Long are the days on these desolate plains. Born to fester are the memories of the fallen. For these three are steeped in experience and share a common woe. Sacrifices.
"Is everyone here? We need to start the ceremony before the betrothed arrive. Places everyone. Gansen? Are you there? Gansen?! Gansennnnn!!!"
"I'm here, mother! I'm here!" A small figure darts towards the vociferous crowd. "Here! Hereeeeerre!"
A small boost of energy propels the youngling onward. A small hand dips up and down through the crowd and makes its way towards the calls.
"Oyishi! Front and center! Oyishi!!" The voice calls out. The response is slow but the message is received. "On my way." The deep-voiced being begins its descent from the hillside. Home of the pathfinders and waylayers. These people are known for their ability to track prey and predators. The waylayers scout and build new lands for the ever-growing populace.
"Great! Now, if I can find Witdianne." She surveys the area and close her eyes. She silences the crowd in her sphere of echoes. A sphere she produces through concentration. It allows her to focus exclusively on the heartbeat of shadow beings or those cloaking their appearance. The voices surrounding her soon fade away as she locks in on Witdianne's heartbeat. She slows hers and raises her head a bit. She can feel the hairs rise up on her neck as the beat intensifies. She breathes ever so slowly…
"There. You. Are." With each breath, she sends three small creatures that use echo location signals from her and her "target".
"We have visual, Rover One, shall we terminate the target?!"
"Shut up, you idiot?! Of course not! This is a retrieval mission! How in the aura of Juri, did you reach THAT conclusion?!"
"Can someone help me out?! I have no visual and I'm SURE that's a trap!!"
Meet Aialil, the ranger. (Aye-ah-lil)
Freipin, the tracker. (Freh-pin)
And…
Xiacia, the hopeless conspiracy theorist. (Zha-shuh)
"You three! (They look at one another) Keep it down! I sense her nearby. She's trying to hide. She sees you and—"
She spots them and disappears.
"Urghgh! You three are TOO loud! Keep it down! Come back at once until I can locate her again!"
The three do as they're told and return.
The young lass emerges from the shadows of the forest and giggles as she finds another place to hide.
This village is called Uritan. (You-wer-ten) A small village that sits just below the hilltops of Asintia.(Uh-send-shuh). A cloudy, magical place for old mages and high elves. They tend to stay clear of the lower lands but have been known to travel for quests and necessities. Their presence is generally welcomed as long as they don't sing—or try to find a mate amongst the common folk.
Horrific cries can be heard as several pixies attempt to sing…off cue.
"Ok. We wait on the other groups to search for a while and then, we try again." Freipin strategizes.
"Can't we just sleep? I mean really, no one's gonna know!" Xiacia exclaims as she poofs and reappears with pjs and pillows.
"Your face begs attention, doesn't it?" Aialil snarls as she grinds her teeth.
"Too bad your words don't. For the sanctity of Mero, will you PLEASE shut up?! No one cares about YOU or YOUR issues! Not now, not YESTERDAY, not ten millennia ago, ok?!"
Xiacia sulks as she poofs again and reappears in her search gear.
The three go about their daily routine of gaffs and misadventures. Just then, a cry calls out and the skies darken.
"Code 3!! Again, Code 3!! Can you hear me?! Mayday mayday!! Zero one two niner. Can you read me?!?" The transmission enters the radio waves used in these lands. These sounds, however, are foreign to its inhabitants.
"Wait! You hear something?!"
The crowds mumbles.
"Sounds like DEATH!! Pure death!" Xiacia cowers as she poofs and reappears in camouflage gear and tries to blend in with the forest.
"The ONLY kind you find around these lands!!"
Aialil, now palm to face begins to grumble.
"Not again! Listen, you're gonna meet YOUR death if you don't shut it!!"
"Perhaps a pulse from our dying sun?!"
Freipin quips.
The three look at one another.
Cowards, one and all, they decide to keep course and avoid confrontation.
"To journey…"
"To JOURNEY…"
"Quickly…t-to journey!"
The plains grow cold as dawn nears. The three scurry off to find the whisp-like girl. Another group reports nothing as they scour the plains.
"Someone there?! Please! Do you read me?! This is c-"
The transmission dies as the clouds grow darker. As if the signal is being purposely jammed. The three hurry only to find several strange objects found amongst the plains: an aged timepiece of some sort, an old weather vane, an aged portrait of someone and an old, tattered scroll.
The objects are scattered before them but seem to have been submerged for some time. They are protruding through the forest floor as it they washed ashore. However, there are no water sources near this location.
"What…what is this stuff?"
A small crowd begins to gather and mutter about. Several beings scan the skies as these objects seemingly came out of nowhere.
"Don't touch it!" A small voice can be heard in the distance. "You know not of its origins, nothing of its composition nor its purpose!"
