Ten years had passed since the Shadow-Flower War. The same amount of time had passed since the Seer's Tragedy— when the Grove of Druids lost all of their greatest visionaries. Instead of a dark-age overtaking the peoples of Center-Earth, a time of rebuilding came.
Low-Earth was at its weakest and only growing more so. The Grove of Druids had developed in the time since, bolstering new allies, enemies, leading figures, greater structure and a promising next generation.
Albeit with a few odd balls….
One in particular roamed a distant forest. Perhaps too distant for his young age….
He even moved oddly as he crawled along the willow branches on all fours, preferring to hang upside down to gaze at the pack of Foul-Beasts. He liked being upside down. Felt secure. Safe. Confident. The world seemed more natural in unconventional positions. He could see the critical points of his targets.
The sweet nape of their foul necks. Dirty blood pulsed strong their as the muscles bulged. They were tearing into something. Someone. A Druid who never made it back from his patrol of the eastern edges of Center-Earth.
Miles ahead, he could see the Black-Threshold. The Foul-Beasts second home. They all were once natural center-earthen beauties. Rabbits, rats, vultures, coyotes, wild-dogs, beavers etc. They didn't have the intelligence to know to avoid Low-Earth. Like many before them, they'd venture inside searching for food and find only disease. It changed them. Turned them feral in body and mind.
Much of the Foul-Beasts before him were the hound-kind. Vicious giant black-skinned dogs with opaque blue eyes and icy rot magic spiraling in their twisting veins. They moved beneath their skin like leeches in salt pools. That is where the cysts and gushing wounds weren't taking up space.
"I'll avenge you, brother Druid. Know me, your avenger, by name. I am Murciel Mori, and these stank asses will wish they never harmed you!" Murciel descended from the trees with his daggers, dubbed little fangs, drawn.
He flipped in the air, landing upright on the back of the presumed alpha. The biggest Foul-Beast with misshapen muscles and teeth that were more like tusks. It was the size of a small horse.
The beasts went wild. So too did he, roaring as he rammed his daggers all through its neck.
The beast dropped into a roll as its packmates scattered.
Murciel held on, choosing to take the time with it laying over him to open up its throat.
Acrid ice cold blood sprayed under the mid day sun, covering his hands and leaking into his mouth.
It tasted like lightning.
No, that wasn't right.
But it was so warm. And he was shaking— twisting in wild spasms. And the beasts ribs were suddenly crushed so violently in his bear hug that they bursted from beneath its skin.
He didn't have time to process. He couldn't see anything other than tumultuous red waves moving to the beat of something alive and wild within.
Iron jaws clamped over his forearm and yanked him out from under the felled alpha. The red world faded— fractured.
He screamed and dropped his dagger. All the while, he twisted upright and slammed his other dagger into its forehead.
The beast ducked away with a snarling snort. Another slammed into his back. He lunged forward, rolling with the attack to pursue the beast with the hole in its face as the others nipped at his heels.
Murciel jumped just as his target snapped at his midsection, flipping midair to land on its back once again. It was a good place to be on quadrupedal creatures.
From there, he rammed his dagger back into the old wound atop its snout and pulled until he ripped open its skull and old decayed brain fell out in gray clumps.
Two down.
Six to go.
A Foul-Beast with cysts for eyes tackled him, biting into his shoulder and taking him off the scalped rot-dog.
They rolled. He gained top-mount and gutted the beast. Blood rushed from the wound like a geyser and suddenly he was in the red again. The spams made him trip and stumble as he moved in a blur onto the next beast.
"I'm…. avenger….. warrior… noble DRUID!" Murciel snarled as he shoulder bashed the snout of the next beast so hard its teeth shattered and got lodged in its throat.
It stumbled backward. He grabbed it by the ears and threw it at the remaining five. At least that was the plan.
But two moved and blitzed him. Lighter and faster than their peers. They tore into Murciel in his daze.
