltih had become more meticulous in her breeding, creating several dozen combinations. She had still barely made a dent in her overall goal, but the Wood Elf could be patient… when she needed to be. The one major issue to date, besides the sheer amount of reagents it took to keep this many indoor plants healthy, was the sheer amount of storage required for the number of seeds she had accumulated.
That was today’s project, solving that storage problem, but first, each plant needed to be watered and receive a once over for pests, diseases or other issues. Unruly growth was trimmed back to a more manageable level, flowers were pollinated, and pods were checked for new seeds ready to harvest. All the while the Wood Elf murmured words of encouragement, and sometimes the odd reprimand to her collection of potted vegetation.
Once this now daily ritual was complete, she turned to the wall of haphazardly stacked storage she’d been tossing everything into for weeks, and took a deep breath. Sitting herself down on the floor, Faelith started by laying out many pouches she’d purchased over the last few weeks and labeling each with one type of plant. Then she opened each of the boxes and picked out the seeds, sorting them by bloom and foliage color, then arranging them into the pouches one by one. It was sheer stubbornness that stopped her from giving up for the day halfway through, much preferring wandering outdoors to the endless sorting. Despite this, she stayed till all the work was done, letting out an exhausted sigh in the end. Next came the boxes, though this all went much quicker. Each was labeled then carefully stacked in order, filled with the seed pouches and any plants she’d grown and kept to use as houseplants later on.
As the light filtering through the windows grew dim, Faelith’s back and shoulders ached from hunching over on the floor, but finally she was done. Standing slowly, she rolled head back and forth, stretching her neck and shoulders, before taking the time to admire the newly assembled seed bank wall. A sense of accomplishment and pride filled her as she placed one hand over her Lyrandel and the other onto one of the chests. “Mistress of the Wood, heartbeat of the earth, please bless the potential life held within these vessels. While I pray a time will never come when they are necessary, let their vitality stay vibrant till such time as they are needed. May their presence help safe guard the future of thy radiant mantle, the leaves and blossoms that nurture all life. I pray this in your name, Aldarwen, mighty Vala of the verdant wild.”
A moment of silence hung heavy in the air with the weight of her words before Faelith finally raised her head and gave the nearest chest an affectionate pat before whispering her goodbyes to her leafy friends as she made her way to the door. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear her father's voice as she left…“Job well done, Dewdrop.”
Faeltih walked through the door to be greeted by dozens of her potted brood, and the sight brought on a warm smile that was normally reserved only for very specific people. She couldn’t help it, something about being surrounded by plants she’d nurtured from seed brought her joy and it reminded her of the beloved wood she’d spent years taking care of not so long ago. As much as she was glad to be back in Arandor, part of her missed caring for the flora from seedling to maturity. This is what prompted her to try planting some of the random boggling seeds she’d gathered. The endeavor started out of a need for nostalgia and had swiftly grown out of hand, literally and figuratively.
It wasn’t until a succession of worrisome events happened that Faelith’s hobby became more of a pet project. New cults of necromancers came to pass, the much older cult within the Consortium brought fire and warned of more doom from across the seas, the Shadowclan and those they served were making bold moves, ancient dragon aggressively returned to roost, and rumors of frozen thrones coming to life were whispered in the wind… with all of these threats looming, Faelith began to worry for the future of both Arandor and the forested lands across the continent. Having already seen how challenging it could be to regrow a forest, the druidess decided to change her efforts into creating a seed bank so if there is a catastrophe, Arandor will have what’s necessary to regrow what could be lost.
To that end, Faeltih had become more meticulous in her breeding, creating several dozen combinations. She had still barely made a dent in her overall goal, but the Wood Elf could be patient… when she needed to be. The one major issue to date, besides the sheer amount of reagents it took to keep this many indoor plants healthy, was the sheer amount of storage required for the number of seeds she had accumulated.
That was today’s project, solving that storage problem, but first, each plant needed to be watered and receive a once over for pests, diseases or other issues. Unruly growth was trimmed back to a more manageable level, flowers were pollinated, and pods were checked for new seeds ready to harvest. All the while the Wood Elf murmured words of encouragement, and sometimes the odd reprimand to her collection of potted vegetation.
Once this now daily ritual was complete, she turned to the wall of haphazardly stacked storage she’d been tossing everything into for weeks, and took a deep breath. Sitting herself down on the floor, Faelith started by laying out many pouches she’d purchased over the last few weeks and labeling each with one type of plant. Then she opened each of the boxes and picked out the seeds, sorting them by bloom and foliage color, then arranging them into the pouches one by one. It was sheer stubbornness that stopped her from giving up for the day halfway through, much preferring wandering outdoors to the endless sorting. Despite this, she stayed till all the work was done, letting out an exhausted sigh in the end. Next came the boxes, though this all went much quicker. Each was labeled then carefully stacked in order, filled with the seed pouches and any plants she’d grown and kept to use as houseplants later on.
As the light filtering through the windows grew dim, Faelith’s back and shoulders ached from hunching over on the floor, but finally she was done. Standing slowly, she rolled head back and forth, stretching her neck and shoulders, before taking the time to admire the newly assembled seed bank wall. A sense of accomplishment and pride filled her as she placed one hand over her Lyrandel and the other onto one of the chests. “Mistress of the Wood, heartbeat of the earth, please bless the potential life held within these vessels. While I pray a time will never come when they are necessary, let their vitality stay vibrant till such time as they are needed. May their presence help safe guard the future of thy radiant mantle, the leaves and blossoms that nurture all life. I pray this in your name, Aldarwen, mighty Vala of the verdant wild.”
A moment of silence hung heavy in the air with the weight of her words before Faelith finally raised her head and gave the nearest chest an affectionate pat before whispering her goodbyes to her leafy friends as she made her way to the door. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear her father's voice as she left…“Job well done, Dewdrop.”