The small figure approaches from the Northern Alps. Its movements are slow as it traverses the plains. Judging by its appearance, it's a Treant. A sapling by the looks of it. However, it has complete dominion over these lands and the respect of its inhabitants.
The beings move aside and kneel in its presence. Ceytur, the long. Proud warrior of several tribes that frequented these plains long ago. He is one of the last of his kind in these lands and has fought in every war since his birth. It is the rightful passage of lineage for him to be the one lone sovereign ruler. The inhabitants grew to learn of the living legend and formed a peaceful alliance for ages. This treant is over 8,000 years old. A curse bestowed upon it for its
infinite wisdom. A gift awarded to the hero of Deligiad (Del-ah-jod), mystical land with the seven gifts of the mighty.
"Now, to what do we owe YOUR presence?" The treant focuses his gaze upon the shadowy figure that has blended in with the small gathering.
"Can you not speak, being?" He pauses for a moment. Patiently, he waits for a response. "Perhaps the words are lost as the head is clear? Or is this anyway to stand before me?"
Perplexed, the treant begins to engage the crowd. Hoping to gain its trust, the being extends common courtesy. However, the shadowy figure makes no sound.
The treant stops walking. It extends its arms as if to scoop up the dark being.
"We…are all friends here…have you lost your way?"
Still, the being remains silent. The treant extends its long branch-like arms and displays his domain by gesturing the area is his.
"There is nowhere to hide. I AM these trees. Offspring. One and all. Shall I display my powers?"
The treant raises his right arm.
"Speak! All that stand before me. Speak to your father!" He speaks through the lands and the lands listen and obey. The trees shake and form small mouths just before the base of their roots.
"As you command…" The trees whisper in unison.
The treant continues.
"Be not shade nor shadow for ANY being! Display what hides before you!"
The trees hum a deep moaning tone that places all within it into a deep trance. The blades of grass withdraw and leaves only sand and dirt. The grass begins to swirl around the sapling as it molds into one of its forms: Forest General Pleiades. A mighty wooden staff forms into its grassy right hand. He now stands at roughly ten feet tall and towers over the fairies and elven people residing in the forest.
"OVERCAST!" He bellows and from his mouth a small mass of energy charges. He takes a deep breath and spews the energy into the heavens. The skies slowly part as the sun becomes brighter with each passing second. The plains are illuminated with a magnificent light that causes the others to wince a bit. He turns towards the shining dark spot that stands a few feet away. The silhouette is that of an elven princess. THE elven princess. The treant is not amused.
"Ahhhhh…so, playing a game, are we princess?"
The treant proceeds to rub her head as she giggles in delight. "You found me! For that, I shall grant you one power for three moons. Use it as you will for it is only yours once." A small package, complete with bow, appears before her. "
Do you accept my gift, your grace?" She asks as she respectfully bows.
The treant smiles.
"I've no need of such trivial things but…perhaps one amongst us would like to take my place?" He pauses for a moment and turns towards the crowd. There's a bit of awe and angst. Many would love the chance at an adventure but are reluctant to act. They admire the might and courage of others but are slow to rise themselves.
"If so, stand before me and be judged."
Just then, an odd silence obscures the minds of those who THOUGHT they could do it. Why, where ever would they begin such a campaign? Who could they trust to fight amongst them? Against the odds…the perils of war…the death that would raid their consciousness and erase their hopes and dreams…does such an adventurer reside within these being?
Besides…who WANTS to be "judged"?
The treant legend scans the crowd for a moment. Realizing no one heeds his call, he begins to lower his arms and staff. His heart grows heavy and his longing for a true adventurer shall go unmet this day. But, perhaps…someone…
An ominous sound embraces the crowd. A strong, mystical power can be felt…for miles around.
The presence of heavy footsteps emerges from the South. The skies flicker for a moment. Then, a flash of light briefly blinds the onlookers. A strange orb of some sort vanishes before them and three descend upon the crowd…
"On this day…a moment in history shall be stamped upon your lives…(footsteps slowly enter the scene)…one that shall never be forgotten (footsteps draw nearer) for on this day…a champion shall rise amongst us…(footsteps draw ever so closely) before it lies three tasks that are burdens of proof of its might…the first, a cave of memories, next, a true strategist's will and lastly conquerer of fear and worthy wielder of a forgotten blade…(footsteps continue towards the speaker)…it shall be written…etched forever in our hearts and celebrated throughout all time…(footsteps stop)"
He pauses for a moment and turns towards the footsteps.
"And that time…is now!"
He slams his mighty staff upon the earth and it responds in kind. A great swell of energy is released and clears the area of darkness for a moment. The sound of trumpets are heard from miles around as a glorious vibration captivates the gathering. The weight of the power displayed brings its subjects to their knees with tears in their eyes.
"BEHOLD!"
The three now stands as one…
"YOUR REVELATION!"