He swatted, opening gaping wounds in their sides. They twisted and dodged what they could, returning killing blows to the child. Ripping chunks out of his legs and shoulders until he was left weaponless and weakening fast.
The red faded.
Fear settled in as he began to feel his injuries.
The hounds pressed him. Like hairless demons. The Black-Threshold loomed in the distance behind them, allowing the creatures to blend with the dark and evoke shadows as tall as the sky itself.
Shame filled Murciel as he wiped away a tear while backing away weakly on his only good arm and leg. He backed and backed in the grass clearing until he hit a roadblock.
The dead Druid from before.
He'd die right next to him. He'd break his promise. A Warrior was nothing if broken under the weight of a promise.
"No. No I will not." Murciel croaked.
He began reached for the Druid, flipping through his robes and bark armor until he found his belt.
"I'm not stealing from you, brother Druid. You are unwillingly donating to me is all….. forgive me. I'll return here with replacements another day. After I've bested our tormentors. The stank-ass pack is no more from this point on." Murciel pulled his hand from the Druids belt.
Under the midday sun it glowed with the covering of blast-pollen. Specifically harvested from special mage-bloom flowers from the deserts of High-Earth. Volatile. Reactive to Ambient-mana and inner-mana. Usually kept by lower ranking Druids who could use it to their advantage without taking out an entire area.
The beasts reacted to the scent with rage.
Murciel threw out the pollen.
"I'm an avenger of my kind. I'll be the greatest Druid the earths have ever seen. I'll make my mother proud. I'll kill you all."
The beasts lunged at the glowing pollen in the air, idiotically trying to eat the explosions.
Only no blast came.
They turned their heads in confusion. Sneezing as they inhaled the harmless dust.
Murciel held his hand out. Failing to release his inner mana. Failing to find his roots and bring forth the required breathing techniques.
He was still a student.
Barely a Bronzehenge initiate.
He tried again.
"Please!"
Failure.
Again.
The beasts charged.
He raised both hands. He focused his breaths. The broken and crumpled hand covered in the blood of himself and his enemies moved. He ignored the thin sheen of dark fur that spread there.
Twisting cold and heat spun down his limbs. The floor pulled at him as he absorbed ambient mana. Fresh. From the core where the pulse originated.
The blood coating his palm glowed like a red sun. His magic hit the blast-pollen, supercharging it in a flash.
The world went red again.
This time, not just for him.
The flash of light faded. His ears rang. His hand shook, steaming as he gazed at it in the stillness.
He looked up, back to where the beasts once lumbered in confusion.
Only now, all he saw was ash.
Trees, grass, stones, the beasts. All ash and dust.
Flakes of fiery red blood and pollen fell like crimson snow.
Murciel turned to face the Druid and bowed, "You've been avenged, brother Druid."
He stayed that way for a bundle of minutes, trying to regain himself. To shake off the daze of exhaustion. All the while, he listened to nature and the trees shift, as if they too were recollecting with him.
"Hoo….Hooo…."
Murciel looked up to find a golden owl perched on a branch in the distance.
Murciel's head fell.
"….. Dammit."
The owl flapped its wings, taking off to circle him in a panic.
"Mercy what the hell do you think you're doing this close to Low-Earth? ARE YOU CRAZY?"
"Mrs. Augustus! I was on a mission!"
"Bull!" The owl squawked.
"No. Truth! I avenged our fallen brother Druid— do you have any blast-pollen? I had to borrow his to defeat our enemies. The Stank-ass pack fought well. But I am…. weller."
"You are a fool, boy." Mrs. Augustus spat. "Why must you routinely lie?"
"But…." Murciel trailed off as he turned to where he pointed in the distance.
The grass had already begun to regrow where it was once only ash. Nearly all evidence of his battle was gone.
Even some of his wounds.
"I..."
"Let's move, Mercy. You're late for training…. AGAIN!"